[Alonsua]

Squatter at home.

And there I was again. Another night. Another day. Facing an impossible. An insignificance if viewed from an evolutionary perspective. A single night.

It had several minutes, or maybe hours, while I was sensing that something was changing ... The symbiotic relationship. Perhaps the result of chance, perhaps of good luck, the last strain had made the disease fall into my hands.

Surely others had tried to find success with similar theories, until my theory got it with me. And there I was. Another night. Another day. Locked. In solitary confinement. With artificial light. With laboratory oxygen. Doing what I did best: Stealing Nature's protagonism to offer it to my own creations.

I could not get out of there. I did not want to. I had lost many of the initial prototypes. They were very good theoretically, but most of them were useless. I had become a slave to the project. His servant. I became the project itself. Cancer had a squatter at home. And the squatter would eat it.

Adam Sephard's laboratory notes.