Kwame stood silently in the waiting room, dressed in a hospital gown. His remaining seven students stood before him, each with matching curly orange hair and gowns.
“Let us take a moment to mourn the loss of our sister, Eve. Her many accomplishments will never be forgotten as we embark on the first step of our shared destiny. The dawn of Homo Magis is upon us. Her loss will not be in vain. We are Homo Magis!”
“We are Homo Magis!” the students cheered, unable to believe their luck. Each had already sent emails and texts to their families and friends, disowning any claim to their former names and human lives. Kwame reached for a tray with eight glasses of orange liquid, spiked with the newly filtered chemical treatment. He had already applied all of the changes that his hidden ally had dictated. All future doses would be properly mixed. He handed each of the students a glass and then motioned for silence.
“He who would live must also fight. He who does not wish to fight in this world, where permanent struggle is the law of life, does not have the right to exist,” Kwame said, raising his glass. “Obey the Tenets.”
“Obey the Tenets,” the students responded, raising their glasses.
“Our future begins now,” Kwame said, downing his drink. The new chemical slightly burned as he swallowed, but it was no worse than alcohol. The students followed suit.
Kwame made a mental note to add cherry flavoring to all future treatments.
The surgeon who had operated on Eve entered the waiting room with three student assistants at his side. He motioned to Kwame and the students, leading them into the operating room. The room had two tables prepared for surgery.
“Are the first candidates ready?” the surgeon asked.
“I will lead by example,” Kwame said, lying on the first table. “I do not ask anything of you that I am not willing to do myself. I will see each of you very soon.”
The assistants covered Kwame with a blanket and the surgeon placed a gas mask over his face. Kwame closed his eyes. The real reason that he volunteered to go first because he wanted to be worked on while the surgeon was fresh. He would have to insert the new iridium implant immediately after removing the old one.
As the first wisps of gas entered his lungs and the world around him began to dim, Kwame smiled and silently thanked his unknown benefactor.
The next morning, the waiting room was silent as two bodies were wheeled in before Kwame. They had died during the operation. One had a genetic disorder that had caused an unforeseen complication. The surgeon had been unable to resuscitate him. The other had died as a complication from internal bleeding.
“I am truly sorry, professor. Had we been in a hospital, with a proper staff, I’m sure that I could have saved them,” the surgeon said, balancing the moral weight of his medical oath with the hundred thousand dollars he pocketed for one rushed night’s work.
“I’m sure you did the best you could,” Kwame said, ignoring the man’s excuses.
For the first time in years, he did not feel the painful buzz that had been housed in his skull. Kwame stretched, breathing in deeply, feeling the oxygen flow through the fibers of his muscles. He twisted his arms behind him with newfound agility.
“The others are healing at an amazingly accelerated pace, Professor. In all my time as a doctor, I’ve never seen anything like it,” the surgeon said. “If the pace continues, you should be recovered by tomorrow, but I would like to follow up with each of you on Monday.”
“Of course,” Kwame lied.
“This is simply amazing, Professor,” the surgeon said. “This research will change how we see humanity.”
“I shall ensure that everyone is properly tended to,” Kwame said with a small smile. “Perhaps we should rest now.”
“What will be done with…them?” the surgeon asked, nodding toward the bodies.
“They will be disposed of in a proper Homo Magis ceremony,” Kwame explained.
“I would just hate for them to be found. An investigation would reveal the implants, and, as you know, iridium is not a common material.”
“Is that a threat, doctor?” Kwame asked, staring a hole into the man.
“No, no, of course not,” he said, backing down. “I’m just saying, it would be obvious where it came from.”
“If you need to know, their bodies shall be burned and the ashes will be scattered to the wind,” Kwame said. “Is that good enough for you?”
“I didn’t mean to imply…uh…well, yes,” the surgeon stammered. “Again, I’m sorry.”
“We shall speak of this no further,” Kwame said.
“Except for the research papers,” the surgeon mentioned. “I would like to see your final notes.”
“Of course. You shall have it on your desk by Monday.”
“Thank you,” the surgeon said and turned to leave, trying not to look at the bodies of the students.
“We are giving him copies of our research?” Quinton asked as the surgeon left.
“Of course not. I just told the Homo Sapien what he wanted to hear. Remember, ‘words are weapons, sharper than knives,’” Kwame said, quoting a song lyric he had once heard.
The students smiled at his boundless wisdom.
Kwame nodded toward the door. Quinton followed the surgeon. Everything was quiet for a moment until the sound of the surgeon’s muffled scream could be heard, followed by the heavy thud of a body dropping to the floor.
Quinton returned with blood on his shirt. Kwame smiled.
“Thank you, Quinton. Our brothers have been avenged. Come now, my disciples!” Kwame said, motioning for them to surround him. “Do you feel the power you now possess? Today, we will rest. Tonight, we will meet at my office. Tomorrow, every Homo Sapien that walks the Earth will know the glory of Homo Magis!”