First Person

2032. I am a scientist. A pharmalocogist, to be precise. I study the effects of drugs on the

human body. My name is...not important. I work as a pharmacodynamics researcher in the most

elite, secretive government biochemical lab in the United States, code name Grasscutter. I was

recruited by special agents (known as harvesters) from the Food and Drug Administration, an

agency of the department Health and Human Services, to join a select group (code name

Polymath) of prodigy medical school graduates from all over the country, specifically chosen to

research and develop a mythical substance, a so-called “cure-all” drug (code name Soma) that

would ease, alleviate, and perhaps totally eradicate the physical and physchological sufferings of

mankind. ere is, in fact, a drug that cures it all. It does exist.

And I have just discovered it.

I have been working on this project, in this building, in this room, for the last 12 years. When

I began, I was 21 years old. I am now 32. I am unmarried, no children. I live in an unassuming

apartment in an unassuming neighborhood. My apartment is owned and rent paid by the

government. My car is owned and paid for by the government. My internet bill, my biofuel bill,

my water bill--all paid by the government. My calls are monitered. My emails are monitered. My

laundry is picked up and dropped off, neatly folded, by an unmarked white government van, as

are my groceries, straight to my front door every Monday morning at exactly 7:05 A.M. I have a

curfew, 11:00 P.M., and I will be reprimanded by my harvester if I break it. I have a small

tracking device (a space-age silicon microchip called Angelus, developed by the first Grasscutter

scientists 30 years ago during during the Iraq War), planted painlessly and discreetly in my skull,

so my harvester can detect my whereabouts at any time. I don’t know the name of the guy who

lives next door to me.

Second Person

2032. You are a scientist. A pharmalocogist, to be precise. You study the effects of drugs on the

human body. Your name is...not important. You work as a pharmacodynamics researcher in the

most elite, secretive government biochemical lab in the United States, code name Grasscutter. You

were recruited by special agents (known as harvesters) from the Food and Drug Administration,

an agency of the department Health and Human Services, to join a select group (code name

Polymath) of prodigy medical school graduates from all over the country, specifically chosen to

research and develop a mythical substance, a so-called “cure-all” drug (code name Soma) that

would ease, alleviate, and perhaps totally eradicate the physical and physchological sufferings of

mankind. ere is, in fact, a drug that cures it all. It does exist.

And you have just discovered it.

You have been working on this project, in this building, in this room, for the last 12 years.

When you began, you were 21 years old. You are now 32. You are unmarried, no children. You live

in an unassuming apartment in an unassuming neighborhood. Your apartment is owned and rent

paid by the government. Your car is owned and paid for by the government. Your internet bill,

your biofuel bill, your water bill--all paid by the government. Your calls are monitered. Your

emails are monitered. Your laundry is picked up and dropped off, neatly folded, by an unmarked

white government van, as are your groceries, straight to your front door every Monday morning

at exactly 7:05 A.M. You have a curfew, 11:00 P.M., and you will be reprimanded by your

harvester if you break it. You have a small tracking device (a space-age silicon microchip called

Angelus, developed by the first Grasscutter scientists 30 years ago during during the Iraq War),

planted painlessly and discreetly in your skull, so your harvester can detect you whereabouts at

any time. You do not know the name of the guy who lives next door to you.
ird Person

2032. He is a scientist. A pharmalocogist, to be precise. He studies the effects of drugs on the

human body. His name is...not important. He works as a pharmacodynamics researcher in the

most elite, secretive government biochemical lab in the United States, code name Grasscutter. He

was recruited by special agents (known as harvesters) from the Food and Drug Administration,

an agency of the department Health and Human Services, to join a select group (code name

Polymath) of prodigy medical school graduates from all over the country, specifically chosen to

research and develop a mythical substance, a so-called “cure-all” drug (code name Soma) that

would ease, alleviate, and perhaps totally eradicate the physical and physchological sufferings of

mankind. ere is, in fact, a drug that cures it all. It does exist.

And he has just discovered it.

He has been working on this project, in this building, in this room, for the last 12 years. When

he began, he was 21 years old. He is now 32. He is unmarried, no children. He lives in an

unassuming apartment in an unassuming neighborhood. His apartment is owned and rent paid

by the government. His car is owned and paid for by the government. His internet bill, his

biofuel bill, his water bill--all paid by the government. His calls are monitered. His emails are

monitered. His laundry is picked up and dropped off, neatly folded, by an unmarked white

government van, as are his groceries, straight to his front door every Monday morning at exactly

7:05 A.M. He has a curfew, 11:00 P.M., and he will be reprimanded by my harvester if he breaks

it. He has a small tracking device (a space-age silicon microchip called Angelus, developed by the

first Grasscutter scientists 30 years ago during during the Iraq War), planted painlessly and

discreetly in his skull, so his harvester can detect my whereabouts at any time. He does not know

the name of the guy who lives next door to him.