Major Luftwat directed the privates to tie the prisoners to their tables. His experimenting room held 8 tables, four on each side. One by one the privates strapped the emaciated prisoners down with thick leather straps then hooked them up to the myriad of medical equipment around the tables. Some of the prisoners fought, others just stared into the bleach white operating lights with defeat in their eyes. 
Each had heard the stories and each knew the fate that awaited them. They had been rescued from a quick painless death in the gas chamber to face a prolonged and painful death at the hands of the most notorious experimenter in the world. 
“I have a family” One man begged
“Just give me the gas” Another said.
“Please end it quickly.” A third said.
In each case the private would roughly muffle the prisoner. The first few batches of undesirables had left the privates disgusted, but by this point they had the blood of thousands on their hands, and they acted like it. Each private moved with a cold assurance, not showing the slightest sign of hesitation, even as their prisoners struggled. 
As the privates strapped the last prisoner down, Major Luftwat waved them away. Only when the last soldier latched the metal door behind him did the Major step into his office to begin his work. When it came time for the trials, he even dismissed his assistants; he didn’t want his protégés to share his nightmares. 
Stepping back into his office he glanced briefly at his board of failures. A picture of each victim with a brief explanation of the strain he had used, what went wrong, and the filing for more information. It helped him to keep his extensive studies straight after hundreds of trials. More importantly, it reminded him of the cost of his failures. 
He grabbed the binder of files for his prisoners and laid it onto the cart with the test vials. He wheeled the cart into the operating room. Strapping on gloves and a mask, he examined his first file. 
‘67438’ was the prisoner number. Luftwat circled the room until he found the matching tattoo on a prisoner’s arm. He wheeled the cart over and stood over the prisoner.
“Mark Johnson?” Luftwat asked, gently untying the prisoner’s gag. 
“Yes.” Mark Johnson wheezed. He was one of the quiet ones, struggling with all his will to die with dignity. His bright blue eyes stared resolutely into the Majors as he answered. Though he hid the fear in his eyes, the Major could see his bony chest struggling to breathe and his skeleton fingers shaking. 
“According to the file you have severe asthma. Is that correct?” Luftwat asked.
Mark Johnson nodded. Years ago, when the UN founded the Natural Selection Enforcement Office, asthma wasn’t an illness that called for euthanasia. Now, with hundreds of millions dead, major handicaps and genetic illnesses were all but eradicated. With the killing infrastructure already perfected, a few UN politicians decided the NSEO should move on to major life altering diseases viewed as a detriment to the human race—like asthma. 
“Alright Mark. Chances are this is going to be just as painful as you’ve heard. But before you die, you should know I am using you to test a genetic cure. You’re death could possibly save billions. It will not be in vain.” Major Luftwat said.
“What?” Mark Johnson struggled to say between heaving breaths. “Why not… help me… escape.”
Luftwat slammed his fist onto his cart. His bundle of scalpels dropped to the ground with a clang.  “Do not presume to tell me how I can best end this madness! I’ve rescued hundreds, helped them flea. It was a drop in the ocean. They kill more people every minute than I saved in a year. This is all I can do and I will not apologize for it.” 
Mark Johnson nodded and stared back into the white light. A single tear escaped his stony blue eyes. 
The maddening ringing of silence mingled with Mark Johnson’s wheezing as the Major lifted up the vial marked ‘67438.’ He plugged the vial into his syringe and looked for a vein in the young man’s arm. It wasn’t hard to find in the starving man’s bony limb. 
“Good luck.” The Major said.
He stuck the needle into the vein and started to push out the serum. Only for the vein to collapse—a common occurrence.
Luftwat sighed and tried a different vein. This time it worked. He injected the serum and placed the syringe calmly back onto the cart. He picked up his notebook and pen and waited. 
   The waiting was always the worst part because he couldn’t quench that tiny spark of hope. Each second the prisoners lasted built that flame bigger and bigger, then when they finally died, it exploded into searing disappointment. The prisoners felt it too. Often they looked at him with wide sunken eyes full of wonder and excitement. Those Prisoners hurt the worse when they died. They were the ones he saw when he closed his eyes at night.  
   This would be one of those. Mark Johnson would haunt him. The clock ticked and still the man lived. After thirty seconds he looked at Luftwat with that damned hope in his eyes.

“Is this normal?” Mark Johnson asked. Luftwat could only nod. After a few minutes, the seizures started. The restraints took to the worst of it, but still Mark Johnson slammed his bald head onto the table with frightening force. Luftwat could only watch as the seizures ended and the blood escaped from the man’s ears. It mocked him as it slowly dripped onto the pristine white table. Finally, Mark Johnson went limp. Luftwat watched the vital monitor. The heartbeat remained level through it all. Maybe this was the one. That cursed spark. Luftwat’s heart burned as Mark Johnson’s heart rate suddenly dropped. Slower and slower it beat. Soon it would stop like the rest and Luftwat would add Mark Johnson to his board. The Major started jotting his notes down in his notebook and pulled out the file of his next prisoner. He stood up and glanced one last time at Mark Johnson. To his surprise, the heart beat was normal. Terrified blue eyes stared back at him. Then the coughing started. Blood spattered from the man’s mouth, soiling Luftwats pristine white coat. “Is it over?” Mark Johnson said through the coughing. Luftwat could only stare incredulously. He refused to believe his fluttering heart. Mark Johnson continued to cough until the blood was gone. Then he took a deep breath of relief. Shaking, Luftwat nearly knocked the cart over as he ran to his back room and rifled around for his stethoscope. He brought it back into the operating room and used it to listen to Mark Johnson’s breathing. The wheezing was gone. Major Luftwat could barely believe it. His serum worked. He altered this young man’s genetic code; he cured an incurable ailment. “Yes Mark. It is finally over.” Major Luftwat said.