The two men in lab coats strolled down the long tiled hallway. One continued to make notes while the other stared down his nose at the newest batch.
"Professor Redwood, this is what we have so far on Generation ten. After many long years of turmoil, sweat, and blood, it has finally come to fruition. Sir,-"
the man motioned to the many containment units that lined the room. "-we've finally reached one thousand."
Redwood nodded, his face stoic. "Do you remember when they told us we'd never come this far? That we'd never make it?" He took a breath. "That after the fifth, we'd lost our touch. That we'd fall apart. That we'd never be the same as before."
"Indeed, sir. I remember all too well."
"They spat on us."
"It no longer matters, sir. We've made it this far...we've proved them wrong."
For a moment, the two men said nothing. They merely stared unblinkingly ahead at their life's work, all neatly packed into their little containment units...so small....so fragile...