To whom it may concern,
You may have heard of me on a passing whim. Dr. Edwin Porter, the man of the hour. Single-handedly changed the face of medical technology, forever. Changed the world forever too. My name isn't spoken much in that sort of praise these days.
Well, it's not really spoken at all anymore. Seems people have forgotten me. It's the least I can hope for, anyway.
Coresta is what it was called, but most people just called it 'the new plastic'. It was that which changed us; that which ruined us. I never considered what it would mean for society to have such technology at its disposal, but I was delusional.
Its conceived usage was strictly medical. It made headlines across the intellectual globe when we made our first artificial lung out of this new, synthetic organic matter. And it even hit mainstream when we successfully transplanted a working, prosthetic heart and it was not rejected by the patient. We were dawning a new, golden age, where our greatest fears were subsided by life-saving Coresta. Nothing seemed impossible, and were were replacing our frail, cancer and condition ridden organs with robust, dependable copies at an alarming rate.
But alas, how foolish I was to think that any good would truly come from it. It wasn't long before the comsetics' got their strong hold on it. I had no quarrel when it was necessary to restore a charred face or missing ear, but it went far beyond that. Some people are, to a high extent, vain; and I found my fruitful efforts were being used for frivolous plastic surgeries, natural sexual body part enhancements and other non-mandatory medical applications. In this country, the dollar is mighty. Too mighty.
It's no surprise where this ended up. If you're reading this than you're probably living in a world that lies as an echo of the events that spiraled when I opened Pandora's box. Personal enhancement and surgery became as addictive and dangerous as high-grossing illegal narcotics. People weren't heading the warnings and guidelines that came with the surgery. People were getting implants while they were still bedded, recovering from the last ones.
It spun right out of control. Coresta had transformed us into damned demons. People were killing for the stuff, bargaining with all they owned and performing insidious tasks just to gain access to more. Some people even starting rejecting the product outright as a result of improper administration and procedure of surgery. Some people just died, others were ridden with madness. The rest of us found that our safety and quality of life plummeted. The great depression was nothing compared to this.
So I write this as an apology to you. No doubt, my creation has caused you grief in some way - It has to all of us. If you have the strange fortune of coming across this letter, know that you will no longer find me here. I'm going to repay my debt to society. I have embraced my fate.