Dr. Daryl Smith, a genius cyber-geneticist in his mid-20s, formulated a nanotech CRISPR concoction with the silent support of ecological groups and financial backing by wealthy anonymous donors to lower the world population, one child per family.

Daryl wrote a thesis advocating population control. He claimed it essential for future generations to survive an inevitable coming wave of advanced AI, total automation, further pandemics, and more severe climate change.

He worked at an undisclosed location to avoid any radical groups who opposed him, with some of their members threatening his life.

"Daryl, you didn’t eat your breakfast, but I insist that you have lunch. You've been working on these formulas non-stop since early morning," said Marsha Nelson, his assistant, placing a food tray and glass of juice with a straw on his desk.

"You're right, Marsha, I'm feeling weak. I've almost got this delivery method cracked."

"Oh? How so?" Marsha's eyes lit up.

"Right here." Daryl pointed at his meal.

"Do you think people will voluntarily do this, Daryl?"

"It might not matter." He sipped his juice.

"Oh." Marsha gasped.

"Marsha, I can't... I can't." Daryl gagged while grabbing his throat, choking and suffocating, then dropped face down into his food.

Marsha exited the building, walked toward her car, and pushed a button on a handheld device. Daryl's lab exploded into flames.

That same afternoon, she drove a long and winding road through the countryside to a secluded estate surrounded by a lush forest. She arrived at dusk.

At an entry gate, she punched in a code, parked, then entered a mansion.

"Ms. Nelson, did you accomplish what's needed?" asked CEO Jared Simmons, a clean-shaven, gray-haired man, wearing pajamas and a smoking jacket. He smoked a pipe while reading a hardcover book and sitting on a recliner next to a crackling fireplace.

"Yes, Mr. Simmons, all gone."

"Including his formulas?" Jared lowered his book.

"Completely wiped out and burned ... But I do have a sincere question, Mr. Simmons."

"Go on ..." Jared sat up in his recliner.

"Why did you really want this? You run a robotics firm for automation, so wouldn't you be supportive of his goal? I mean, I have my moral reasons ..."

"Why, Ms. Nelson." Jared puffed smoke from his pipe. "Automation or not, we still need customers. People are profit, my dear."