The decision to entrust this project to Professor Laksana was not without reason. He was not only a brilliant scientist but also someone who was not swayed by traditional morality or ethics. In a world of science full of ambition, Laksana saw this experiment as a great opportunity. All failures—whether with animal or human subjects—were merely seen as small steps toward perfection.
There was no regret within him. Failure was data. Loss was a cost. For Laksana, experiments were not about people; they were about solving scientific puzzles. Even when the first experiment subjects started disappearing, there was no guilt weighing on him. He saw it as a consequence of the scientific progress that was necessary. If someone had to disappear for the greater good, then it was a fair price.
Behind his cold demeanor, Laksana knew he was on the right track—to gain more power than he could have ever imagined. When the government became involved in the project, providing funding and support, Laksana not only gained the resources he needed but also protection to continue the experiment without interference.
Thus, when Professor Arlo Vellan began to feel the moral weight of the experiment straying farther from its original purpose, Laksana didn't just think about continuing; he became more resolute in his stance. Vellan, once considered his scientific ally, now became an obstacle, someone who would eventually be regarded as a problem if he spoke too much or questioned the ethics. Over time, Laksana began to replace Vellan's position in leading the project. He no longer saw the project as a scientific experiment but as a means to control power, which was of course much greater than mere academic achievement.
The government funding became key. Delta Division, which was initially responsible for funding the research, was no longer just a supporter. They became an integral part of the operation, and Laksana knew this was a step toward further control, not just for this experiment, but for a future where every human mind could be influenced and controlled.
Nothing could stop his progress. Laksana moved forward with cold determination, as if nothing could hinder his goals.
The government's support for Professor Laksana was not just financial, but far deeper than that. In a world torn by political tension and social chaos, Cerebrum Shift became an extremely valuable asset. Laksana realized that the government did not only see this project as a tool for scientific development but also as an instrument for ideological control, to quell instability during the transition of power.
The National Emergency Strategy Committee, which consisted of military leaders, intelligence officials, and other strategic decision-makers, made this project one of their top priorities. Unlimited resources were poured into supporting the research and development, in the form of direct funding, research facilities, and expert personnel recruited from all over the world. Laksana, who had long struggled within the often limited confines of academia, now had access to hidden laboratories far more advanced, and the political power that gave him the freedom to explore the boundaries of the experiment.
Delta Division, a unit once limited to military operations and intelligence, had now become the direct link between Laksana and the central government. Every decision made in the experiment had to be approved by the committee controlled by them. Even every new protocol discovered or applied, though seemingly controversial and high-risk, was always accompanied by approval from the authorities. Research that had once been considered a violation of scientific ethics was now seen as a step forward in maintaining the stability of the country.
However, even more importantly, the government saw this project as a long-term solution to the ever-growing student protests across campuses. In every step Laksana took, they saw an opportunity to leverage mind control technology to calm social unrest, control the masses, and even strengthen the government's position in times of threat.
The government placed great trust in Laksana, who was increasingly distancing himself from scientific morality in pursuit of a larger political goal. There was no longer any room for doubt in his mind. Every decision he made, every subject chosen for the experiment, was carefully calculated based on the needs of the project and the needs of the state. Laksana knew that this was his greatest opportunity to gain more influence than he had ever imagined before.
The success of this project was not only a matter of scientific progress; it meant his survival within an unshakable power circle. With the full backing of the government, Laksana was now free to do whatever he deemed necessary without the fear of anyone halting his progress. Meanwhile, the new experiments continued, straying farther from the original goals, edging closer to the realization of a world that could be controlled with nothing but the mind.
At the same time, Laksana was fully aware that this project, which had started with the noble ambition of healing and improving the human brain, had transformed into a weapon for wielding even greater control. He had surpassed the boundaries once considered ethical in science and was now in a realm that no longer recognized moral limits. The government didn't just support him—they funded and protected him, making him an inseparable part of the larger political power structure.
And in the background, Laksana realized that to achieve his ultimate goal, he had to dig deeper into the experiment—realizing absolute control over the human mind. A goal that was more than just about power. It was an opportunity to shape the world according to his own desires.
The government's ever-stronger support for Professor Laksana was not only limited to material resources or facilities. Gradually, Laksana was given the freedom to design the course of the experiment without worrying about outside interference, or even from his professional colleagues. Decisions that would have once been questioned by the scientific community were now accepted without hesitation—this project was no longer about science, but about a larger strategy: control.
The National Emergency Strategy Committee, which oversaw this project, had transformed everything related to the experiment. Laksana was no longer just responsible for basic research; he now became the primary regulator of how the technology would be used in the field. All units involved in the project, from operations to oversight, were now under his direct command. He worked closely with high-ranking officials from various sectors—military, intelligence, and research—to ensure that the project not only succeeded technically but also achieved broader political goals.
"This project is not just for the scientific future," Laksana said once, during a discussion with several committee members. "It's about controlling the narrative, about controlling the direction of the world. This technology will be the backbone of the nation in the future."
Laksana knew that the government's shifting policies, with the intensifying wave of student protests, presented a huge opportunity for further experiments. The Cerebrum Shift project was now more than just brain recovery—it was the development of mind control technology to shape individuals, even create a tool to combat any threat to the stability of the country. The government knew that although using such extreme methods was risky, the potential rewards could far outweigh the short-term losses.