A slightly plump man strode down an illuminated corridor in his newly polished Gresham Oxford shoes. He placed his wrinkling right hand onto a vertical glass surface, scanning his finger prints. The device read his name, 'Milton Denner' before a set of glossy white doors swung open on its freshly oiled hinges.
He stepped into the commodious room, filled with countless artefacts from the past; the necklace that Queen Elizabeth sported when she died, the tophat Abraham Lincoln wore when he was assassinated, the wig Donald Trump - one of the worst presidents America ever faced - had used when meeting with the previous North Korean dictator, Kim Jong-un, among a myriad of other priceless possessions. Milton Denner did not even glance at the relics, instead he marched towards the only other person in the room - none other than the Vice President of the U.S.A. himself, Rick Johnson.
He stood beside the Vice President, gazing out of the floor to ceiling window. Unlike the rest of the city, the White House grew lush trees, and kept fresh water. If the starving common people knew they had kept so much food and clean water from them, they would be furious, probably starting a revolution.
"Mr Denner," he abruptly began, "Are we absolutely certain of generation Darwin?"
"Yes sir, statistics show that almost all children of this generation remain above average, compared to normal children. Sir, we believe they are the next evolution of man."
"Above average in what area?"
"Well all of them Mr. Vice President. They're stronger, faster, smarter, basically more evolved."
"Are all the essentialities in order?"
"Yes sir, we are ready and waiting for conformation of project Darwin."
"Well then Mr. Denner, begin harvest of generation Darwin. They may become threats when they mature."
"Thank you Mr. Vice President." With a nod, he turned, heading for the door.
"Wait." Rick Johnson said, halting Milton Denner mid-step. Milton turned back to the Vice President, hoping he didn't change his mind.
"Not a word to anyone, are we clear? Not to your friends. Not to your family. And certainly not to the president. He can't know about this operation. As the CEO of the I.L.E. I expect full confidentiality from you. Yes?" He continued.
Nodding, Milton headed back down the hallway, ready to locate all Darwins.
Slipping into his newly acquired limousine, he pulled out his slick phone, calling the head operator, Melissa Frawn, on project Darwin.
"We are a go. Begin harvest."
The head operator didn't need any more confirmation.
Within the next few years, they will collect any and every Darwin found, ready for experimentation.
Melissa had already located several Darwins. She directed units to several of the Darwins, across the world. The closest Darwin located, in the very same city, arrived - against her will - within the hour, kicking and screaming in all her childish glory.
She was the first Darwin captured. The first of many.