The professor called me into his operating theater. That's what the storeroom used to be, so that's what he still called it. He kept hours that would have been odd anywhere but a teaching hospital. The room was far enough from a window that it never made a difference.

"Lock the door", he said, instead of a greeting. "I am glad you came. My personal research has reached a point that will benefit from a student of your dexterity. Do you want to be famous?"

I tried to mask my pause by remembering which stack of journals the light switch was behind. Nobody had asked me that before. Surgeons don't walk red carpets. "I want to help people. I want to heal people".

"Of course you do. We all do. But do you want to be famous? I have noticed your face when people talk about your achievements, but I want to be sure. It would be a great help if my assistant wanted to be famous". He wasn't looking at me. He was working on something beneath a sheet.

I didn't answer. He continued anyway. "What would be the most groundbreaking thing you could do? What would put your name into history? Indelibly?" I stammered through the conclusions of some recent papers on transplant rejection and autoimmune disease and the still-exciting possibilities of CRISPR, but his reactions got more terse. I switched tack to public health, and bringing preventative care to the unserved and he went silent.

"Too deep in. Stop listening to experts. History is never written by experts. If I go outside and ask five people on the street 'What is the greatest achievement possible in medical research?' what answer will they give?"

"Cure cancer".

"Correct! Exactly correct". For a moment he was satisfied with his Socratic exchange, and went back to work under the sheet. "But you can't 'cure cancer'", I said. "It's a category of related conditions with various causes, presentations, courses, treatments. You might as well say 'a cure for sick'"!

I was shocked because he knew better. And once the shock passed, he spoke like he'd been rehearsing a sales pitch, waiting for the perfect segue. Of course he knew better. "You could say the same of the cure for dysentery. Is that still on the curriculum? Yes, we have antimicrobials now, but I mean in the days of the American frontier. The cure was to treat the symptoms. Rehydration therapy to prevent death by dehydration, brought about by all the bloody diarrhea. The disease ran its course, and the patient made a full recovery, ready to use their days on a homestead or some such. That is what I mean".

Usually his explanations were clearer. "How does that relate? I'm sorry professor but I need you to leave the analogy and tell me what you mean. You intend to cure cancer-"

"In the colloquial sense, yes. And anything else, if the technique is sound."

"Cure cancer by letting it continue and, what, somehow preventing death along the way?"

"Ah, I see, dysentery is an imperfect comparison. No. My cure will not prevent death. Only undo it". And that is when Professor Frankenstein lifted the sheet.

People seemed to really like this yesterday, which feels nice. If someone asked me to make a Frankenstein screenplay this would be the first scene, which is why it's so dialogue heavy. I also have a totally different opening for a comic in my pocket if people want it, but I don't want to just dump Frankenstein stuff like it's my whole new thing.