The people decide Right from Wrong; they shoot protesting voices on their parades for individuality. They are a colorful quilt that bled to create a muddy puce. Brilliant colors come together to form something resembling vomit.

Of course they won't understand when I try to explain that it was really I who was Right. They convicted me before the final bang of the judge's gavel.

I call it science, they call it murder. I call it genius, they call it psychopathic. It's all really the same, isn't it? There was never a discovery made at no expense. Never intelligence without a small dose of madness.

I'm not heartless; I chose my subjects well. Did I deceive? Manipulate? Yes. How was I to obtain people to study if they were aware that stepping into my lab was the equivalent of their deaths?

These were people who, had it not been for me, would have died without impact. No one, their neighbors, their family, would notice their absence.

Experiment, murder. To-may-to, to-mah-to.

So maybe I am just a tad psychopathic.

Does that make me Wrong by default?