Oleg Maynard's Questionnaire

I live in Aurora, Colorado. It's a city that lets me stay close to my work at the University without being overwhelmed by the chaos of bigger cities like Denver. Aurora is quiet, and that suits me. I value having a place where I can focus on my research without distraction.

My home is small, functional. It’s a modest apartment, sparsely decorated. I don’t need much to be comfortable—just enough room for my books, notes, and the equipment I use for my DNA research. I have another space at the University, a set of quarters that serves as my second home. It’s more utilitarian than the apartment, but it’s where I spend most of my time when I'm not at lectures or meetings. It suits my needs and my ambition: efficiency over indulgence.

Aurora gives me the solitude I need, and my apartment reflects that—quiet, simple, but effective, like the city itself.

I make my money as a university lecturer twice a week and as a researcher at a drug company, a Bayer subsidiary. The work keeps me busy, but I’m recognized for my professionalism and dedication. My income is stable, and I live modestly, which is by choice.

A portion of what I earn goes to Doctors Without Borders—a cause I believe in. The rest covers my simple lifestyle. I indulge in very few luxuries: quality ice cream, a gym and boxing club membership - for fitness, stress management and self defense - and a few tailored suits that complement my sense of dignity and professionalism - whatever is left goes either to a modest savings account or becomes treats or dates for my mother and fiancée. These are my small rewards in a life otherwise dedicated to my research and the work that drives me.

My ambition is to ensure life survives the inevitable collapse of Earth's ecosystems. I believe we are standing on the edge of a disaster that will wipe out many species, including our own, and while we can point fingers at who or what is to blame, that's irrelevant to me. What matters is preparing for the collapse.

I believe DNA—the code of life—is humanity's greatest tool for survival, but the fact that it’s locked in individual species may be its downfall. I’m working on multi-species splicing, combining the genetic material of different organisms into a single body, creating a new form of life capable of enduring the extremes we will face. I know it’s theoretically possible, but just outside my reach. My research could offer one of the few chances for life to continue, and I’ll stop at nothing to achieve it.

Would I kill for it? Not without reason, but if the future of life itself is at stake, I would be willing to make those sacrifices. And as for my own life—I’m fully prepared to give it. I’d come as close to death as needed, even cross that line, to make sure this work is completed. If I succeed, my body might even be a prototype of the survival strategy I’m striving for. This is bigger than me, and I’m ready to pay any price.

The most defining event of my life was when my father attacked me and my mother with acid. I was just a child, and that moment changed everything. My disfigurement became a constant reminder of that day, but it also shaped who I am. My mother, despite everything, was loving and sacrificed so much to give me an education and a future. She showed me what real strength looks like.

Because of what happened, I had to work harder than others—twice as hard, really. People see the scars first, and that means I’ve always had to prove myself beyond the surface. It made me meticulous, driven, and relentless. My appearance may have been altered, but it made me the person I am today—dedicated, hardworking, and unwilling to settle for less than what I deserve.

Vera Maynard (Mother) – The person I’m closest to, without a doubt. My mother, Vera, is a force of nature. She raised me on her own after the attack, sacrificing so much to ensure I had the education and opportunities I needed to thrive. She’s a retired nurse, fiercely intelligent, and unyielding in her love and support. Growing up, she didn’t coddle me—she pushed me, made sure I understood that I was more than my disfigurement. She’s the reason I became the person I am today, and I owe her everything.

James Caldwell (Stepfather) – James came into my life during my teens, and while I was initially guarded, he earned my respect. He’s a history teacher with a deep love for classic literature and philosophy. He’s not the most expressive man, but he’s always been a calming presence, offering wisdom when I needed it most. He taught me how to keep perspective and how to stay grounded, even when things got difficult. His moral compass and calm strength have been invaluable to me.

Elena Vasquez (Fiancée) – Elena is the light in my life. She’s a lawyer and bioethicist—brilliant, passionate, and with a sense of humor that offsets my seriousness. We met through our shared interest in genetic research, and while our discussions often turn intense, she knows how to bring me back to earth when I get too caught up in my work. She understands my drive but also reminds me to live outside of it. Elena challenges me in the best ways, and she’s the person I can’t imagine moving forward without.

My childhood was both fortunate and challenging. On one hand, I was incredibly lucky—my mother is loving, and my stepfather has always been a good man and both made it their life's mission to take care of me. On the other hand, I spent an excessive amount of time in the hospital, undergoing surgeries and physical therapy to address the effects of the acid attack. The psychological scars run deep, though I’ve been fortunate to have a supportive family throughout.

School was more difficult. Fitting in didn’t come easily—making friends was a challenge, especially with the way other kids stared or taunted me. But I learned how to speak to people, how to handle the looks. I found solace in meditation and boxing, both of which helped me manage the stress and bullying. Considering everything, I suppose I’m surprisingly well-adjusted, all things considered. My family and those small personal victories made that possible.

Yes, I’m in love—very much so. Elena and I have built something solid over the years, and if everything goes according to plan, I fully intend to marry her once I finish med school. We’ve even discussed the idea of starting a family in the near future, though we both agree that it will have to wait until I’ve secured a more stable job after graduation. She’s been incredibly supportive through it all, even when it comes to the contracts. Of course, she worries—there’s no avoiding that when you’re dealing with this kind of danger—but she understands what’s at stake more than most people would. Her work in bioethics gives her a unique perspective, and that helps her process it. It’s not easy, but we’re on the same page, and having her by my side makes all the difference. We’re in this together, and that’s how I know it will work out.

My worst fears are numerous, though I try to address them systematically. First, acid remains a significant source of distress. Despite the progress made in my life, I still experience recurring nightmares involving the attack. These episodes are vivid, and the physical damage, though healed, seems to resurface mentally during moments of vulnerability.

I am also concerned about the safety of my mother and Elena. There is no current evidence suggesting they are in danger, but I find myself frequently monitoring their well-being. I remind myself that these checks are logical, given the circumstances, but the frequency might suggest a deeper preoccupation - that, of course, is exacerbated by the current state of events, with the contracts and extra-curricular activites. Both of them are supportive of my involvement with the supernatural and with alien forces, since there is just so much that can be achieve by mundane means, but they do get worried.

Finally, my overarching objective—becoming a living reservoir of biodiversity—presents a significant source of uncertainty. The path is long, and while I am making progress, there is always the concern that it may not be enough. Even if I succeed in creating this archive, I question whether it will be sufficient to preserve resilience in the face of environmental collapse. This thought persists, no matter how much I focus on immediate tasks.

My most prized possession is, without question, the science and chemistry set that currently furnishes my personal laboratory. It was not assembled all at once but rather accumulated over the years—each beaker, plate, and distillation apparatus acquired through either gifts or small purchases from Elena, my mother, my stepfather, and my mother-in-law. Every item represents a personal connection and a significant investment in my work, both financially and emotionally.

Despite being offered access to a superior university laboratory, outfitted with far more advanced equipment, I continue to prefer working on my personal projects at home. The atmosphere of my home lab cannot be replicated. It is a space where every piece of equipment carries the weight of belief—belief in my theories, in my goals—despite the overwhelming reasons others had to doubt them. For me, it’s not about having the best tools but about what those tools represent: the people who stood by me when others didn’t.

The biggest problem I’m facing is the gap between my ambition and my current abilities. Every contract I’ve completed has made it evident that while contractors are capable of impressive feats, we are still highly vulnerable. The scale of the challenges we face—whether supernatural anomalies or other forces—consistently reveals just how underprepared we are. It’s not just my own limitations; the others I’ve worked with, Eon, Gav, Shane—they have strengths, certainly, but none of us are operating anywhere near the level we need to be.

The frustration is specific. I know what needs to be done, and I understand the steps required, but the power I currently possess is simply inadequate to meet those demands. The distance between my current state and the scale of the task ahead is substantial. It’s a calculated frustration, not born from impatience, but from recognizing that without significant improvement, the goals I’ve set for myself will remain out of reach. More power, more resources, more time—I don’t have nearly enough of any of these, and until I do, I remain constrained by the limits of my current condition.

A typical morning starts at 5:30 a.m. sharp. I wake up, clear-headed, and spend the first few minutes cataloging any relevant details from the previous night’s dreams. Coffee comes next—black, as always. While the coffee brews, I review the day’s schedule. Everything must be laid out clearly, whether it’s research, studies, or a contract. I’ve found that having a structured start to the day prevents unnecessary deviation later.

Physical conditioning follows immediately. I prioritize boxing routines, strength exercises, and flexibility drills. It’s not just about staying in shape—it's about ensuring that my body can handle whatever comes next, whether in the lab or the field. By 6:30 a.m., I’m finished. I shower, shave, and dress with precision. The suit is always tailored, clean and intentional. The sharpness of clashes with my complexion, but generally leaves behind an impression that I don't dislike - one that asks people to treat me seriously.

Before leaving, I check my messages. I always send Elena a quick note, then review any remaining research or notes for the day. By 7:30 a.m., I’m ready to leave, knowing that everything has been accounted for. The day is planned, and I’m prepared.