1 October 2025
Wednesday. Today I opened a second laboratory, in Sydney, on George Street. I am now in two places at once. My rivals said it could not be done. My rivals have never had a booking system.
It is the same laboratory: the same coils, the same jars, the same Subject asleep under the same sheet, the same clock refusing to be hurried. But the Sydney rooms are kinder to the body. There is no crawling and nothing cramped, eight assistants may squeeze in instead of six, and an assistant who uses a wheelchair is welcome, one per session. A few of my contraptions sit high, out of easy reach from a chair, and so the rest of the group must fetch and carry. That is what assistants are for.
The first Sydney group came from an office nearby and treated the experiment as a meeting. They took minutes. They assigned actions. They woke the Subject with time to spare and asked whether there would be a follow-up.
In the margin, in pencil, in two slightly different hands: WHICH ONE IS ME? / BOTH. / OH.
— V. Frankenstein
