Prometheus — The Engineer's Oath

My Native City

(personal page of Andrii Nikolaiev)

Dniprodzerzhynsk is a city of metallurgical heat and stone-hard will. Here, atop a tall column, Prometheus stands with a torch—no mere statue but an order: carry the fire and answer for the flame. I accepted that order in childhood and have never let it go.

He towered over the city while I grew up. Not as decoration but as an oath: 🔥 carry the fire—and carry the responsibility for it.

The Blood of Front-Line Topographers and Test Pilots

My grandfather drew maps for the Belarusian Front; my father chased the last vibrations out of a Ka-22 rotorcraft. They had no one to rely on—there was a regiment behind them, a crew beneath the rotor. I grew up on their stories and learned: an engineer is not a quiet nerd but a commander whose weapon is knowledge and whose armor is honor.

This symbol officially sealed what had long been in our hearts: Prometheus is no myth. He is ours—an engineer, a fighter, a visionary.

The Plant: First Shot

As a young foreman I was thrown in to “plug a hole” in a toxic shop. Instead of gathering signatures on safety memos, I stopped the press line, rallied the workers, and forced new dies to be bought. A one-hour strike in the CPSU era was a straight duel—but after it, no one lost fingers under the ram again.

Drunkenness? I called security, marched the drunks outside the gates, knowing full well their memories are long. Fifteen years later I met them on the street—they’re still offended. Yet there are no corpses on my shift.

Army: Sky or Death

Lieutenant of the Technical Aviation Service. An aircraft without afterburner? No take-off. The commander yells, the schedule burns, and I lock the technical log in the safe. I’m suspended; a “convenient” Party candidate replaces me. The MiG-21PFM barely scrapes over the treetops.

“If it had blown up, you’d have been blamed,” they told me later.
“I was already blamed. I saved lives.”

Software Suite and Money “Out of Nowhere”

Together with a comrade I built software for micro-electronics topology. We placed it in an industry fund and forgot about it. Then engineers came—unprompted—and laid a bundle of cash on the table:

“Thanks, guys. Your code does the job.”

That meant more to me than any quality mark. It was recognition from those who truly understand the cost of real engineering.

Night, Coffee, and a Photo Mask

December 1990. The institute director declared: “Launching micro-electronics before New Year is impossible.”

I had spent weeks poring over the technical docs. Then—silence, crackers, coffee, and one night. I wrote a control program without a single bug.

Morning: magnetic tape. By lunch: a photo plate. Two days before the chimes, I walk into the director’s office like d’Artagnan with the queen’s diamonds—and lay the result on his desk.

SBOR: A Lone Man Against the Void

The SBOR project was dead. Hardware scrapped, people gone. I stepped forward. Alone. Without looking back.

For years I had gone to work each day with the silent mantra: “I will manage.”

I brought that same friend along. We didn’t just work—we stood back to back, like on deck, like in battle. The project took off, and those who failed the first attempt later tried to stand beside us. Let them. History isn’t written by storytellers. It’s written by results—and results don’t ask permission.

Prometheus at Home

Prometheus is the symbol of every resident of my childhood city. He shines invisibly in our hearts, reminding us that strength lies in light, not in fear.

I was still a boy when I made my first sculpture—a figure of Prometheus from improvised materials, with a child’s resolve and an adult’s faith.

It wasn’t just a gesture—it was a personal vow: never to betray the fire my city gave me. Since then I have only gripped that torch tighter.

Every morning Prometheus told me:

• 🔥 Fire is the temperature of risk.
• 🔥 An engineer is a cowboy who is first into the burning saloon and leads people out.
• 🔥 If your code, your press, your aircraft can kill—you must say “no” even when the whole headquarters is screaming.

Prometheus and Freedom

If Prometheus carried the fire not alone but together with Freedom, nothing would be impossible. They form a union, bearing the torch of knowledge and liberty—and that changes the world.

This sculpture holds the essence of my path: he gives—she guarantees; he acts—she defends. If I had once had the support I deserved—the impossible would have become possible.

Yet even alone I carry this fire forward.

My Manifesto

I’m no saint and no monk. I am an engineer-macho.

I take responsibility, shoot with precise solutions, and answer for every shot. Prometheus gave mankind fire—I give systems reliability, and people—a chance to live.

And as long as the torch burns in my hand—
no aircraft will fall,
no press will crush fingers,
no project will be scrapped without a fight.

That is my way. From here—only forward.