Post by METTLE on Jan 16, 2022 3:06:17 GMT
Imperial State University - Queens Campus
Metahuman science pioneered all new major discoveries in the world. New material components for spacecraft were nearly always reverse-engineered from naturally occurring human mutations. Scientists with the power to shrink themselves explored the insides of atoms in tightly-controlled conditions, technology that would first see use in superheroics as a field test before being afforded to business interests, then the government, then eventually the general population.
Then there was cutting-edge immortality research. There were chemists who preferred to study the uncanny restorative anatomy of superhumans like Conquest or Atlas, hoping that in the power to heal, there was the power to stave off death. Others were interested in cryogenics, who would inevitably branch off to either fight crime with frigid powers or create weapons of mass icy destruction. Then, there were those who saw technology as the cure. Cloned bodies, or artificially constructed ones - or a mixture of both.
Such was today's demonstration.
The test subject was the one and only centenarian Dr. Randall Crane, better known by his former hero alias Mighty Mind.
A powerful psychic now suspended in cryosleep, Dr. Crane had been communicating with his research team for over two years to produce an artificial vessel into which he could - ostensibly - pour his very soul. At 112 years old, the only way for him to stave off death had been to voluntarily undergo an experimental cryonic suspension, one which already posed a danger to his health. It'd become the talk of the various media outlets which followed superhero affairs - the former celebrity adventurer had planned one last daring escape, and it was to transfer his spirit from his old, decayed body into a new vessel. He would cheat death itself.
It'd come down to the wire. Mighty Mind's body was predicted to expire in a matter of hours. A lifelong bachelor, he had no family to pray for his safe passage from one body to another - instead, he was surrounded by members of the adoring and curious public, some fans of his sixties-era exploits, others insatiably curious about the science behind the life-saving experiment, and others merely invested in what would happen.
Randall Crane's comatose form was wheeled onto an enormous stage, which was itself decorated in countless wires and gizmos. An enormous cable stretched from the back of Randall Crane's head to a translucent upright tube in the middle of the stage -
- and within that tube was an android body fashioned in his likeness, bearing the countenance of a being who would remain forever a twenty-something, adorned in a classic full-body adventure suit, a one-piece layer of red duraweave fabric most commonly used in superhero costumes - as befitting the intended recipient of the body's new soul.
The android, the flyers explained, was almost perfectly human, more grown than built, capable of all sensations and possessing the same strengths with fewer weaknesses. Thus this experiment was a milestone in both extending human longevity and in biomechanical engineering. The cost amounted to millions of dollars in research funds from private donors.
The air of the gathering was not unlike a bizarre religious ceremony, only brought back to reality by the badgering press and media, the flash of cameras accompanying the research team as they took the stage in their white gowns and oversized goggles. Some on late night television questioned this enterprise - conspiracy abounded. Would all of our souls be stolen, transferred into robot bodies, divorced from God? Others were skeptical on the grounds that such transhuman ventures would inevitably lead to more problems than comfort. We'd be making ourselves better bodies, but better for what exactly? Work?
None of this concerned Randall Crane. He was hours away from oblivion. Even in his frozen state, he was well aware of that, psychic presence flitting throughout the room. His thoughtform grimaced at the assemblage; vultures, the lot of them. And having more people in the room meant that there were higher chances the soul-transfer process could be horribly ruined.
His vital signs pulsed, displayed on an enormous screen behind the stage. He thought it almost comical. Here they were, ticking down the seconds until he stopped living forever - at least in this body. Mighty Mind was a man of adventure, but there was a grimness to these proceedings that seemed invisible to everyone but him.
Well, he was the guinea pig in all of this.
Perhaps he wasn't wrong to be afraid.
As the timer ticked down and the scientists prattled on - prancing about the stage like peacocks while waiting to throw the switch - there was something electric in the air. Something nobody could quite put their finger on - was it anticipation for what was about to happen? Excitement?
No. It was real electricity. And it crept in when no one was looking, where they all least expected it.
The head of staff threw the switch.
KZZZZZZZZZZZK.
Dr. Crane's vital signs continued to pulse. The readings were still coming from the tube, and he was forced to silently scream as his soul was transferred towards a vessel...that was already full.
It rebounded back into his body and went quiet.
Meanwhile, the android in the tube opened its eyes. The clear pillar was rapidly swarmed by reporters, fans, researchers - anyone and everyone -
"DR. CRANE? WAS THE TRANSFER A SUCCESS?"
"MIGHTY MIND, WILL YOU CONTINUE TO FIGHT CRIME NOW THAT YOUR YOUTH HAS BEEN RESTORED?"
"HOW DO YOU FEEL?"
That last one. Hmmm.
Sound on the ears. That felt good again.
The android blinked and smiled. Without thinking, he raised a thumb to his mouth and bit down experimentally. Pain shot through his hand. He didn't take it all the way off, just a nibble - blood seeped from the little mark he'd made.
Nervous murmurs shot up through the crowd. Keep rolling, one of the press men said, zooming in the camera.
The head scientist stepped forward.
"Dr. Crane...?"
"I feel great."
You would believe an android could cry. A single tear welled in one of its perfect blue eyes before trailing down his face. Back at last. A life for a life. Shame for Dr. Crane, but he'd lived a full one. Soon the cat would be out of the bag. Why wait?
Dr. Crane's vitals trembled.
"Randall...?"
The android put the bleeding hand on the glass, and sparks welled up within.
Suddenly, the molten shards were shot outwards over the heads of the crowd. Screams filled the air, a panic welling in the auditorium. The students surged backward.
The android's feet lifted off the ground, his entire body suspended in a deathly corona of electricity. The cameras flickered, footage broadcast across the world.
"It's Wally, actually. But you guys can call me Shockman."
Metahuman science pioneered all new major discoveries in the world. New material components for spacecraft were nearly always reverse-engineered from naturally occurring human mutations. Scientists with the power to shrink themselves explored the insides of atoms in tightly-controlled conditions, technology that would first see use in superheroics as a field test before being afforded to business interests, then the government, then eventually the general population.
Then there was cutting-edge immortality research. There were chemists who preferred to study the uncanny restorative anatomy of superhumans like Conquest or Atlas, hoping that in the power to heal, there was the power to stave off death. Others were interested in cryogenics, who would inevitably branch off to either fight crime with frigid powers or create weapons of mass icy destruction. Then, there were those who saw technology as the cure. Cloned bodies, or artificially constructed ones - or a mixture of both.
Such was today's demonstration.
The test subject was the one and only centenarian Dr. Randall Crane, better known by his former hero alias Mighty Mind.
A powerful psychic now suspended in cryosleep, Dr. Crane had been communicating with his research team for over two years to produce an artificial vessel into which he could - ostensibly - pour his very soul. At 112 years old, the only way for him to stave off death had been to voluntarily undergo an experimental cryonic suspension, one which already posed a danger to his health. It'd become the talk of the various media outlets which followed superhero affairs - the former celebrity adventurer had planned one last daring escape, and it was to transfer his spirit from his old, decayed body into a new vessel. He would cheat death itself.
It'd come down to the wire. Mighty Mind's body was predicted to expire in a matter of hours. A lifelong bachelor, he had no family to pray for his safe passage from one body to another - instead, he was surrounded by members of the adoring and curious public, some fans of his sixties-era exploits, others insatiably curious about the science behind the life-saving experiment, and others merely invested in what would happen.
Randall Crane's comatose form was wheeled onto an enormous stage, which was itself decorated in countless wires and gizmos. An enormous cable stretched from the back of Randall Crane's head to a translucent upright tube in the middle of the stage -
- and within that tube was an android body fashioned in his likeness, bearing the countenance of a being who would remain forever a twenty-something, adorned in a classic full-body adventure suit, a one-piece layer of red duraweave fabric most commonly used in superhero costumes - as befitting the intended recipient of the body's new soul.
The android, the flyers explained, was almost perfectly human, more grown than built, capable of all sensations and possessing the same strengths with fewer weaknesses. Thus this experiment was a milestone in both extending human longevity and in biomechanical engineering. The cost amounted to millions of dollars in research funds from private donors.
The air of the gathering was not unlike a bizarre religious ceremony, only brought back to reality by the badgering press and media, the flash of cameras accompanying the research team as they took the stage in their white gowns and oversized goggles. Some on late night television questioned this enterprise - conspiracy abounded. Would all of our souls be stolen, transferred into robot bodies, divorced from God? Others were skeptical on the grounds that such transhuman ventures would inevitably lead to more problems than comfort. We'd be making ourselves better bodies, but better for what exactly? Work?
None of this concerned Randall Crane. He was hours away from oblivion. Even in his frozen state, he was well aware of that, psychic presence flitting throughout the room. His thoughtform grimaced at the assemblage; vultures, the lot of them. And having more people in the room meant that there were higher chances the soul-transfer process could be horribly ruined.
His vital signs pulsed, displayed on an enormous screen behind the stage. He thought it almost comical. Here they were, ticking down the seconds until he stopped living forever - at least in this body. Mighty Mind was a man of adventure, but there was a grimness to these proceedings that seemed invisible to everyone but him.
Well, he was the guinea pig in all of this.
Perhaps he wasn't wrong to be afraid.
As the timer ticked down and the scientists prattled on - prancing about the stage like peacocks while waiting to throw the switch - there was something electric in the air. Something nobody could quite put their finger on - was it anticipation for what was about to happen? Excitement?
No. It was real electricity. And it crept in when no one was looking, where they all least expected it.
The head of staff threw the switch.
KZZZZZZZZZZZK.
Dr. Crane's vital signs continued to pulse. The readings were still coming from the tube, and he was forced to silently scream as his soul was transferred towards a vessel...that was already full.
It rebounded back into his body and went quiet.
Meanwhile, the android in the tube opened its eyes. The clear pillar was rapidly swarmed by reporters, fans, researchers - anyone and everyone -
"DR. CRANE? WAS THE TRANSFER A SUCCESS?"
"MIGHTY MIND, WILL YOU CONTINUE TO FIGHT CRIME NOW THAT YOUR YOUTH HAS BEEN RESTORED?"
"HOW DO YOU FEEL?"
That last one. Hmmm.
Sound on the ears. That felt good again.
The android blinked and smiled. Without thinking, he raised a thumb to his mouth and bit down experimentally. Pain shot through his hand. He didn't take it all the way off, just a nibble - blood seeped from the little mark he'd made.
Nervous murmurs shot up through the crowd. Keep rolling, one of the press men said, zooming in the camera.
The head scientist stepped forward.
"Dr. Crane...?"
"I feel great."
You would believe an android could cry. A single tear welled in one of its perfect blue eyes before trailing down his face. Back at last. A life for a life. Shame for Dr. Crane, but he'd lived a full one. Soon the cat would be out of the bag. Why wait?
Dr. Crane's vitals trembled.
"Randall...?"
The android put the bleeding hand on the glass, and sparks welled up within.
Suddenly, the molten shards were shot outwards over the heads of the crowd. Screams filled the air, a panic welling in the auditorium. The students surged backward.
The android's feet lifted off the ground, his entire body suspended in a deathly corona of electricity. The cameras flickered, footage broadcast across the world.
"It's Wally, actually. But you guys can call me Shockman."