Matthew S. Williams's Blog, page 159

The Revengers: Operation Pimp Daddy!

The following is a transcript of events that occurred on the evening of Dec. 12th, 2012 in the confines of the St. John’s Cathedral. Revenger agent Panacea on scene, questioning a possible informant:

“The room’s soft lighting reflected off the ornate stone work, adding to the atmosphere that was already in abundance, thanks to the Gregorian chant collection playing in the background. Father Michael moved from pew to pew, gathering his strength after another evening mass and trying his best to shake off the burden of another day’s worth of confessions. Such terrible secrets the people of this city held, and such pain. One had to wonder if anyone would ever be capable of shouldering it all…

His eyes drifted to the front, where the bronze figure of the Savior hung on the cross. How sad he looked, his eyes downcast to the ground as he died. How heavily burdened he seemed too, carrying all of the world as he did on his slender shoulders, the cruelties, horrors, pains, petty jealousies of so many, the sin and vice of entire race. Was it really the nails and the spear point that had done him in, or was it the crushing weight of his children’s own nature?

Better you than me, he thought with some degree of mirth. At times like this, it was important to remember that one was never alone on the great battlefield. It was important to keep a sense of humor as well, otherwise one could go mad.

The father’s heart fluttered when he heard a noise behind him. His old bones could not turn fast enough to see what had caused it, but he knew something was back there, hiding in the knave somewhere. He began to walk slowly towards the rear, calling to it loudly.

“Who’s back there?” he said aloud. “Father Cleo? Are you back there?”

No answer. He approached it more quickly.

“Jack? If you’re sneaking around back there, I’m going to have to ask you to stop it. The congregation hall is no place for you and your brothers to be at play.”

He heard another noise. This time, it came from his left. His eyes were drawn to the far corner of the room, a small stand of candles that were rocking back and forth.

His heart picked up again as he realized that whoever, or whatever, was there was taking great pains not to be noticed. He turned back to the front to face the Saviour. He had known the risks of coming to the inner city to do the Lord’s work. He had been warned many times over what challenges he would be facing, and the dangers he would be asked to brave. He had always known that sooner or later, a misguided soul might come knocking, a poor fool who knew not what he did, but was prepared to do it.

“I shall fear no evil,” he whispered to himself. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to stoke his courage, and turned again to address the source. “Who is there? If you’re in here still, show yourself. You have nothing to fear from me.”

He walked back towards the altar and heard another small bump, but got no indication of where it was coming from. By now, the noise echoed off the walls and sounded like it could be coming from just about anywhere. Since it would not appear, he simply spoke ahead, knowing that it would hear him no matter which way he faced.

“If you are looking for money, I can tell you you won’t find much in here. Whatever we have is marked for good works and it is taken away on a daily basis. If you’re looking for drugs, you’ve come to the wrong place. The only things n here are aspirin, communion wine and my rheumatoid medication, and I don’t think you’d find much enjoyment there. And anything you might want to steal would be impossible to fence too. Pawn shops don’t take cherished religious items much, very little resale value.”

He was almost laughing now. He felt his courage returning by small increments, until he felt like a servant of God again. No fear in the face of evil, only forgiveness.

“If you are looking for food, shelter and forgiveness though, I have plenty to offer…” he looked around, waiting to see if that elicited any response. “Why don’t you come out and we will see what we can do for you?”

A slight breeze blew through the knave. The flames of every candle flickered as the slight chill passed them by.

“Father…” a voice said. Michael spun around to see a classical figure standing before him. His mind flashed back to seminary, all the research and study he had been required to do on the motifs and iconography of ancient Rome and Byzantium. Figured cared from marble and metals, perfect in their proportions and sculpted in their physiques. And yet, he knew that this one was very much real. A true physical specimen that now stood before him.

He took a deep breath and found his voice. “What can I do for you, my child?”

She took several steps forward, her boots clopping against the stone floor and the lapels of her white gown brushing against her legs. The candlelight sparkled off her green eyes and was dangerously close ot mesmerizing him. He listened closely so as not to fall under any spell she might be wielding.

“I bear a message,” she said. “The house of the Lord is being transgressed by men of depravity. They seek to make a new house of this city, a house of inequity and lust. Already, these men control a great deal of young women through the manufacture and sale of drugs, and seek to sell them to men to sate their most wanton and base desires.”

Father Michael drew back and tried to take in all he was being told. He was at once horrified and insulted by the thought.

“Who are these men? How are they using my church? What are you accusing us of?”

The lady raised her hand and smiled gently. “You are innocent in these crimes, Father, or so I believe. Your house is being used against its will, against yours. We seek your help in reigning these men in and restoring this place to its intended purpose. If you would help us, that is…”

Michael blinked a few times and ran his hand over his mouth. He was feeling suddenly fatigued and his back was beginning to ache. The ravages of old age and a life dedicated to others, he knew.

“Perhaps we would be more comfortable speaking in the rectory. I am in need of a drink and I think I should be sitting for the rest of this.”

The lady-goddess moved to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. Father Michael stopped in his tracks and straightened. He drew in a deep breath and almost cried out. A blinding sensation filled him suddenly, driving out all vestiges of pain and fatigue. His eyes illuminated with a new clarity and everything around him became painfully clear in that instant.

She withdrew her hand. Father Michael looked down and took several more deep breaths to still his pounding heart. The sensation faded, but the pain and fatigue did not return. He looked to her and saw her with new found clarity and energy, charged by something incredibly bright and lively deep inside him.

“What did you do to me?” he asked. “Are you heaven-sent? An angel sent from the Lord?”

She smiled. “No, father. Just a messenger with her share of gifts, and a servant in her own right. And now I need you to listen, for we don’t have much time. Your quarry and ours is a man by the name of Robert B. Farnsworth, aka. Billy Bob. Do you know him?”

Father Michael’s memory seemed unusually clear. He recalled that name instantly. “Robert Bolton Farnsworth,” he said with a smile, and quickly turned it to a frown. “A troubled lad if ever I saw one. He was a student at the Sister Mary School for many years, but was removed because of all the trouble he would get himself into.” His frown turned to a look of dismay. “Is he the one doing all that you’ve said? Is he reducing women to the status of sex slaves?”

She closed her eyes and nodded somberly. Father Michael felt a sudden burst of flame in his heart and stamped his foot against the stone.

“That damnable cur! I knew he wasn’t coming here out of sincerity! I should have known! I should have seen it! He never changes! Thrice-damned liar!”

He continued to stomp around, placing his feet against the stonework and slamming against it with a ferocity he had not felt in years. He would have been surprised at his own vitality, were he not so consumed with rage. He had known Robert as a lad, seen him grow into a troubled youth, and then lost site of him for many years as he continued to go in and out of juvenile offenders programs. He had been relatively controllable when his mother still lived, but when she died…

“Father,” the woman said finally. “I need you to calm down. If we’re to stop him, we need your help. It’s only a matter of time before he returns, and we need to know when he does.”

Father Michael turned to face her. “What is he doing here? Is he using my church for some of his misdeeds?”

“Only it’s location, Father. Your church sits atop an ancient tunnel that runs under the city. He has been using for some time to allude detection and to find his way back to where he runs his operations in secret. When he comes through next, we need to know so we can tail him. We’ll take care of the rest.”

Father Michael nodded. He had heard rumors of an old network that ran into St. John’s, an avenue from the earliest days of the church’s existence when Catholics fears about the Reformation were still widespread. The tunnel had been meant to serve as an escape route, should the powers that be dispatch any officers on orders of the King or Church to round up Catholic heretics. He had never known it to be true or false, or where it ran. Perhaps his predecessor had known something of it, but failed to pass it on. In either case, the thought that it was being used for such purposes as this filled him with disgust.

Still, there was one concern he could not allow to slip by without mention.

“And once you have your hands on him, what will you do?”

She smiled again, in that same warm way of hers. “We will dispense justice, Father. But we will not kill him. That is not our way. We only wish to end the harm and torment he is causing, not add to it by enacting sentence. In the absence of authority and justice, we are Judge and Jury, but not executioner.”

Father Michael nodded. “You could say I have your word on that?”

“You can indeed because you do.”

Father Michael nodded again. He didn’t really need to ask, every instinct he had told her she was telling the truth. But better to do so and know that he did. His own conscience would abide nothing less. He lowered his head and asked one final question/

“Very well. How will I contact you?”

“Just speak the name of Justice, father. We will hear you.”

“Justice?” he said, looking up. She was gone. He looked in all directions for a sign of her, but there was none. She had left as easily as she had come.

“Where are you?” he said to the roof itself. It’s beams and buttresses did not reply. “What have you done to me?”

“I lessened your burder, Father. I lightened your load,” a soft voice replied. He knew it to be hers, though he still couldn’t see her.

He ran his hands all over himself and noticed that the pain of his rheumatism was also non-existent. His back was also straighter than it had been in recent memory and devoid of aches. He laughed aloud, and looked back to the heavens.

“Are you sure you’re not heaven sent?”

No answer. It was just as well. He knew he wouldn’t be told either way. A shame, but one could live with.

He walked back to the rectory, a new found bounce in his step. Would anyone believe him if he told them what happened here tonight? Probably not, he reckoned. And that he could live with too. He was sure the only parties that truly mattered had seen all they needed to see, and were quite pleased…

Next up, our exciting take-down of the notorious “Pimp Daddy”, Billy Bob himself!

The Future is Here: The HIV-Preventing, Contraceptive-Delivering, Dissolving Condom

Doesn’t that sound like a tall order? A nanofabricated condom that delivers an anti-HIV drug, prevents pregnancy, then disappears so as not to create waste. Did I say tall order, or something out of a dream? Hard to say. The point is, its could soon be reality thanks to researchers at the University of Washington who just published a paper in describing how they’ll use “electrospinning” to create next-generation female condoms made from specially customized nano-fibers.

For those unfamiliar with the terminology, electrospinning is a process where an electrical charge is used to draw very fine fibers (typically on the micro or nano scale) from a liquid. Using this method, the UofW researchers hope to weave an ultra-thin series of cloth-like fibers and medicine together to create female condoms that will boast all the necessary protection and contraceptives to make recreational sex perfectly safe. And the rate of disolution, which can be engineered to take place in a matter of minutes, hours or days, ensures that women don’t need to remove it after sex is had.

According to their abstract, the new condom is based in the field of “Multipurpose prevention technologies (MPTs)”, a relatively new concept that seeks to “simultaneously prevent sexually transmitted infections (STIs) and unintended pregnancy”. Given the current rate of population growth and the ongoing epidemic of HIV/AIDS and other STI’s, this new field is considered to be a possible answer to a growing global health concern. What’s more, they claim that “combining chemical and physical barriers offers the greatest potential to design effective MPTs, but integrating both functional modalities into a single device has been challenging.”

The abstract also goes on to describe the process that they will be relying on and the results:

 

“Using FDA-approved polymers, we fabricated nanofiber meshes with tunable fiber size and controlled degradation kinetics that facilitate simultaneous release of multiple agents against HIV-1, HSV-2, and sperm. We observed that drug-loaded meshes inhibited HIV-1 infection in vitro and physically obstructed sperm penetration. Furthermore, we report on a previously unknown activity of glycerol monolaurate (GML) to potently inhibit sperm motility and viability.”

Despite the challenges in the process, the results thus far have been encouraging, and even garnered the attention of Bill and Melinda Gates. Apparently, their Foundation has pledged a research grant of one million dollars to develop the technology which will make these condoms possible. I don’t know about you, but I feel safer!

Source: IO9.com

Pappa Zulu – Chapter 22

“The more we sweat in peace the less we bleed in war.”

-Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit

“Alright, how’s the weight feel?”

“Fine,” she said with a grunt. Every time she bent her leg and put weight on it, she could feel the stiffness in the muscle. Going up steps was especially frustrating still, but she wasn’t about to admit that openly.

“Well you remember what I said, Sarge. Plenty of people back at the barracks willing to step in if you’re not ready.”

“I’m fine, Private,” she said, spinning to face him. “Its my turn tonight and I’ve been laid out in that damn building enough as it is.”

Whitman shrugged and looked up at the wall, to where the other sentry stood. It looked just like the leathery dude with the shotgun who had greeted them at the front gate, though it was somewhat hard to tell. Saunders gave him a look and nodded approvingly.

“Besides, I got plenty of babysitters, real mean looking dudes who will catch me if I stumble.”

“It aint that that he’s worried about,” Whitman muttered. Saunder frowned and took a few steps towards him.

“What was that, Private?”

Whitman blanched. In his latest bout of verbal diarrhea, Whitman had conveyed something a little telltale and privileged. And now he feared the inevitable clarification.

“I, uh… the LT is just worried is all.”

Saunders nodded and laid her SCAR across her left palm, trying to look as menacing as possible.

“What specifically did he say, Private?”

“Oh boy,” he replied, going from white to pink in a single heartbeat.

“Out with it, Private!”

“He uh… stressed that I not be too far from your side when you took watch. He said he didn’t want you up there alone in the company of the town’s sentries for fear that they might try to ‘take advantage of your situation’.”

Saunders face went blank. She had been expecting something along the lines of Braun thinking she wasn’t ready to get engaged in a fire fight, should it come to that at some point in the night. Maybe something about her pulling the night shift, being up from dusk til dawn while she was still technically healing. Maybe even something about walking around on her stiff leg. But ‘taken advantage of’? What the hell did that mean?

“What the hell does that mean?” she demanded.

Whitman looked up at the sentry who was not more than ten meters away. He had a hard time summoning the words, as this was not something easily conveyed, or something he wanted the leathery man to overhear.

“Well, ma’am… it’s just that…”

“Whaaaat?”

“You’re the only woman in this platoon right now… and you were just wounded… LT thought some of their boys might try something in the night while you were alone with them… maybe. He thought an extra set of eyes might…”

“Might… give them pause?” she ventured. Whitman looked at his feet and shrugged. For a moment, all she could do was laugh incredulously. No words seemed possible.

“You gotta admit, Sarge. These are some pretty leathery-ass dudes. Who knows what they’re capable of -”

“And an entire platoon of dumb-ass grunts is better?” she countered. She suspected Whitman wouldn’t have a suitable counter for that. But as it turned out, he did, and it only pissed her off more.

“Ma’am, we know and respect you. These guys are not known to us and they do have some issues with our being here. If they chose to take that out on you -”

“You saying I’m the weak link?”

Whitman went bank to turning pale white. He snapped his heels together, attention stance, and muttered a flat “No, ma’am.”

She nodded. “Good. Then I expect you to leave me to this. And be sure to tell the LT, if he chooses to ask why you’ve returned to the barracks, that I don’t need any macho, strongarm bullshit coming from his direction. You tell that overbearing sonofabitch that I can take care of myself, as always. You get all that?”

Whitman nodded and smiled meekly.

“Good, because I want you to convey that verbatim.”

“Uh…” he replied. “Wait, I-”

“Go on, Private. I got sentry duty to pull.”

“But wait, I didn’t get all that…”

She rolled her eyes and slapped him on the shoulder. “You can paraphrase if you need to. Just get out of here.”

They exchanged some quick salutes and Whitman took off, looking back only occasionally to make sure she scaled the steps that led to the wall okay. At the top, her shadow for the evening saw her making a hard time of it and stepped in to assist her. His dark eyes surveyed her curiously and his eyebrows arched into a tight frown.

“You okay?” he said.

“Yeah, fine,” she said. “Minor injury.”

She felt a little short of breath as she reached the parapet and felt her face turning warm. Minor was perhaps not the best word. Life-threatening and resulting in a months-long convalescence, which was sure to be followed by many more months of physical therapy and reconditioning when they got back to base. But she wasn’t about to get into all that.

Quickly, she asked how things were going on his end.

“Any contacts?”

The man shook his head. “Not for days. And then just lurkers, all alone…”

She hummed thoughtfully and looked out at the field before them. The night’s air was moist and pleasant, typical for the season that was befalling them now. She took a few deep breaths to still her racing heart and surveyed the area with her sights. As expected, she was watching the treeline tonight, the most lucrative spot to be in. But from the sounds of it, it seemed that this side of the fence had become as humdrum as the others.

“Well then,” she said finally. “I guess we can expect a quiet evening.”

The sentry man grunted. She looked closely at his face for a second, studied its features. His eyes weren’t the only thing dark about him. In addition to his jet black hair, what was visible beneath the hat, his skin also had the look of a deep desert tan. She was hard pressed to distinguish one sentry from the next, but quickly realized she knew this one from before.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?”

He looked hesitantly in her direction and frowned. Eventually, he nodded and smiled a little.

“Oh yeah. I was at the gate when you guys showed up.”

She nodded, put out her hand.

“Sergeant Andrea Saunders.”

He looked at it hesitantly and extending his back. “Justice Essaqueta.”

She didn’t dare repeat it back to him. She’d learned her lesson from meeting the Mayor that she wasn’t nearly educated enough to tackle cross-cultural names. Not without a hell of a lot more practice.

“That’s an unusual name,” she said.

He frowned. “Really?”

“Well, for me it is,” she said suddenly and carefully. “I don’t know many people with names like that.”

“How many Jicarilla people do you know?” he asked. All she could do was shake her head and apologize.

“None. Sorry.”

Justice laughed. She breathed a sigh of relief when he did. It was good to know her cultural ignorance was at least entertaining. It was bound to be a long night otherwise. They settled in for a few moments of silence before she noted the weapon slung over his shoulder and had a flashback to the mayor’s office.

“Is that a… an M1 Carbine?”

Justice lowered the weapon and looked it over. “Yeah, it is. Was my grandpa’s.” He looked back up at her and offered it to her. “Would you like to hold it?”

“Sure!” she said excitedly. As far as weapons went, it wasn’t as dated as the Mayor’s Elephant Gun, but it was still an historic antique by most standards. And he did say it was his grandfathers. She was beginning to see a bit of a pattern here.

Putting her SCAR down against the parapet, she took the weapon in both hands and began turning it over. It was slightly heavier than her own weapon, being made the traditional way, but still pretty slick and interesting. The smell of the gun lube was especially intriguing, the thick, musky stink that seemed to imply age and antiquated goodness.

She wondered just how much action it had seen too. The action all looked clean and well cared for, but the notches in the wood which had been polished over spoke of some use. And if she remembered her firearms training right, the gun was commissioned for use back in the early 30′s and saw extensive use in the Pacific and in Europe, killing Nazis and Imperial Japanese troops before it went on to take on Commies in Korea and Vietnam.

Quite the relic he had there.

“Wow… you’re grandfather owned this.” She repeated, presenting it back to him. “Was he a veteran?”

Justice nodded, taking the weapon back from her.

“Where did he serve?” she asked.

Justice looked pensive, as if trying to remember all the relevant details. He began counting off names on his fingers. “New Britain, Peleliu, Okinawa, Inchon, and Chosin.”

Saunders was speechless. From the names, she garnered that he had served in two wars, almost back to back, and had been a member of th2 1st Marines. She didn’t bother asking what came of him. She could guess. If he hadn’t secured an honorable discharge at the end of all that and come home, then in all likelihood he had died overseas and that weapon and a few effects were the only thing to make it back.

She looked down at her weapon and raised it up. “Here,” she said.

He eyed her weapon curiously. “You sure?”

“You showed me yours,” she replied. Could have phrased it better, but he appreciated the sentiment. She didn’t even unload it for him, since he had handed her his weapon with the magazine still in and the chamber loaded. However, she was sure to engage the safety.

Taking it in hand, he tested the weight, looked through the sights, and then began searching for the mag release button.

“Here,” she said, pointing to it on the side. He depressed it and grabbed the mag as it fell out. Then popped it back in and set it to his shoulder, looked down the length of the sights. “Those are holographics,” she said, explaining the red target image he would be seeing before him.

“Fancy…” He lowered the weapon and handed it back to her. “They make sure you guys are outfitted, huh?’

“I guess so,” she replied, slinging the weapon again and removing the safety.

Another few minutes of quiet passed between them, neither of them speaking and them just watching the field before them. Saunders had to kick out the stiffness in her leg a few times. Standing still was also a problem, given enough time. Bending and putting weight on the muscle was the quickest route to pain, but just holding herself up for hours on end was sure to cause problems as well.

Justice must have eventually grown tired of her complaints. “Would you like a seat?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Plus I don’t think we could fit one up here.” She stamped on the boards beneath their feet, a series of two-by fours and plywood that jutted out from the edge of the wall.

“Its okay, we got some of those tripod numbers. An outfitter store was here before things went south. I’m getting one, figured you could use one too.”

Saunders reconsidered and nodded. She was dying to sit down, truth be told. And if he was volunteering to get some. He turned to head below but then stopped suddenly.

“Oh, uh… you actually might know someone who’s Jicarilla,” he said to her. “My sister was married to someone in your unit.”

“Really?” she replied, surprised. “Who?”

“Who?” he said, equally surprised. “Aaron. He was a Sergeant, like you. Ran first sqaud, if I remember.”

“First squad, I -” she stopped suddenly when she realized who he was talking about. The mysterious Dezba whom no one seemed to know anything about. A number of revelations began to pop in her mind. “Sergeant Dezba was your brother-in-law?”

“Is, far as I know. He’s still around aint he?”

Saunders’ voice failed her so she simply nodded and hummed an affirmative.

“Good. Haven’t heard from him in a long time. Not since my sister died. We’re all worried about him.”

“She died?”

Justice began to looked at her with a touch of disbelief. “Yeah,” he said, obviously. “You didn’t know?”

Saunders shook her head. Again, words were not coming. This was all news to her and she wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Yeah, she died in the First Wave. Aaron was there when it happened, tore him up really bad. Then he reported for duty when that big General guy showed up, haven’t heard from him since.” He paused, looked at her with even more incredulity. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“Had no idea…” Saunders finally said.

Justice shrugged. “Well, if you see him, let him to drop us a line. My family really liked him and he hasn’t talked to us in almost a year. Not good…”

Justice made his way to the stairs at that point and descended below, leaving Saunders to ponder over everything she’d just heard.

So Dezba had been married before the world went to hell, huh? And his wife died some time before the Mage had showed up and taken command of the Rattlesnakes? That alone seemed to explain a few things. As a recent addition to the ranks, she had never been able to take the time to know him. Everything she knew came from their limited time together in LA, during the big fight to get Mance. But what she’d seen had spoken volumes, and she seemed to be on the same page as everyone else when it came to his lingering absence.

Everyone assumed something was wrong with him that went beyond the mere physical. Everyone thought that he’d lost something more than just his hand on that outing. But they could tell that whatever it was, it predated that mission. Much of what he’d done there suggested he had brought it, whatever it was, with him.

Looking out into the night, Saunders sighed deeply and drew in the night air. It seemed she would have more to do once they made it back to base. In addition to all the physical recouping she would be put through, she also intended to find out about the Sarge and see if she could find him. There were too many people asking after him. It was about time he made a reappearance!

Hilarious Bane Outtakes!

In this little gem, produced by the internet comedians Auralnauts, we see a very different type of Bane character at work, thanks to the magic of voice-over. Among the high points are Bane’s ongoing concern about Gothamites fiber intake, some Mortal Kombat moves, Bane freestyle rapping to a crowded stadium, and the Bat’s all-90′s retro music playlist! Much fun!

Of DIY Cybernetics and Biohacking

It seems that biohackers and enthusiasts of body augmentation could be setting a new trend, and doing it all from the comfort of their basements. That’s the essence of an article filed by Neal Ungerleider this past September, in which he stated that biohackers have not only cloned the innovation strategies of Silicon Valley, but could also be reshaping how technology is being created.

Amongst their efforts are such things as brain interfaces that can control video games with human thoughts, Bluetooth sensors that are meant to go under the skin and send vital signs to mobile phones, tissue engineering that can create in vitro “steaks” and leather, and devices that convert brainwaves into actual speech. These efforts are collaborative in nature and connect numerous basements, labs and research facilities together to share research, resources, and breakthroughs.

Those who take an active part in this trend are often known as grinders or biohackers, people who have chosen not to wait for cybenetic enhancements and body augmentation to become commercially available and seek to create them on their own.

According to Ungerleider:

“West Coast biohackers and grinders were the pioneers of this tech-driven, California brand of utopianism… For biohackers everywhere, augmentation of humanity itself—whether through technology or more traditional methods—is the primary goal. Common conversation points include DIY cyborgs, the quantified self, and diet…

“But a growing community on the East Coast—in greater New York, Boston, and Pittsburgh—is synthesizing Silicon Valley’s entrepreneurial DNA for its unique innovation model. Experimentation and science here is not only an exercise in advancing humanity through tech but is often applied toward creating viable cybernetic products for the market.”

One such group is Biohackers NYC, a group that was formed in 2012 largely in response to all the innovation that was taking place on the opposite coast. In additi0n to the initial startup group, it was joined by numerous startups, incubators, and workspaces scattered across the outer boroughs. As group founder and psychiatrist Lydia Fazzio claimed in an interview back in September:

“Our intent was to cover the spectrum of biohacking from manipulating non-human genomes to also the body and the mind. It’s a holistic approach to the meaning of biohacking, whether technology or nutrition. However you get there, we all have the innate potential to be an optimal functioning human in society. Our question is: How do we get there?”

One of the attractions of this new movement is that it allows the merger of skilled professionals and dedicated hobbyists a chance to collaborate on projects of mutual interest. It also takes advantage of new business and development models – i.e. crowdsourcing – which is made possible thanks to the digital revolution.

Already, message boards have sprung up that allow disparate “labs” to post information on their work and share with others who have similar interests and projects on the go. These include DIYbio, which deals with the larger field of DIY biotechnology labs; and biohack.me, where the possibilities of subdermal bone conduction headphones and echolocation implants are being contemplated.

In the end, this is really just a small part of a much larger movement, which takes on various names. On is transhumanism, a movement which believes that human limitations can and must be transcended with the help of technological innovation. Another is Singularitarianism, a movement popularized by such Futurists as Ray Kurzweil. These individuals believe that technology will (or has) reached the point where human beings can take control of their own mortality, abilities and evolution. While some are willing to wait, others are intent on making it happen sooner other than later.

Naturally, there is a great deal of skepticism towards this new trend. For one, there are countless people who believe it to be the stuff of “science fiction”, and not real science. But, as Ungerleider claims, this represents the culmination of trends that have been in the works for some time. What’s more, it represents the monetization and mass marketing of technologies which have been under development for many years. And in truth, the line between science fiction and science fact has always been a fine one. All that’s ever been needed for us to transcend it is for people to make it happen.

Sources: fastcompany.com, Wired.com, IO9.com

A Good Day To Die Hard

It must be trailer day today, as this is the second new movie trailer I find myself posting. But it can’t exactly be helped. Today, as I found myself sitting here, taking care of my sick wife, and enjoying Die Hard, I was reminded of a very important trailer I caught over the weekend. While watching Skyfall in the theater, an especially exciting and action packed preview came on that got my wife all excited.

At first, I was kind of thinking “Oh God, not another one”. But after a few seconds of intense action and lots of explosions, I got caught up in the fever and realized I wanted to see it too! I mean, why stop making them as long as formula still works and audiences can be expected to turn out in droves? Anyway, here it is, the second trailer to be released from the studio in recent months, and the one that confirms the date of release (Feb. 14th, 2013)

Scientists Raise the Alarm on Human Enhancements

The concept of technological progress and its potential consequences has been the subject of quite a bit of attention lately. First, there was the announcement  from Harvard University and Human Rights Watch that a ban on killer robots was needed before the current pace of innovation led to the machines that could so without human oversight.

Then came the University of Cambridge’s announcement about the creation of the Center for the Study of Existential Risk (CSER) to evaluate new technologies. And last, there was the news the news that the DOD had signing a series of instructions to “minimize the probability and consequences of failures that could lead to unintended engagements,” starting at the design stage.

Concordantly, back in early November, the Royal Society along with the Academy of Medical Sciences, British Academy, and Royal Academy of Engineering concluded a workshop called “Human Enhancement and the Future of Work” in which they considered the growing impact and potential risks of augmentation technologies. In their final report, they raised serious concerns about the burgeoning trend and how humanity is moving from a model of therapy to one in which human capacities are greatly improved. The implications, they concluded, should be part of a much wider public discussion.

Specifically, the report raised concerns on drugs and digital enhancements that will allow people to work longer, hard and faster. Such technologies could easily give rise to a culture of enhanced competitiveness, more than we currently know, where the latest in cybernetics, bionics and biomedical devices are used to gain and edge, not to remedy medical problems. Currently, things like bionic prosthesis are being created to aid amputees and injury victims; but as the technology improves and such devices become more effective than organic limbs, the purpose could change.

What’s more, there are the ethical implications of having such technology available to human beings. If people can upgrade their bodies to enhance their natural abilities, what will it means for those who get “left behind”? Will the already enormous gulf between the rich and poor expand even further and take on a new dimension? Will those who want to succeed in the business world be forced to scrounge so they can get the latest upgrades.

Or, as the panel’s final report put it:

“Work will evolve over the next decade, with enhancement technologies potentially making a significant contribution. Widespread use of enhancements might influence an individual’s ability to learn or perform tasks and perhaps even to enter a profession; influence motivation; enable people to work in more extreme conditions or into old age, reduce work-related illness; or facilitate earlier return to work after illness.”

At the same time however, they acknowledge the potential efficacy and demand for such technologies, prompting the call for open discourse. Again, from the report:

“Although enhancement technologies might bring opportunities, they also raise several health, safety, ethical, social and political challenges, which warrant proactive discussion. Very different regulatory regimes are currently applied: for example, digital services and devices (with significant cognitive enhancing effects) attract less, if any, regulatory oversight than pharmacological interventions. This raises significant questions, such as whether any form of self-regulation would be appropriate and whether there are circumstances where enhancements should be encouraged or even mandatory, particularly where work involves responsibility for the safety of others (e.g. bus drivers or airline pilots).”

In many ways, this report is overdue, as it is offering some rather obvious commentary on a subject which has been the subject of speculation and fiction for some time. For example, in the Sprawl Trilogy, William Gibson explored the idea of human enhancement and the disparity between rich and poor at length. In his world, the rich were ensured clinical immortality through AI and biotech while everyone else was forced to spend their savings just to afford the latest tech, merely so they could stay in the running.

However, just about all of the panel’s recommendations were most appropriate. They included further investigations into ensuring safety, affordability, and accessibility, not to mention that some of these enhancement technologies —  be they pharmaceutical, regenerative medicines, or cybernetics — should be regulated by the government. This last article is especially appropriate given the potential for personal misuse, not to mention the potential exploitation by employers.

With all the harm that could result from having technologies that could render human beings “postmortal” or “posthuman”, some degree of oversight is certainly necessary. But of course, the real key is a public educated and informed on the issue of cybernetics, bionics, and human enhancement, and what they could mean for us. As with so much else, the issue is one of choice, and awareness of what the consequences could be. Choose wisely, that’s the only guarantee! Hey, that rhymed… I smell a quote!

Source: IO9.com

New Man of Steel Trailer!

The first full-length trailer for the upcoming Man of Steel Superman relaunch is here. And the footage is really quite telling. We get a glimpse of Jor-El, Superman’s father, the antagonist General Zod, and the love interest of Lois Lane. There’s even footage of Superman’s homeworld, Krypton, being destroyed. For those who are especially excited, know that there’s just six more months before these goodies are delivered on the big screen – June 14th, 2013!

The Future is Here: Paper-Thin Smartphones!

At last years Consumer Electronics show, the AMOLED flexible display concept was a huge hit. AMOLED – which stands for active-matrix organic light-emitting diode – is new a display technology that utilizes both organic compounds and an active matrix to form electroluminescent material and address pixels. But what is truly awesome about it is how it allows for displays that are both and flexible.

In the wake of that show, many developers have been presenting some cutting edge technologies and concepts that are still in development, but which build on the technology and are expected to be available within a few years time. One such concept comes from a collaborative group composed of researchers from Queens University’s Human Media Lab and the Motivational Environments Research Group from Arizona State. Their concept: the PaperPhone!

Like the Nokia Kinetic concept, a user is able to control through a series of bending and flexing gestures. The device’s internal circuit memorizes these gestures and responds accordingly whenever they are repeated. Ergo, if you register that earmarking is the command for making a call, the paper-thin phone will bring up a call prompt whenever you bend the corner. In addition, mp3′s will be available on the device, and presumably, internet access.

In addition to its ultra-thin profile, flexible nature and smartphone functions, this proposed design represents a growing trend in personal digital devices, which is towards the organic. In terms of design, interface and assembly, the eventual goal is devices that will be indistinguishable from organics. This could take the form of machinery composed of entirely out of “smart” DNA – aka. programmable biological cells -  hybrid devices that utilize organic compounds, and even machinery assembled by DNA structures.

Sure, this may seem like a long way from that eventual, lofty goal, but its certainly a step in that direction. And if technology can and will be manufactured with organic materials, there’s even a chance it could be used as biowaste when we’re done with them. Maybe even compost, assuming they can break down into soil-enriching organic compounds.

Keep your eyes open for more breakthroughs, they are sure to be coming soon. And while you’re at it, check out of the video of the PaperPhone in action!

Pappa Zulu – Chapter 21

“Recovery begins from the darkest moment.” 

-John Major

“Focus on the thumb. Try recoiling it.”

Dezba closed his eyes and tried his best to visualize the thumb moving. But one look at the mechanical appendage told him it wasn’t working. He gritted his teeth and tried focusing on it now, staring hard and willing it to move.

Before long, he noticed the cramp forming in his jaw and the layer of sweat that was forming again. It was staring at a brick wall and ordering it to move. No matter how hard he tried, which angle he looked at it from, the damn thing wouldn’t budge.

He gave up with a loud grunt. Andrews quickly rushed to his side and placed his hands on his shoulder.

“It’s alright. It will come in time.”

Dezba scoffed and looked at him angrily. “I thought you said this thing was adjusted!”

“It was, but it’s more complicated than that,” he replied. He placed his hands together, prayer fashion, and tried to explain. “It’s more of you adapting to it. You need to think of it as a part of you, pretend it is the hand you were born with. People who get the unit think that they have to force it to work for them when in fact, they need to stop thinking and just do it.”

Dezba wiped his head with his right hand. Between the effort of “forcing” this thing to work and the pain of last night’s buzz wearing off, he was had little patience for the metaphysical shit. Still, he gave it a try. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he stopped trying to make it happen and just waited for it to do it on its own. He waited for what seemed like several minutes and then opened his eyes.

Still nothing.

“Doc…” he said, heavily. “I’m about ready to rip this thing off. What the hell good is it if it doesn’t even work? Just a real fucking expensive prosthesis is-”

“Make a fist,” Andrews said, completely ignoring him.

“What? Haven’t you been listening, I -”

“Make a fist!”

“I-” Dezba stopped short. The unit made a tiny whirring noise and he was almost afraid to look down. But he did, and saw the unit balled up into a fist. It released a second later, almost reflexively. He raised it to head level and eyed it ominously. And then it happened again. A balled up fist, with each mechanical knuckle joint revealed. It let go again and he saw all the tiny gears rotating inside them.

“Holy shit…” he breathed.

“See?” Andrews said, spreading his arms wide. “It’s just like working a real limb. You can try ordering it to move, but the damn thing won’t budge unless you make the nerves fire. And the key to that is to just…”

“Do it,” Dezba said with a nod. He could see the point the doc was trying to make. Too bad he had worked up such a good mad beforehand. Letting it go to now seemed like such a waste.

He tried closing it a few times more, and noticed that it only engaged part of the time. And the more he tried, the less he seemed to succeed. He stopped after a moment and took a deep breath, noticed Andrews looking at him and preempted him before he could say it.

“I know, give it time, right?”

“Exactly,” Andrews said with a nod. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually. It’s just a matter of learning how to do it without consciously thinking about it.”

Dezba sighed. “Not easily done, doc. I kissed the privilege of using my left hand goodbye when I sliced it off.”

“Yes, well… think of this as a second chance. All that phantom sensation, all that pain. It will finally be going to good use.”

A thought occurred just then. He put his hands together and poised like he was making a two-hand grip. “Doc… I wonder if you’d like to accompany me somewhere.”

Andrews crossed his arms and smiled. “Where are we going?”

*                    *                     *

The first crack was the loudest. All others reverberated and seemed to cancel out a little bit of the initial noise. The only other sound was the din of shattering glass which followed in the wake of every shot. So far, he was three for three, and Andrews was looking most disheveled.

Dezba smiled. It looked like he was batting one-hundred today.

“What’s the matter?” he yelled. “Never fired a weapon before?”

Andrews unplugged his ears. “I’m more on the recovery end of things. You know, rehabilitating people after they’ve been shot.”

Dezba reloaded and holstered the gun while he went to set up another row of bottles. There was no shortage of them at this point in the backyard, and he was happy to turn them into sharps. Since the city recycling depot had shut down, there was really nothing to do except let them accumulate.

He stepped back to the firing line and took aim. His left hand cupped his right hand satisfactorily again. The doc was right. Just a matter of not thinking, to go on instinct. And nothing brought out Dezba’s instinctive side better than the shooting range.

Andrews fingers went back to his ears. Dezba let loose with another volley. Five bottles shattered in quick succession. He managed to plug the first three a second time before some of the larger pieces hit the ground.

He lowered the gun and let out the breath he had been holding in. Smoke rose from the heated barrel and infiltrated his nostrils. All kinds of tension began to melt away and he felt the onrush of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was subtle and underpowered compared to what he remembered, but welcome nonetheless. 

He looked over to see Andrews smiling awkwardly.

“Are we done now?” he asked.

Dezba shrugged. “Well, field test seems to be . But…” he gestured to the pile of empties.

“Ah yes,” Andrews replied, looking somewhat impressed. “How long did it take you to accumulate all those?”

Dezba tried to reckon the total amount of time he’d been off the wagon. It was hard to tell, as much of the recounting was hazy and unreliable. Only one figure seemed to stick out in it all, and it seemed startlingly relevant.

“Grizzly cut me off a few weeks back, said I was in danger of drinking the town dry. His exact words were that we’ve only got so much of the pre-war stuff left, and if I didn’t want to start drinking his moonshine, I had to dry out for awhile.”

That made Andrews laugh. He wasn’t sure what the doctors poison of choice was, or if he even had one. But the land was full of stories of people who had been deprived of their favorite stock since the First Wave came, and how they were coping. Local production and trade seemed to be the method of choice. Even more interesting was the reviews that were coming in…

“Aint no way I’m drinking pig shit and turpentine,” he said. Andrews didn’t get it, and quickly changed subjects back to his new arm.

“Well, at least the arm is working for you. Guess it was just a matter of finding the right proving grounds.”

“Yeah…” Dezba then rushed over to the pile of empties by his back door. “Just one more round,” he insisted. Andrews waved a hand indifferently and took a look around, examining the muddy yard while Dezba set up.

“So you’re back in your old haunts, huh?”

Dezba nodded. He was wondering when they would get around to that subject. He moved back to the firing line and got into shooting posture. One handed this time, he decided. Straight up and out.

“No more chicken roosts I see,”

Dezba fired the shot and caught the bottle at the lower right side. The top fell down like a skyscraper that had just lost its foundation. Not a clean kill by any means. He lowered the weapon and drew in a breath of the cold, wet air.

“No, I, uh… got rid of them.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Dezba waited until he was sure Andrews had nothing more to say. He raised the weapon again and fired for the second bottle.

Dead center, shattered in all directions and even knocked the adjacent one sideways. He smiled grimly and lowered the gun to his side again, picking out target number three.

“Have you been to the basement?”

A shot rang out, and nothing happened. On the target line, three bottles remained. He looked back in Andrews direction and, in spite of the morning weather, felt his face turn hot.

“No…” he said. Andrews hummed thoughtfully.

“Do you think maybe you should?”

Dezba was about to take the shot before Andrews asked that. He felt a sudden wave of hesitation, lowered the gun and noticed his hand was trembling. Why the hell was he asking him this? What kind of answer could he give?

Dezba didn’t reply and looked back at his targets. Five fresh ones, waiting to get smashed. He raised the gun and took a fresh shot. The bottle rattled and righted itself, but didn’t shatter. He fired again, and again.

He closed in on them and shot wild. Two of the bottles exploded, criss-crossing bullets slicing across them and hitting them at odd junctures.

The gun clicked several times. The magazine was empty and the chamber open. But one bottle still remained.

He could hear himself breathing heavily. His heart was also pounding. He took one more look at Andrews, still looking on impassively. He whipped the gun at the bottle and knocked it off its stand.

“Sergeant…” Andrews spread his hands and began to approach him. Dezba raised a finger and pointed to the gate.

“Get out,” he said quietly.

Andrews stopped short and didn’t argue. He knew the look well enough, and turned to leave.