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Mary Sue Syndrome - aerelm - 04-16-2014
When you go nuts you have to go all the way, otherwise it'd not be going nuts but just being extremely bored. If you want everything you should literally mean it, otherwise the whole thing would just be pointless. They say some men want to watch the world burn, but frankly, that'd be a complete waste of good entertainment material. Being human means having the desire to have the whole world stand there and stare at you in amazement, and even though they say size doesn't matter, it really does when it comes to size of a man's ego. Needless to say, when a man with an already oversized ego all of a sudden goes nuts, it's obvious even from the very beginning that nothing good will ever come out of it.
The "perfect human" is an unstable concept as it changes with nearly every generation and sometimes even takes a leap to a whole different branch with every new scientific discovery or philosophical theory. So, just as one can say no one is perfect, one can also say that every single person who's ever lived has had the potential of being the "perfect human", and it was just the matter of being born in the right century with the right social status. Once upon a time they say gladiators were considered the image of perfect male, and no, I'm not talking about the ship but the type of clown-slash-warrior cross-over Romans or some other nation of the old earth used to entertain their royalty by tossing two or more of them in a pit and watching them beat each other to death with their bare hands and stuff like that. Some few thousand years later the concept of perfect male changed and shape into pretentiously intellectual types who wore round glasses, grew funny mustaches and started talking about basically anything and everything that could have an -ism sticked to its arse.
Now, what would be the perfect human in our age? An intelligent individual who's traveled the universe and made the right diplomatic connections, has access to seemingly endless resources, and of course has half a ton of cybernetic enhancements on him, preferably with an eye-patch and also with some wires and whatnot showing from under his clothes. That said, when a man of an already oversized ego goes nuts and wants it all, it wouldn't be much of a plot twist if he decides to become the perfect male, cause that's really the obvious choice for the man, especially when the man knows a certain doctor of sorts who's not bound to any moral standards and willingly does anything and everything long as the right amount of cash is sent his way.
The "perfect human" is an unstable concept as it changes with nearly every generation and sometimes even takes a leap to a whole different branch with every new scientific discovery or philosophical theory. So, just as one can say no one is perfect, one can also say that every single person who's ever lived has had the potential of being the "perfect human", and it was just the matter of being born in the right century with the right social status. Once upon a time they say gladiators were considered the image of perfect male, and no, I'm not talking about the ship but the type of clown-slash-warrior cross-over Romans or some other nation of the old earth used to entertain their royalty by tossing two or more of them in a pit and watching them beat each other to death with their bare hands and stuff like that. Some few thousand years later the concept of perfect male changed and shape into pretentiously intellectual types who wore round glasses, grew funny mustaches and started talking about basically anything and everything that could have an -ism sticked to its arse.
Now, what would be the perfect human in our age? An intelligent individual who's traveled the universe and made the right diplomatic connections, has access to seemingly endless resources, and of course has half a ton of cybernetic enhancements on him, preferably with an eye-patch and also with some wires and whatnot showing from under his clothes. That said, when a man of an already oversized ego goes nuts and wants it all, it wouldn't be much of a plot twist if he decides to become the perfect male, cause that's really the obvious choice for the man, especially when the man knows a certain doctor of sorts who's not bound to any moral standards and willingly does anything and everything long as the right amount of cash is sent his way.
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - Backo - 04-16-2014
And Joseph Krieger was lucky enough to be the doctor of said questionable morales. Joseph, or "Doktor Krieger" as he liked being addressed, had a long history of practicing medicine, though not the medicine you'd expect but rather doing sick experiments to boost his ego under the impression he'll be one step closer to a God with every new breakthrough he made. Given the Rheinlander's number of "successful" procedures he was pretty close to becoming one too - a crazy God with the goal to gift mankind a new body, a better body, one of flesh, metal or plastic fused together.
Usually his patients were the unlucky souls that unscrupulous pirates and terrorists like the Unioners brought to Kreuzberg Depot as a last chance to earn some money off the unlucky captives' miserable hides. As much as he thought he was a gift to the world - allowing people to break off the limitations of their natural bodies - the average Hans still saw him as a madman. Such was the hard life of Krieger, having to drug and restrain people before actually doing them a favor. But this time it was all different - a man actually came to him willingly and that was why exactly he had to do his best not to disappoint him. Well that and the fact said persona had so many connections around Sirius that screwing up things was not going to be pleasant for both the Doktor and his work.
Joseph owned a laboratory on Heisenberg Research Station, bought with all the kidneys most of his patients no longer needed. Indirectly of course, after all in what age did anyone trade a bulk of freshly cryofreezed kidneys for a laboratory? But let's not get into that gruesome business, we have a really touching story to tell here about a man's dream of being the very best, like no one ever was - a real terminator that the women of the current age could not resist - both physically, because hey cyborg arms, and emotionally.
Usually his patients were the unlucky souls that unscrupulous pirates and terrorists like the Unioners brought to Kreuzberg Depot as a last chance to earn some money off the unlucky captives' miserable hides. As much as he thought he was a gift to the world - allowing people to break off the limitations of their natural bodies - the average Hans still saw him as a madman. Such was the hard life of Krieger, having to drug and restrain people before actually doing them a favor. But this time it was all different - a man actually came to him willingly and that was why exactly he had to do his best not to disappoint him. Well that and the fact said persona had so many connections around Sirius that screwing up things was not going to be pleasant for both the Doktor and his work.
Joseph owned a laboratory on Heisenberg Research Station, bought with all the kidneys most of his patients no longer needed. Indirectly of course, after all in what age did anyone trade a bulk of freshly cryofreezed kidneys for a laboratory? But let's not get into that gruesome business, we have a really touching story to tell here about a man's dream of being the very best, like no one ever was - a real terminator that the women of the current age could not resist - both physically, because hey cyborg arms, and emotionally.
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - Backo - 04-23-2014
Joseph Krieger sat there on his comfy chair, looking at his wristwatch every now and then. His expression was dissatisfied, as if his life's work grew a pair of legs and ran off to be a street musician on Planet Crete. Then again, aerelm, could indeed be his greatest work yet and as far as the Doktor knew he, the patient, actually had legs to start with. His expression turned even worse when he checked that wristwatch yet another time "Damn it. Where the hell is that guy? Doesn't he realise I'm a really busy man!"
"But, herr Doktor, it's actually your week off. You have nothing to do, remember?" a female voice joked from across the room. It was Alina, Joseph's assistant and an ex-Coalition pilot. You see Joseph liked his women blonde and when he saw this beauty in an escape pod, offered for sale by a group of vegetarian Corsairs who were definitely not part of the Sails he just could not resist the purchase. Of course she didn't share the same enthusiasm for being his lifelong assistant so a microchip or two had to be put in her head to ease her aggressive attempts to escape and return to the glorious motherland of Omega-52. Though once you've brainwashed a woman with fancy microchips and bend her will to your wishes you can't just stop there so Krieger did the next sensible thing and began experimenting on her - replacing certain body parts with "superior" cybernetic ones that shaped her into the woman of his dreams.
"Nein! It's not about whether or not I'm really busy, it's about principles! And a great man of science like myself has to have those!" he mumbled while putting his legs on his desk and further sinking into his chair. To further display his stance of distaste to the current state of things he crossed his arms and shook his head. His lovely assistant didn't share the Doktor's disapproval of aerelm's lateness. Apart from eliminating her aggressive tendancies to assault the Doktor and attempt escape, the two microchips in her head also caused her to change her disciplined nature into care free thinking. So instead of doing something productive like arranging things for the upcoming surgery, Alina simply sat there on the medical table across the Doktor's desk and happily hummed an old song she remembered.
"But, herr Doktor, it's actually your week off. You have nothing to do, remember?" a female voice joked from across the room. It was Alina, Joseph's assistant and an ex-Coalition pilot. You see Joseph liked his women blonde and when he saw this beauty in an escape pod, offered for sale by a group of vegetarian Corsairs who were definitely not part of the Sails he just could not resist the purchase. Of course she didn't share the same enthusiasm for being his lifelong assistant so a microchip or two had to be put in her head to ease her aggressive attempts to escape and return to the glorious motherland of Omega-52. Though once you've brainwashed a woman with fancy microchips and bend her will to your wishes you can't just stop there so Krieger did the next sensible thing and began experimenting on her - replacing certain body parts with "superior" cybernetic ones that shaped her into the woman of his dreams.
"Nein! It's not about whether or not I'm really busy, it's about principles! And a great man of science like myself has to have those!" he mumbled while putting his legs on his desk and further sinking into his chair. To further display his stance of distaste to the current state of things he crossed his arms and shook his head. His lovely assistant didn't share the Doktor's disapproval of aerelm's lateness. Apart from eliminating her aggressive tendancies to assault the Doktor and attempt escape, the two microchips in her head also caused her to change her disciplined nature into care free thinking. So instead of doing something productive like arranging things for the upcoming surgery, Alina simply sat there on the medical table across the Doktor's desk and happily hummed an old song she remembered.
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - aerelm - 04-23-2014
Every story either already has a crazy doctor in it, or should really have one, cause what's a story without a crazy doctor? Now if said doctor is written with a K instead of a C, then even better. Once the doctor of a story turns out to be a doktor though, he's either the protagonist or it'd be the protagonist's contractual obligation to piss off said doktor, so the profanity he starts spouting at the top of his voice which turns out to be hardly understandable due to his accent adds to the rich and in-depth narrative of the story. Or at least that's what stereotypilogistic school of writing suggests, if that's even a real word.
The funny thing about the human prefrontal cortex, which is just a fancy word for that little bit of electrode-filled fat in the brain that handles attention and whatnot, is that it's always focused on the empty half of the metaphorical glass - unless there's an actual glass in front of the guy, but anyways -, and only notices what shouldn't be, rather than noticing and praising what should be and is. So, no one ever notices the guy who's early or even the guy who's right on time, but the moment someone who's late walks into the room, everyone turn their head involuntarily, unknowingly and unselfconsciously just to see who exactly is it that's late, and the more late the individual is, the more attention he'll receive. It gets a tad tricky though, as there's a fine line drawn between late that gets the most attention and late that misses important stuff, and people who don't risk being late are generally those who lack the talent of identifying and nailing that line in each social concept.
Says the man as he walks into the lab, and the man being one of those men with the talent of telling where the line is drawn, has gotten used to making entrances and turning heads. One more thing he's learned, is that the more welcomed he acts like in any social concept, the more welcomed other participants actually treat him as, so he casually pulls a chair opposite to the doktor's and mirrors his gesture of legs-on-desk as he sits down.
The funny thing about the human prefrontal cortex, which is just a fancy word for that little bit of electrode-filled fat in the brain that handles attention and whatnot, is that it's always focused on the empty half of the metaphorical glass - unless there's an actual glass in front of the guy, but anyways -, and only notices what shouldn't be, rather than noticing and praising what should be and is. So, no one ever notices the guy who's early or even the guy who's right on time, but the moment someone who's late walks into the room, everyone turn their head involuntarily, unknowingly and unselfconsciously just to see who exactly is it that's late, and the more late the individual is, the more attention he'll receive. It gets a tad tricky though, as there's a fine line drawn between late that gets the most attention and late that misses important stuff, and people who don't risk being late are generally those who lack the talent of identifying and nailing that line in each social concept.
"Good evening, Herr Doktor. You sounded so excited over the comms, so I decided to drop by and see what ideas you've come up with. Here I am and here you are, impress me. Oh, and hello ma'am."
Says the man as he walks into the lab, and the man being one of those men with the talent of telling where the line is drawn, has gotten used to making entrances and turning heads. One more thing he's learned, is that the more welcomed he acts like in any social concept, the more welcomed other participants actually treat him as, so he casually pulls a chair opposite to the doktor's and mirrors his gesture of legs-on-desk as he sits down.
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - Backo - 04-23-2014
While a great biomechanic, Joseph wasn't really that much into the studies of human interaction (go figure, considering his woman had to be brainwashed to stay with him) and thus wasn't familiar with the pseudo mumbo-jumbo theory about how being the correct amount of late might be done on purpose to raise attention. So he did the only sensible thing - throwing an accented insult hidden under a cough. Because if he did it more audibly somewhere out there in this vast universe someone who is also reading this story would feel really offended of said word or words being mentioned and this story doesn't aim to achieve that, not at all. Alina's reaction again was somewhat opposite of that of Krieger - she greeted the man with a shy wave accompanied by an equally shy smile and continued humming her communist song about the great upcoming revolution and vodka, lots of vodka.
The Doktor eyed what he could see of the man, considering both their poses and the rather high desk that was between them and proudly advertised his slogan "I could rebuild you hair to toe, in fact my techniques are so advanced I could rebuild you without you being there at all, thus creating a cybernetic clone of you. I'm not sure how that would stand on the legal codex of the Four Houses though nor have you had a childhood dream to have a twin who'll always annoy you how he's better than you in every way, because believe me, he will be." and after pushing himself back into a normal, more civilised position with his feet actually touching the ground instead of the desk he continued "What I'm trying to say is - I could change any body part of yours with a cybernetic one, even put some toys in it, like maybe integrating a Daumann Blaster into your index finger? Of course if we put it there you might not be able to bend your finger as well as risk accidentally shoot someone when pointing a finger angrily at people."
By the looks of aerelm's face Krieger could tell said idea wasn't impressive enough. He wasn't sure if the accidental deaths or the problem with bending said finger troubled his customer more, but he knew he needed a better idea. "But let's not get ourselves too far ahead in things. I could replace your limbs with stronger cybernetic ones, which would mean I'll either need to replace your heart or give you a second one, which ever you think would fit your style better. You could also tell me which body parts you want changed as well, because it's natural that men want certain parts of them to remain natural, parts that reflect their manliness - like the spleen. Did I also mentioned infra-red and heat vision? Of course for that we'd need to gouge your eyes out and to put robotic ones, which will of course be done under anesthetic so you won't feel a thing."
Joseph felt his carpet bombing of ideas was good enough to spark the customer's interest. And even if it didn't that was all Joseph could think of at this very moment. Call it a artistic crisis, if you could regard fusing man and machine as art.
The Doktor eyed what he could see of the man, considering both their poses and the rather high desk that was between them and proudly advertised his slogan "I could rebuild you hair to toe, in fact my techniques are so advanced I could rebuild you without you being there at all, thus creating a cybernetic clone of you. I'm not sure how that would stand on the legal codex of the Four Houses though nor have you had a childhood dream to have a twin who'll always annoy you how he's better than you in every way, because believe me, he will be." and after pushing himself back into a normal, more civilised position with his feet actually touching the ground instead of the desk he continued "What I'm trying to say is - I could change any body part of yours with a cybernetic one, even put some toys in it, like maybe integrating a Daumann Blaster into your index finger? Of course if we put it there you might not be able to bend your finger as well as risk accidentally shoot someone when pointing a finger angrily at people."
By the looks of aerelm's face Krieger could tell said idea wasn't impressive enough. He wasn't sure if the accidental deaths or the problem with bending said finger troubled his customer more, but he knew he needed a better idea. "But let's not get ourselves too far ahead in things. I could replace your limbs with stronger cybernetic ones, which would mean I'll either need to replace your heart or give you a second one, which ever you think would fit your style better. You could also tell me which body parts you want changed as well, because it's natural that men want certain parts of them to remain natural, parts that reflect their manliness - like the spleen. Did I also mentioned infra-red and heat vision? Of course for that we'd need to gouge your eyes out and to put robotic ones, which will of course be done under anesthetic so you won't feel a thing."
Joseph felt his carpet bombing of ideas was good enough to spark the customer's interest. And even if it didn't that was all Joseph could think of at this very moment. Call it a artistic crisis, if you could regard fusing man and machine as art.
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - aerelm - 04-24-2014
"Come on Doktor... You're supposed to be 'das beste' when it comes to this stuff."
Remaining in the same pose with his feet over the desk, his fingers crossed and an unimpressed look on his face, aerelm continued,
"Spare me the over-the-counter enhancements and the assorted junk you can get at any pawnshop. I obviously would've just went to FP11 if I wanted a vibrating thumb."
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - Backo - 05-13-2014
The Doktor took a mental pause so long that he could see aerelm's annoyance from all the waiting. In fact if aerelm's brain could send messages directly to Joseph's, the messages would've been something along the lines of "RESPOND ALREADY" and "I NEED A BLOODY REPLY". Though luckily aerelm had yet not possessed such skills and Joseph's mind was free to think... about kittens and his brainwashed assistant.
Though all good things must come to an end and aerelm's growing impatience snapped the Doktor out of his happy thoughts. He cleared his throat, preparing for a long monologue. "Ah, an educated customer I see." his monologue though was rather short for work was supposed to be done and this mental pause he had felt like 3 weeks, even if it probably was no longer than 3 minutes. His eyes quickly pointed at his lovely assistant. "Alina, bring project SP4-RT4!" an order was quickly issued. The woman rushed out of the room and shortly after returned with a big metallic crate that looked rather heavy. "Excellent, thank you, dear, just put it on the medical table and unpack it!" the Doktor felt he should toy with his customer a bit more, after all comparing his enhancements to Freeport 11's garbage was an insult.
"So, mr Amerelm" he butchered the name as he did with many customers before this one, because the Doktor was simply bad at names. In fact Alina was not really his assistant's name, but do you expect a brainwashed drone to complain about something so minor? Anyways, we're drifting from the subject again - "What you see here is my latest project. Two cyborg arms - a spear and a shield, of course metaphorically speaking. You'd look way out of place if you walked around with a spear and a shield instead of hands. Come I'll show you what they actually do." Joseph stood up from his seat with a happy grin on his face, one you'd connect to a child about to see fireworks, and motioned aerelm to follow him to the operating table where two mechanical arms were put together like an exhibition.
Though all good things must come to an end and aerelm's growing impatience snapped the Doktor out of his happy thoughts. He cleared his throat, preparing for a long monologue. "Ah, an educated customer I see." his monologue though was rather short for work was supposed to be done and this mental pause he had felt like 3 weeks, even if it probably was no longer than 3 minutes. His eyes quickly pointed at his lovely assistant. "Alina, bring project SP4-RT4!" an order was quickly issued. The woman rushed out of the room and shortly after returned with a big metallic crate that looked rather heavy. "Excellent, thank you, dear, just put it on the medical table and unpack it!" the Doktor felt he should toy with his customer a bit more, after all comparing his enhancements to Freeport 11's garbage was an insult.
"So, mr Amerelm" he butchered the name as he did with many customers before this one, because the Doktor was simply bad at names. In fact Alina was not really his assistant's name, but do you expect a brainwashed drone to complain about something so minor? Anyways, we're drifting from the subject again - "What you see here is my latest project. Two cyborg arms - a spear and a shield, of course metaphorically speaking. You'd look way out of place if you walked around with a spear and a shield instead of hands. Come I'll show you what they actually do." Joseph stood up from his seat with a happy grin on his face, one you'd connect to a child about to see fireworks, and motioned aerelm to follow him to the operating table where two mechanical arms were put together like an exhibition.
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - aerelm - 07-11-2014
Carefully examining the mechanical arms with an unimpressed look on his face, aerelm shook his head and turned to the doktor,
Then pointing at the other mechanical arm, he continued,
"I've got nice-looking hands, Doktor, and I've got a limited edition full-auto XIX-353 handgun that - trust me - I know how to use better than the owners of the other forty nine guns of the same series out there, so why would I want to trade it for some weird combo of arm-slash-minigun eye-soar?"
Then pointing at the other mechanical arm, he continued,
"Tell me more about this "shield" one though. How metaphorical is that name?"
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - Backo - 05-17-2015
The Doktor phased out yet again, staring at the corner of the room with a rather dull face. It was as if he was seeing his life on a holotape, well not his whole life, just somewhere around half an year (kind of like the time one of the story writers was waiting for the other to continue this story). It made him consider many important things in his life - like the fact that his choice of coat and pants was indeed tacky as Alina once mentioned, back when she still had the free will to actually say something bad about our good doc. He also realized that this robotic shield arm was perhaps his last chance to impress the customer.
"Inside the arm there is a shield generator, Positron type. It's similar to those you use on ships, but albeit a lot smaller." Krieger tried to make his face look impressed, hoping some of that impressedness, if that's a word, will rub off on aerelm. "Once activated it will create a round shaped shield in front of your arm which will block all conventional firearms. It might be able to withstand a shot from a small spacecraft's gun once, dispersing most if it, but you'll still take a rough kinetic hit. I've yet to run more tests on that with my assistant." His eyes shifted to his assistant, whose face for the first time in this story switched from "tralala" happy to worried. As brainwashed as Alina was, she still had the ability to hold the traumatic memories that caused her to view the Doktor's "tests" as unpleasant time for her to be the assistant.
Joseph placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, narrowing his eyebrows as if to look more serious while staring at the cyborg arm. His eyes then darted to aerelm's left arm, then back to the metal arm. With a smirk he uttered the words: "It seems that the SP4-RT4 arm is a bit bigger than your own. I know it doesn't look like much, but some ladies might think you've been..." he paused for a second, trying to think of a proper way to put it in a more subtle and less vulgar way. "...swinging the throttle stick back and forth too much! You might need to hit the gym afterwards, unless of course you'd want your other hand enhanced as well."
"Inside the arm there is a shield generator, Positron type. It's similar to those you use on ships, but albeit a lot smaller." Krieger tried to make his face look impressed, hoping some of that impressedness, if that's a word, will rub off on aerelm. "Once activated it will create a round shaped shield in front of your arm which will block all conventional firearms. It might be able to withstand a shot from a small spacecraft's gun once, dispersing most if it, but you'll still take a rough kinetic hit. I've yet to run more tests on that with my assistant." His eyes shifted to his assistant, whose face for the first time in this story switched from "tralala" happy to worried. As brainwashed as Alina was, she still had the ability to hold the traumatic memories that caused her to view the Doktor's "tests" as unpleasant time for her to be the assistant.
Joseph placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, narrowing his eyebrows as if to look more serious while staring at the cyborg arm. His eyes then darted to aerelm's left arm, then back to the metal arm. With a smirk he uttered the words: "It seems that the SP4-RT4 arm is a bit bigger than your own. I know it doesn't look like much, but some ladies might think you've been..." he paused for a second, trying to think of a proper way to put it in a more subtle and less vulgar way. "...swinging the throttle stick back and forth too much! You might need to hit the gym afterwards, unless of course you'd want your other hand enhanced as well."
RE: Mary Sue Syndrome - aerelm - 05-18-2015
"Put it any way you want, it's an eyesore regardless. A convenient eyesore, but an eyesore nevertheless."
Picking up the arm and using it to point at a stack of small boxes in the corner, he adds,
"We'll see about the arm, but speaking of seeing, are those what I think they are?"