The Art of Resurrection

by **Terrance** November 13th 2012, 2:36 pm

The ebbing light of dusk brushed against the towering skyscrapers, transforming the lifeless masses of glass and concrete into pillars of light that stood defiant against the approaching darkness. The sky had turned a dull orange, losing its color gradually as the sun made its descent into the horizon. Nigel Baxter enjoyed viewing the sunset over the Los Angeles skyline. For the last seven years, he had ended his work days by coming up his private balcony on the top floor of the Antagon Industries headquarters. It brought him a sense of peace and quiet pride in his accomplishments. Leaning on the balcony fence, he peered into the distance, his gaze set upon the past. It had been seven years since the company's founder and CEO had vanished without a trace, and Nigel had been able to assume his mantle.
Terrance Antagon III had been one of the world's leading pioneers in the field of biotechnology; human augmentation by means of robotics and nanotechnology. He was businessman, scientist and leader of men, combined in one. In his later days however, while he was working on finding a way to create synthetic humanoid husks that could serve as proxies for their owners' minds, the man suddenly began to retreat from the public eye, and that of even his most trusted colleagues. Weeks went by without a single appearance of the tycoon, only short glimpses of his presence letting it be known he still lived. But even these ended, until he had disappeared entirely.

Nigel wiped the sweat off his brow, hair tinted gray by age, kept neatly trimmed. Thinking about Terrance always gave him a bad taste in his mouth. He never liked the man much. It was indisputable that Terrance Antagon was a genius in many fields, and this company owed all of its success to its founder. But there was something off about him; the technology he invented was too innovative, too ground-breaking. It came out of nowhere. Where did he get the idea from? Sure, he held several doctorates, but upon further inspection of his past, one would find it having an artificial quality to it. The man kept secrets, buckets full of them. Projects of a personal nature he would share nothing about, time spent abroad for mysterious purposes, and more.
But that wasn't what frightened him. The last thing he was working on; the synthetic proxy project, operation surrogate, or one of the many other names given to the project. He had left it all behind. Facilities filled with synthetic humanoids, all shaped just like him, installed with technology far beyond what the company had ever produced before. Technology that even now, remained an unsolvable mystery to even the brightest scientists in the company's employ. Well, most of it. The science department finally figured it out: how to transfer a person's brain into the synthetic bodies. How to make people immortal. In fact, in just a day he was going to be delivering the bodies to a shadowy organization that had paid top-price for it. Everything was going perfectly. Or so it seemed.

This was all far too convenient, Nigel thought. There were still large parts of the synthetic bodies his research team didn't understand, the technology being far too advanced. Then why were they able to find out what was seemingly the most important function; the science behind the mind transfer. Nigel Baxter wracked his brain with fears and doubts, but could pry no satisfying answers from it.
Then, as if it were divine providence, his phone rang and when he questioned the caller he was given an answer to the questions that had haunted him before. One of the bodies, an earlier model, most likely one of Terrance's first attempts, had suddenly woken up with a mind of its own, and had escaped the premises.
"What do you mean ESCAPED?! You just let it stroll outside?!" Nigel screamed into the phone, now pacing back and forth hurriedly.
The situation was bad. The android had incapacitated the guards that tried to stop it, and proved invulnerable to bullets because of some forcefield erected around it. This had to be dealt with quickly. He would have to do some outsourcing, and find someone who was up to the task. Someone extraordinary. And Nigel knew just the man for that.

by Guest November 21st 2012, 9:30 pm

Roy awoke with an awful headache and four naked women, two on either side of him. "What the hell?" He wondered as he looked around the Villa he was in. "Where am I?" Carefully Mr.King crawled his way out of the cocoon of women. Lipstick marks were all over his torso as he looked at himself in the mirror. He dressed quickly, and smirked a bit with his apparent success from the night before. He opened up the mini fridge and popped a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka. The philanthropist knocked back four shots and headed out the door, tossing on his aviators before exiting. "Jesus, it's cold." Roy thought to himself as he looked around. "Oh shit..." It appeared he was in Washington D.C.
The night before was becoming a little more clear, he remembered he was there for a friend's party. "That's right."
As cars zoomed past him, the hangover hit him like a brick wall. The shots back at the hotel were not enough. "I need some Gatorade before I hit the airport."

Once at the gate, the worker smiled at him. "You seemed to have had a good night Mr.King." the young girl smiled to him. "Every night is a good night." Roy shot back at her as he winked. After she giggled like a school girl, she told him where to go as if he didn't know. His private jet was a solid black with a silhouette of a naked women in silver on the side. The Motley Crue jet had inspired it, but it had it's own chrome twist to it. His pilot was a man name Ezekiel, a large african american fellow with a fine beard. His thick Jamaican accent is what got him the job, his credentials were not better than all the others that applied. "You ready for lift off brudda?" EZ asked looking back to his only passenger. "Let's go." Roy said as he pulled a joint out from his belt buckle.
After hauling down his rolled treat, he grabbed some clothes from a drawer and got into his shower.
Once out and dressed he took a nap and awoke to Ezekiel warning him for landing.

After he touched down and got out of the air port, Roy headed back home in a limo Ezekiel had prepared for him. "That guy is the balls." the millionaire laughed to himself. Back at his Beverly Hills estate, his dog greeted him happily. He could always count on Rambo to make him feel welcomed.
He yelled out to his voice activated home system. "Charlotte, play voicemails"
"You have no new messages sir." the seductive robot's voice played out through the house.
"Thank you."
Walking up is stairs he flopped down into his office chair. At first he checked his Facebook, and then he checked Twitter. He followed a few superheroes like Phoenix and A.I.
A.I.'s twitter was hilarious, it consisted of strange differences between the future and now.
Once he switched over to his email, he noticed a strange one. "A job?" The Patriot wondered as he clicked open the message.

The Art of Resurrection

The Art of Resurrection

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