Kalaakiota Office of Applied Psychomanipulation
Caldari Prime
11/20 YC 114
The director was seething. He hadn't risen to the position of director only to be questioned and ridiculed by some no-name asshole who he'd never even seen before. He had had Dr. Tobit killed because he was an embarassment and because he had threatened his employer, Kalaakiota. What was so hard to understand about his decision? Why was he being questioned and insulted in his own office? Who was this man questioning him?
The man was slight of build, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He wore a dark suit, nondescript in every way. His hair was short and dark, and he was clearly a Deteis, mid-thirties, and his mouth seemed to have a perpetual sly grin, almost a smirk. He seemed smug, self-assured, and there was something about his demeanor that implied a casual attitude toward extreme violence; a tiger poised to strike at all times.
The man spoke. "Who gave you the authority to kill Dr. Tobit?"
"I did. I'm a goddamn director. I can make those decisions in my department." He tried to sound authoritative. Somehow, his voice seemed to ooze uncertainty. This man was unnerving.
"I see. And why did you feel it was justified?"
"He promised results and didn't deliver. I told him we were going to shut his program down, and he became irrational. He threatened to go public." Damn Silas.
"No results?" The man stood, passive, but his voice dripped with contempt.
"No results. Mr. Krennel continued to be just as he always was. Dr. Tobit's experiment was a total failure. There's no denying that." The director didn't understand why that was hard to understand.
The man laughed. "Oh, but there is denying that." He shook his head. "You're not in the habit of actually reading reports, are you? Particularly the initial project proposal and Dr. Tobit's many reports stating that the changes would take time, for instance."
The director gave a dismissive wave with his hand. "Every idiot scientist says that nonsense when they fail. They always say it's a matter of time and you end up waiting and waiting and then, guess what, nothing."
The man shook his head. "Then what do you make of Mr. Krennel's newfound religion? Or perhaps you think his recently obtained Knighthood in the service of the Amarr Empire as something totally within the bounds of his personality?"
The director was shocked. Could it be true? Could Silas have been right? "I... I hadn't heard about--"
"Yes. I'm sure you'd have missed it in your complete dismissal of Dr. Tobit's research offhand. I'm also sure that when you had the majority of his research materials destroyed, you didn't actually bother to read any of it." He shook his head again. "People like you are the reason the State has been reduced to the point it has. People like you, Mr. Director, are a plague, a weakness, a cancer on our Nation."
"How DARE YOU!"
"How dare I?" The man actually laughed. "Do you know who I am? Of course not. Allow me to explain. You see, I am society's retribution against itself. I'm the violent solution to the failings of our State. My purpose is to eradicate those elements that hold us back. Are you beginning to understand why I am here?"
A cold shiver ran down the director's spine. "Kalaakiota wouldn't dare allow this!"
The man smiled and removed his shades. "Kalaakiota wouldn't dare stop it."
The director barely saw the movement. The man was unbelievably fast. His death was not quick. It was not painless, but he was paralyzed, incapable of screaming. Still, as his insides burned, he could hear his screaming inside his mind. The last thing he saw was the strange man smiling at him as he succumbed.
The man watched until the director had finally died. He wondered at what such pain must feel like, only vaguely understanding that it defied explanation. He smiled to himself as he stepped out of the director's office, straightening his suit as he did so.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
Methodology
"Test Subject has been subjected to a complete neural restructuring via a mixture of drugs, trauma, subconscious implantation of ideas, and an induced fugue state. Initial tests show promising results, though it is likely that it will take time for these thoughts to come into full fruition. Kalaakiota's bureaucrats are threatening to shut me down if I can't show results soon. I keep informing them that affecting an immediate change will inevitably result in a psychotic break and absolute loss of attachment to anything resembling reality. These implanted ideas must be given time to develop an internal monologue such that they cannot but seem innate to the individual, rather than the product of an alien intervention."
Research log of Dr. Silas Tobit, YC 113
Dr. Tobit's Office
Kalaakiota Department of Applied Psychomanipulation
Silas pored over his notes. Mr. Krennel's psychotransformation was going much slower than Kalaakiota was willing to accept. Over the previous 8 months, he had managed a massive program of thought implantation. His plan was nothing if not ambitious, and so far, it had had no hiccups other than corporate interference, which now would spell the doom of his project.
He had begun his research by managing to do what most would consider impossible. He kidnapped a capsuleer. Mr. Krennel had made an error in stationing his clones in a Caldari station. Dr. Tobit simply had his clone moved to a secure facility, and rather than allowing the clone reanimation process to reach full fruition, he stalled it, keeping Mr. Krennel in a state of half-awareness, akin to dreaming. In this state, the subconscious is quite open to external input. Mr. Krennel was kept in this state for months, every moment of every day bombarded by input designed to redefine his own conceptions of the world. Simultaneously, false memories were inserted, the purpose being to create an alibi for his disappearance such that he would never notice his own absence from his life.
He had then been released back into New Eden, unaware of his ordeal. His every move was being watched, his choices catalogued and dissected. So far, the experiment seemed to be a half-failure. He had signed on with the Deklein null-sec hegemony, which showed an increased desire for some sort of authority structure, as well as a search for some meaningful pursuit beyond simple personal pleasure/gain. However, it still wasn't a huge change from his previous lifestyle. His private communications were not entirely revealing, either, since he had few if any.
Kalaakiota had determined this to be signs of Dr. Tobit's failure. He was convinced that the changes would take time to develop, but that they would happen soon. He kept urging for patience, but, none was forthcoming. Clearly, Kalaakiota had already decided he was to be shut down. Worse than that, Silas had threatened to go public with his research, which was clearly illegal by any stretch of the imagination, specifically to CONCORD, who likely would see this as a violation of any number of agreements regarding the established sanctity of Empyreans. Surely, Kalaakiota would recognize his bluff. If he went to CONCORD, he'd be in more trouble than anyone. They knew that was a bluff right? Right?
He never saw his killer, only felt the knife as it erupted through the front of his chest, and the last trickle of warmth, realizing as his life left him that he had urinated on himself. His last thought was shame at this uncontrollable reflex and how strange it was that he should even give a damn.
Research log of Dr. Silas Tobit, YC 113
Dr. Tobit's Office
Kalaakiota Department of Applied Psychomanipulation
Silas pored over his notes. Mr. Krennel's psychotransformation was going much slower than Kalaakiota was willing to accept. Over the previous 8 months, he had managed a massive program of thought implantation. His plan was nothing if not ambitious, and so far, it had had no hiccups other than corporate interference, which now would spell the doom of his project.
He had begun his research by managing to do what most would consider impossible. He kidnapped a capsuleer. Mr. Krennel had made an error in stationing his clones in a Caldari station. Dr. Tobit simply had his clone moved to a secure facility, and rather than allowing the clone reanimation process to reach full fruition, he stalled it, keeping Mr. Krennel in a state of half-awareness, akin to dreaming. In this state, the subconscious is quite open to external input. Mr. Krennel was kept in this state for months, every moment of every day bombarded by input designed to redefine his own conceptions of the world. Simultaneously, false memories were inserted, the purpose being to create an alibi for his disappearance such that he would never notice his own absence from his life.
He had then been released back into New Eden, unaware of his ordeal. His every move was being watched, his choices catalogued and dissected. So far, the experiment seemed to be a half-failure. He had signed on with the Deklein null-sec hegemony, which showed an increased desire for some sort of authority structure, as well as a search for some meaningful pursuit beyond simple personal pleasure/gain. However, it still wasn't a huge change from his previous lifestyle. His private communications were not entirely revealing, either, since he had few if any.
Kalaakiota had determined this to be signs of Dr. Tobit's failure. He was convinced that the changes would take time to develop, but that they would happen soon. He kept urging for patience, but, none was forthcoming. Clearly, Kalaakiota had already decided he was to be shut down. Worse than that, Silas had threatened to go public with his research, which was clearly illegal by any stretch of the imagination, specifically to CONCORD, who likely would see this as a violation of any number of agreements regarding the established sanctity of Empyreans. Surely, Kalaakiota would recognize his bluff. If he went to CONCORD, he'd be in more trouble than anyone. They knew that was a bluff right? Right?
He never saw his killer, only felt the knife as it erupted through the front of his chest, and the last trickle of warmth, realizing as his life left him that he had urinated on himself. His last thought was shame at this uncontrollable reflex and how strange it was that he should even give a damn.
The Experiment
"Morality is always spoken of in black and white, as though clear delineations existed. Surely this can't be true. Whitest snow bears stains of tar, and blackest night cannot ever remove the existence of stars. In all acts of good or evil, their opposite can be found. No man commits evil believing he is evil. No man pursues good without simultaneously causing evil. This is the nature of morality. It is not a Manichean dichotomy. A man's moral character is a pixellated image, dots of black and white that when viewed together and with the distance of objectivity, form a coherent picture."
Dr. Mikhail Vartor, The Image of Man: Pixel Theory of Morality, YC 103
Caldari Prime
Kalaakiota Corporate R&D office
Office of the Director of Applied Psychomanipulation
Dr. Silas Tobit was apprehensive. Today was the day he was to present his research proposal for final approval. It was unbelievably exciting, but also terrifying. He was proposing total reformation, not of behavior, but of actual motivation and the interpretive framework of the mind of a human being. This was an important distinction, as behavior had been manipulated for millenia, largely by accessing and manipulating the basic human drives and desires in subtle ways, usually through cleverly tailored stimuli. This was entirely the province of advertising and religion, and politics as well, though, to Dr. Tobit, politics was largely the mixture of the other two.
He stepped into the office of the director. Silas knew that the key to gaining project approval was to emphasize its profitability and the ability to use it to gain advantage over the other megacorporations. Essentially, he must appeal to both greed and vanity and the drive to power. What could fit better into this than the ability to radically alter the very core of individuality and free will? Controlling man's behavior is all well and good, but what if you could control man's essence?
That was a question that Dr. Tobit hoped to answer, or more precisely, to prove possible.
At forty-one years old, Dr. Tobit was a reasonably seasoned scientist. He was an Achura, raised in Perimeter, schooled at all the best institutions and personally mentored by several key figures in psychomanipulation, which was a somewhat obscure field, largely due to the rather common knowledge nature of the manner in which human desire can be manipulated in order to effect behavior. Tobit was out to change that by changing the game entirely. He had already picked the test subject, an ultra-violent mercenary turned capsuleer pirate.
The director gave Dr. Tobit a nod. The director's disdain for Dr. Tobit was no secret, and his eyes, gratefully hidden by his dark glasses, were filled with his enmity. He felt Silas was a waste of ISK, a charlatan, a snake oil merchant. However, there were some Provists breathing down his neck for this research, and thus, his hands were tied. As much as he hated this diminuitive little Achura, he must give him what he wished. "You've been greenlighted. Do you have a subject in mind?"
Silas could barely contain his excitement. Finally! His voice, amazingly, came out unwavering, no hint of his vast tumult of emotions. "I have." He pressed a button on his datapad and a holoemitter came to life, the three dimensional image of a man, a Civire, was displayed. As the model rotated, the input jacks of a capsuleer became visible.
"A capsuleer? Are you out of your damn mind, Silas?" The director shouted, the vein in his forehead taking on a life of its own and threatening to leap out of his head and strangle Silas of its own accord.
Silas nodded. "Of course. The better to prove the viability of my theory. If I can radically alter the thought patterns of an Empyrean, then my theory will be irrefutable."
The director smiled inwardly. This fool would fail, and the Provists would get off his back, and he'd finally be rid of this fruitcake. "Why this one?"
Silas smiled. "He's a pirate, an orphan, a violent product of a violent childhood. His parents were war criminals killed by the state. He distrusts all authority, and is the CEO of a corporation. He's absolutely perfect for it. I intend to radically subvert his currently excessively violent drives and replace them with a need for authority, morality, and perhaps, just for fun, religion."
The director's eyebrow raised of its own accord. Religion? Interesting. "Very well. What's his name?"
"Ryven Haijikioten, though he calls himself Ryven Krennel."
Dr. Mikhail Vartor, The Image of Man: Pixel Theory of Morality, YC 103
Caldari Prime
Kalaakiota Corporate R&D office
Office of the Director of Applied Psychomanipulation
Dr. Silas Tobit was apprehensive. Today was the day he was to present his research proposal for final approval. It was unbelievably exciting, but also terrifying. He was proposing total reformation, not of behavior, but of actual motivation and the interpretive framework of the mind of a human being. This was an important distinction, as behavior had been manipulated for millenia, largely by accessing and manipulating the basic human drives and desires in subtle ways, usually through cleverly tailored stimuli. This was entirely the province of advertising and religion, and politics as well, though, to Dr. Tobit, politics was largely the mixture of the other two.
He stepped into the office of the director. Silas knew that the key to gaining project approval was to emphasize its profitability and the ability to use it to gain advantage over the other megacorporations. Essentially, he must appeal to both greed and vanity and the drive to power. What could fit better into this than the ability to radically alter the very core of individuality and free will? Controlling man's behavior is all well and good, but what if you could control man's essence?
That was a question that Dr. Tobit hoped to answer, or more precisely, to prove possible.
At forty-one years old, Dr. Tobit was a reasonably seasoned scientist. He was an Achura, raised in Perimeter, schooled at all the best institutions and personally mentored by several key figures in psychomanipulation, which was a somewhat obscure field, largely due to the rather common knowledge nature of the manner in which human desire can be manipulated in order to effect behavior. Tobit was out to change that by changing the game entirely. He had already picked the test subject, an ultra-violent mercenary turned capsuleer pirate.
The director gave Dr. Tobit a nod. The director's disdain for Dr. Tobit was no secret, and his eyes, gratefully hidden by his dark glasses, were filled with his enmity. He felt Silas was a waste of ISK, a charlatan, a snake oil merchant. However, there were some Provists breathing down his neck for this research, and thus, his hands were tied. As much as he hated this diminuitive little Achura, he must give him what he wished. "You've been greenlighted. Do you have a subject in mind?"
Silas could barely contain his excitement. Finally! His voice, amazingly, came out unwavering, no hint of his vast tumult of emotions. "I have." He pressed a button on his datapad and a holoemitter came to life, the three dimensional image of a man, a Civire, was displayed. As the model rotated, the input jacks of a capsuleer became visible.
"A capsuleer? Are you out of your damn mind, Silas?" The director shouted, the vein in his forehead taking on a life of its own and threatening to leap out of his head and strangle Silas of its own accord.
Silas nodded. "Of course. The better to prove the viability of my theory. If I can radically alter the thought patterns of an Empyrean, then my theory will be irrefutable."
The director smiled inwardly. This fool would fail, and the Provists would get off his back, and he'd finally be rid of this fruitcake. "Why this one?"
Silas smiled. "He's a pirate, an orphan, a violent product of a violent childhood. His parents were war criminals killed by the state. He distrusts all authority, and is the CEO of a corporation. He's absolutely perfect for it. I intend to radically subvert his currently excessively violent drives and replace them with a need for authority, morality, and perhaps, just for fun, religion."
The director's eyebrow raised of its own accord. Religion? Interesting. "Very well. What's his name?"
"Ryven Haijikioten, though he calls himself Ryven Krennel."
Ryven: Lost Time
Cerra Manor
Huola VII
Ryven's Suite
4/2 YC 115 1800
Ryven lay awake on his large, but nondescript bed. His room was not lavishly decorated, but instead seemed the expected blend of Caldari and Amarrian influences. There were some references to Caldari bands, including some jazz/electronic fusions. He was smoking a cigarette, his eyes staring up at the vaulted ceiling. His eyes peered up through the dark and the haze of cigarette smoke and past the ceiling and into the universe, bending backward and inward onto himself. From this deep reverie, the chirping of his neocom pulled him crashing back into the present. He pressed a button, and heard Leela's voice.
"Ry, we need to talk." Her voice was dripping with urgency and something else that he guessed must be trepidation, or even fear.
His curiosity was piqued. "What's up?"
"No. In person."
"That serious?" He wasn't surprised. Leela's life was secrets. Strangely, she was also the most honest person he knew.
"It's about your episode. The lost time." She hesitated. "I think I know what's going on."
Ryven sighed, relieved. His mind had been returning to that constantly. As an immortal, he was the pinnacle of human power, and even more so, an embodiment of the will to power. What an immortal wills, he can realize. If he cannot master himself, however, then he is still a slave. This is no simple contradiction, but one filled with paralyzing paradox. It eats away at the belief, and the immortality loses its potency.
"Okay. I'm on my way."
***************************************
Undisclosed Location
"Safe House"
4/2 YC115 2300
When he arrived at the safe house, navigating through the maze of safeguards and false corridors, he came upon Leela and Zhou, both seated on a surprisingly comfortable looking sofa in the house's living room. They both looked concerned, their eyes probing him, but neither speaking. He sat down on a chair across the coffee table from them, leaning forward, fingers interwoven in a plaintive gesture. He studied them both, seeing the signs of their closeness. He allowed himself a moment of happiness at the way they had both found each other. However, his need, his desperate need for answers overrode his interest in their blooming romance.
Leela broke the silence, her voice seeming both tiny and infinite, booming in the confines of the safe house, but fragile, the crystal ringing of champagne glasses. "I've uncovered what I believe is the answer to your episode."
Ryven nodded, clearly impatient. "Okay, so out with it."
She shook her head. "First, I have a question." She placed a slender finger on her lips, thinking how best to proceed. "Are there any other periods of your life where your memories are, well... alien to you, or perhaps lost much as this recent episode was?"
Ryven shook his head, but then stopped, his mind reverting back to his time in J.D. Gaffa, Inc. There was a period of missing time. He had some memories, but they didn't make sense. They never really had, honestly. But, he was a different person then, guided by his every whim, not by purpose. He had not given it much thought and had chalked it up to stress/drugs/shock/whatever. He nodded. "Yes. Seven or eight months of periodic lapses."
Leela nodded. "Two to three years ago, yes? Before your time up in Deklein, before you left JDGI?"
His eyes widened. "Yes. Exactly."
She nodded. "Tell me, does the name Dr. Silas Tobit ring any bells?"
Huola VII
Ryven's Suite
4/2 YC 115 1800
Ryven lay awake on his large, but nondescript bed. His room was not lavishly decorated, but instead seemed the expected blend of Caldari and Amarrian influences. There were some references to Caldari bands, including some jazz/electronic fusions. He was smoking a cigarette, his eyes staring up at the vaulted ceiling. His eyes peered up through the dark and the haze of cigarette smoke and past the ceiling and into the universe, bending backward and inward onto himself. From this deep reverie, the chirping of his neocom pulled him crashing back into the present. He pressed a button, and heard Leela's voice.
"Ry, we need to talk." Her voice was dripping with urgency and something else that he guessed must be trepidation, or even fear.
His curiosity was piqued. "What's up?"
"No. In person."
"That serious?" He wasn't surprised. Leela's life was secrets. Strangely, she was also the most honest person he knew.
"It's about your episode. The lost time." She hesitated. "I think I know what's going on."
Ryven sighed, relieved. His mind had been returning to that constantly. As an immortal, he was the pinnacle of human power, and even more so, an embodiment of the will to power. What an immortal wills, he can realize. If he cannot master himself, however, then he is still a slave. This is no simple contradiction, but one filled with paralyzing paradox. It eats away at the belief, and the immortality loses its potency.
"Okay. I'm on my way."
***************************************
Undisclosed Location
"Safe House"
4/2 YC115 2300
When he arrived at the safe house, navigating through the maze of safeguards and false corridors, he came upon Leela and Zhou, both seated on a surprisingly comfortable looking sofa in the house's living room. They both looked concerned, their eyes probing him, but neither speaking. He sat down on a chair across the coffee table from them, leaning forward, fingers interwoven in a plaintive gesture. He studied them both, seeing the signs of their closeness. He allowed himself a moment of happiness at the way they had both found each other. However, his need, his desperate need for answers overrode his interest in their blooming romance.
Leela broke the silence, her voice seeming both tiny and infinite, booming in the confines of the safe house, but fragile, the crystal ringing of champagne glasses. "I've uncovered what I believe is the answer to your episode."
Ryven nodded, clearly impatient. "Okay, so out with it."
She shook her head. "First, I have a question." She placed a slender finger on her lips, thinking how best to proceed. "Are there any other periods of your life where your memories are, well... alien to you, or perhaps lost much as this recent episode was?"
Ryven shook his head, but then stopped, his mind reverting back to his time in J.D. Gaffa, Inc. There was a period of missing time. He had some memories, but they didn't make sense. They never really had, honestly. But, he was a different person then, guided by his every whim, not by purpose. He had not given it much thought and had chalked it up to stress/drugs/shock/whatever. He nodded. "Yes. Seven or eight months of periodic lapses."
Leela nodded. "Two to three years ago, yes? Before your time up in Deklein, before you left JDGI?"
His eyes widened. "Yes. Exactly."
She nodded. "Tell me, does the name Dr. Silas Tobit ring any bells?"
Leela and Zhou: Dark Discovery
Undisclosed Location
"Safe House"
4/1 YC 115
Leela was in an unusual state of happiness ever since Zhou had persuaded Ryven to move him here to keep her company. The first few days required a great deal of adjustment, but they quickly discovered a deep affinity for each other beyond simple compatibility. Quite simply, they occupied the same world of shadows and obfuscation, the same universe of information waiting to be uncovered, sought, decoded. Both were in the business of lifting the many layers of obfuscation that hide the various truths and untruths, and even the truths feigning untruth. He filled the gaps in her personality and vice versa. Together, there was synergy. More than that, however, he understood her and vice versa, and there was a love blooming there that was not entangled in guilt and debt as it was with Ryven. Ryven had saved her life. Zhou was helping her live it.
Still, Ryven was in both their lives, and unlikely to ever be completely extricated. In fact, at this very moment, she was following a lead she had found regarding his episode of "lost time." He had recently experienced a total blackout of memory. He had still operated normally, but had isolated himself socially. Further, he simply had no recollection of roughly a month of his life. He had approached her in the hopes of discovering who was behind it, suspecting a drug or other form of foul play. Her current search was sifting through Caldari State databases regarding any mention of him, or someone that must be him. It was the latter that brought her the answer she had been seeking. She read the series of reports, her eyes widening as she delved deeper into them. By the time she reached the end, she was trembling.
"Zhou! We need to talk to Ryven."
"Safe House"
4/1 YC 115
Leela was in an unusual state of happiness ever since Zhou had persuaded Ryven to move him here to keep her company. The first few days required a great deal of adjustment, but they quickly discovered a deep affinity for each other beyond simple compatibility. Quite simply, they occupied the same world of shadows and obfuscation, the same universe of information waiting to be uncovered, sought, decoded. Both were in the business of lifting the many layers of obfuscation that hide the various truths and untruths, and even the truths feigning untruth. He filled the gaps in her personality and vice versa. Together, there was synergy. More than that, however, he understood her and vice versa, and there was a love blooming there that was not entangled in guilt and debt as it was with Ryven. Ryven had saved her life. Zhou was helping her live it.
Still, Ryven was in both their lives, and unlikely to ever be completely extricated. In fact, at this very moment, she was following a lead she had found regarding his episode of "lost time." He had recently experienced a total blackout of memory. He had still operated normally, but had isolated himself socially. Further, he simply had no recollection of roughly a month of his life. He had approached her in the hopes of discovering who was behind it, suspecting a drug or other form of foul play. Her current search was sifting through Caldari State databases regarding any mention of him, or someone that must be him. It was the latter that brought her the answer she had been seeking. She read the series of reports, her eyes widening as she delved deeper into them. By the time she reached the end, she was trembling.
"Zhou! We need to talk to Ryven."
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