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Without "Con"; Parasol LLC
Topic Started: Sep 17 2015, 04:50 PM (80 Views)
Asp
Experiment XI
The Tron screens went to static and snow mid add for the PRW 24/7 showing, about five minutes after the first match, as such, the feed itself also hijacked the cameras, thus the returning TV viewership were subject to the following.

Dr. Saddler appeared from the waist up in a white lab coat over his black business suit. The trim European man with an indistinct, malopropriated accent smiled affably, a large, conspicuous remote with antennae in his folded hands.

He waved, then patted the lav mic on his collar, sending a loud thumping sound throughout the arena.

Dr. Saddler: Ah, hello there PRW, welcome to Parasol!

He fanned out his arms and cast his eyes about his sterile, white and transparent surroundings, the accent color was shiny chrome if it wasn't glass or blanc painted. He returned his gaze to the viewership and started walking.

Dr. Saddler: Some have told me that you cannot spell conscience without spelling "science", true enough for some, but I and the rest of us here at Parasol believe you can spell science without the "con".

He smirked at his own little joke, but didn't laugh as the camera panned with him.

Dr. Saddler: And that con isn't morals or ethics, but politics. Politics rain upon and get into everything. Ruining it. Hence Parasol.

He stopped in front of a heavy steel door, a vault door like one would find in a local bank. Above it was an 'X' in bold on a placard with 'Bestia de mujer' beneath it in smaller letters. Two men in heavy vac suits were prying it off with crowbars. Saddler looked over his shoulder and sighed audibly.

Dr. Saddler: We cover the experimenter, the dreamer, the developer, the innovator. Giving him or her a clean slate and an open field, but most importantly, shelter from the new opiate of the masses...political beliefs...political faiths. Whether they swing left, right or pan!

He continued walking gesturing at the audience as he talked.

Dr. Saddler: We would like to think we are well centered between amoral and a-mazing. But alas, we are only human. Not robots...

Saddler walked passed several clusters of moving mechanical limbs physically ripping a cow apart behind sound proofed, bullet proofed glass. The gore spattered wildly as he walked on.

Dr. Saddler: Yet, that's the glory of it. Imperfection being perfected, streamlined, utilized and purposed! Some would see test subjects here, and say a human rights violation or animal rights violation is occurring...

Another glass pane shows a burly masked man in a straight jacket being stabbed with syringes of some blue liquid, his piercing scream barely audible through the reinforced glass before he burst violently from his restraints. He rushed headlong at two men in orange prisoner jumpers and began savaging them furiously. One is throne face first against the window as the shot walked away with Saddler.

Dr. Saddler: But I see brave hearts. Women escaping the sex trade at the mines in Suriname, or the streets of North Korea, India, and Malaysia. Doomed men who would rather walk an inventive mile instead of a green one.

He came to another windowed chamber where four masked and surgery suited individuals with various drills, knives, tubes and needles huddled over a tall muscular woman's body. They were shaving off her long, blond hair and preparing to open up her neck from what it appeared.

Dr. Saddler: Or those looking to recover what they lost. Be it mobility or an edge, or simply piece of mind. Here without legal entanglements, where your resume is a signed affidavit.

Stopping before another vault door that had a placard with XI and víbora de written beneath it, Saddler brought up the remote he was carrying.

Dr, Saddler: Parasol; we won't shelter you from the rain, but from the reign of others. Parosol, where you are under no one but yourself.

He tapped the big red button on the remote. Static and snow followed.
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