(Graelon Colonial Outpost, A Very Long Time Ago)
Just brought into the make-shift O.R. on a floating platform, the tall, brooding and handsome man of stark brunette hair, starry bright blue eyes, and chiseled features had a none-too-subtle look about his face as if to warn his medical staff to get on with it or suffer the intensity of the consequences of his disappointment. Already incredibly powerful, this man sought to be the greatest of all time and if cybernetic enhancement was the path to achieving that end, then so be it.
Made of out of a decommissioned cargo ship, the hull door to the O.R. closed with a great and deep metal clang as the medical staff circled him—doing final staging and prep-work for his dangerous and unlawful operation.
“I’m going to put you out now,” the aging, renegade neurosurgeon—well past his middle years—informed his wealthy and overly-talented patient, bringing the compressed airgun with a cartridge of anesthesia cocktail closer to the patient’s carotid artery.
“Don’t disappoint me, Doctor,” the tall and serious patient warned, raising his right index finger causing the doctor’s throat to constrict as if compressed by great and powerful unseen hands. “And, don’t even think about taking advantage of my body being unconscious.”
The neurosurgeon gasped trying to clear his airway as the patient finally released the doctor’s throat after making his point quite clear. He wasn’t sure how far-reaching this man’s power was, but he didn’t feel like testing it today. Just get him done and get him out of here, before someone finds out. Motioning for his medical staff to proceed, he drove the compressed airgun into the patient’s neck, delivering the cocktail that knocked out the patient’s body immediately so the delicate procedure could begin.
Moments later, a shaved cranium replaced the patient’s long and perfect black hair as the amber light produced from a finger-length silver, metal instrument began cutting subcutaneously then through bone into the cerebral and pre-frontal cortex.
A male nurse in his forties with already greying stubble positioned the implant circuit board on a bare steel tray where it was delicately plucked into position by the fine-grain, robotic operating arm by the renegade surgeon.
A second robotic arm began reaching into the meat of the patient’s cerebellum to retract the pre-frontal cortex for an exact placement of the implant held in position by the first robotic arm. Operating both robotic arms carefully, the doctor barely had time to react when the hull door was blown from its hinges into the O.R. smashing his male nurse against the far metal wall with a giant thud, blue-green blaster fire chasing the blown door into the room in a violent surge of the law.
Three great, tall, and menacing robots floated into the room single-file through the blow-open bulkhead doorway—their metal having the appearance of being anodized and war-ridden with deep blaster-fire scarring and pitted wounds that didn’t faze their movement or abilities.
“WAIT,” the doctor protested immediately dropping to his knees, then prostrating before them. “I BEG FOR MERCY. PLEASE.”
More blue-green blaster fire erupted from the lead metal Sentinel marred by the most scarring and pitting of its alloy—its weapon directly attached—nearly fused—to its humanoid-like right-arm. It had legs too—sort of—and could walk where required, but they mostly floated via gravitational propulsion giving them great range, speed, and agility. A product of tens of thousands of years of evolution, it was vastly superior to Humanity in every way measurable.
Now, looking down at the burn wounds that went all the way through the doctor’s eye sockets out the back of his skull, it knew they had work to do. Dropping the implant from the robotic arm into its alloy left alloy hand, the lead robot crushed the microscopic implant to dust as the robot behind it produced an even smaller implant from a storage unit hidden within its abdomen. Plucking the new implant circuitry with the robotic arm, the lead robot began operating the retractor exposing the frontal cortex as it delicately inserted the instrument of Humanity’s hate into the patient and quickly began the process of closing the patient.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish