A synopsis of the Marked Differences Between “Slayer” (Proposed Scientific Name: Homo morellus) and Homo sapien Brain Structure and Physiology.

April 6th, 2004.

Though my professional focus is on Lepidopterans, I have formal training in conducting craniotomies as well. Some might view such a procedure as cruel, but I assure you that sometimes it is necessary to sacrifice a few individuals for the greater good of many. The scientific community understands this, insects understand this, but I fear that if my research reaches the public eyes, they will be less understanding. It is in this light that my work will not be published to those outside of the scientific community and Ohio Special Activities Division until after my passing. My wish is that this be forwarded on to whomever can make the most difference in doing good for humanity by getting the word out there.

“Vampire Slayers” have, from what I have learned thus far, been around almost as long as humanity itself. It was not previously thought that they were a different species from the Homo sapien, but once I began studying their accelerated healing abilities, I began to wonder whether those who side by the “Slayers” (henceforth referred to as H. morellus) are misinformed. The healing process of H. morellus is over three times as fast as that of the H. sapien. This could be a serious step forward in the treating of many types of cancers, particularly those in the brain. It is also likely that it could provide treatment for ischemia.

A total of 8 H. morellus specimens were studied, and 6 more were, unfortunately, too far on death’s doorstep to be any use in a laboratory setting. These specimens were humanely euthanized. It is thought that only 102 individuals existed, so it is vital that H. morellus is placed on the IUCN Red List. There are only an estimated 88 individuals left, and due to it being a female-only species, it is important to monitor reproduction and make sure we do not lose them as a medical (or armed forces) resource.

The 8 H. morellus that had craniotomies were kept conscious in order to simultaneously study their sensory homunculi (located in the parietal lobe) and their sensory strips (located in frontal lobe). The purpose of this was, of course, to see what parts of the sensory homunculus correspond to which parts of the sensory strip. It was found that H. morellus has a homunculus that allows for a higher threshold for pain; they are wired to be able to withstand almost anything. A broader range of the sensory strip showed a more sensitive reaction than in the brain of an H. sapien, indicating that H. morellus is hypersensitive, such as having increased spatial awareness, reflexes, agility, and reaction times.

Perhaps the most alarming discovery, however, was the difference in the H. morellus limbic system, particularly in the amygdala. The limbic system is frequently referred to as the “reptilian brain” (or as I like to call it, the insect brain), as it is the control center for our most primal functions: breathing, memory, aggression, and libido. My focus was on aggression. H. morellus has a significantly larger amygdala than H. sapien, presumably leading to increased aggression and the tendency to live a violent lifestyle. It would not be surprising to find many slayers have problems with authority, or have had run-ins with the law. It has not yet been researched just how much this affects H. morellus overall, but as a scientist who has spent much of his time studying some of the most “primal” organisms on the planet, I find it likely that this is a significant difference between the way H. morellus and H. sapien act.

Proceed with caution, and keep researching.

Dr. Morell

kramervscleveland:

When Damien offered the gun this time, Alice took it. It felt heavy in her hands, heavier than she would have expected it to be. She stayed quiet during his speech, wide eyed and listening as each of her doubts and questions were demolished by his calm logic and reasoning. It still felt…wrong. Like, it shouldn’t have been the solution arrived at. But it also felt like the only way.

She didn’t wanna be stuck here forever. She just wanted to go home, and make everything normal again. As she looked at the weapon, glinting menacingly in her hand, she could feel her resolve slipping. Deep down, she knew she was better than this. She had morals, strong convictions that she’d always promised she’d never lose doing this job. But everything was just…so much. She was tired. Damien was giving her the way out on a silver platter, and she didn’t think she could say no.

Not only did he make it seem like a necessary choice to have to make, but he made her feel like she’d be a real hero if she made it. Be every inch the hero I know you can be. How could she say no to that? Right now, without her powers or anything that she had worked so hard to cultivate about herself, she felt stripped of super-dom and more than useless. “Only hope…”  If this was really, really, the only way to help the team, and save the world and prove herself…

Then she’d do it.

Alice took a shaky breath, adjusting her grip on the gun so it wasn’t limp in her hand, but held like she was ready to shoot someone (don’t think about it, don’t think about it). She looked up at Damien one more time, hoping for encouragement or affirmation of this decision, neither of which seemed really likely to genuinely come from him, but she hoped for it anyway. She wished it was Giles backing her up, and not Damien.

She knew she wouldn’t have a chance of kill- hitting her target from across the room, but the thought of standing right next to a defenseless (kind of technically innocent?) man and pulling the trigger made her stomach flip. “I – I don’t know…” Her denials were weak willed now, and it was with bile rising in her throat that she moved hesitantly and carefully across the empty room to stand behind Dr. Morell.

The gun in her hand felt heavier than ever and it seemed to burn as she regarded its upward ascent towards the back of his head. It didn’t really feel like her own arm stretched out in front of her, with a weapon poised to kill at a real person whose life would really end if the trigger pulled. It felt like she was watching some other poor girl look helplessly back at Damien once more and seeing his final nod and knowing that was it. It was going to happen.

Alice closed her eyes.

Whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Pulled the trigger.

Thomas didn’t understand. 

Understanding was his job, his passion, his drive; and without it, he found himself both quite lost, and in what appeared to be mortal danger. Tied to a chair with a gag cocooned over his mouth, arms tied tightly behind him. That man from his book signing— Damien— stood over him, niece all but absent. Scrutinized him like he was on a slide. He had a deliberate way of speaking, and although his actions could easily be classified as insane, his words were dripping unmistakable sanity. Still no understanding to be found; there was just clarity without sense. Thom’s thoughts turned and turned and turned, but they kept coming back to Alette. One week to go before their marital bliss, and now it seemed that happy ending might not happen after all. They say self-preservation is one of the strongest senses an organism can possess, but right now, Thomas just wanted some kind of assurance that Alette would escape this unscathed. Free from harm until the end of time. He could rest easy knowing just that one thing.

Damien wasn’t providing it.

Yes, come in, Thomas had said. His microscope had been abandoned for the time being so that he could research other matters— entomology textbooks at the wayside in favor of skimming through more papers from deep within the OSAD archives. Thinking, always thinking, about how he could use the information to better humanity. The Slayer was powerful, that much was clear; it was said that she (as it was always a woman) had healing capabilities unlike anyone else alive. Thomas wanted to put that to the test. Some invertebrates were capable of limb regeneration— and even a select few vertebrates such as the undeveloped axolotl— but a human being? It seemed doubtful that The Slayer could fall into that category, and that made her (it?) open for experimentation. Thomas’ mind hummed just thinking about the possibilities. Accelerated healing could become the staple of every emergency room in the world, if put to good use. Eyes busy scanning information, he had hardly paid the man in the doorway any heed. A colleague, perhaps. 

As he lifted his head to be sure, the man was already on him. Thomas was many things— intelligent, gentle, professional— but muscular was not one of them, and though he was able to shake the assailant off, it hadn’t taken long for him to bound back for a second strike. Something prickled the skin of his neck; a hornet. In a matter of short seconds, a dark vignette stretched across his vision— he was caught before he fell.

And now. His niece. The young honors student with messy hair and a shy little voice; the one who had credited him for helping her achieve a good grade. Was he the present? Thomas was no fool; he knew there was no getting out of this, no appealing to kindness or other such things. Damien wanted him dead for reasons beyond his comprehension, and in his last moments, he would not get any sort of explanation. The equivalent of torture to a mind such as his. Though he still lacked understanding, Thom had to admit the argument Damien was making sounded convincing. His eyes tried to meet hers— to gleam something from them— but she wouldn’t look. Couldn’t, it seemed. 

It was then that he knew she was going to do it.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering. Thomas had never bought into “masculinity” (most biologists could easily point out the many in ways in which organisms stretch and invert the human perceptions of gender and sex), but that hardly made it easier. His tears were not for himself to begin with. All of the people he had come so close to being able to help; the love his life, his painted lady. Thomas was as selfless as someone could be— it was said that organisms could not attain selflessness, that they would always do what would grant them the highest chance of being able to pass on their genes. He was an anomaly. Into each generation it seemed there were a select few: individuals who would brave unknown waters to help others for the sake of helping them. That was the job of a hero. That was Thomas.

I’m so sorry.

As the bullet whizzed through the short space between the barrel of the gun and Thomas’ occipital lobe, he could only hope that his Alette would live a long, happy life. Would be safe. Would carry him with her only if it were necessary. Would—

(Source: insanity-is-relative)

Jerome Foley, if that was truly his name, sat across from Thomas with his long, cricket-like legs stretched out in front of him. His suit had not a single wrinkle, and on his face was the smile of a salesman— a good one, not a Loman. Thom had found it curious that he was the one who needed money, the one who would have a debt to pay, yet it was the man he was looking at who had that twinkling grin. The easy voice and smooth hands of someone who worked with paper. Someone who read a lot.

Someone who knew things and was about to share them.

Karl Popper once said that science must begin with myths. His idea, as Thomas came to understand it, was that science is based on the things humanity did not yet know, rather than the theories that are already supported by evidence. It is impossible to prove something. Naturally, this made it hard for pencil-pushing types (as he suspected Mr. Foley of being) to understand the way the scientist talks. Support a theory or law all you want— it could be almost surely be the case in every situation imaginable— but there had to be room for doubt. There had to be. Without that possibility, science would become rigid, would reach a stand-still. 

Like the organisms Thomas studied, he had to evolve. His research grant had been declined, and for a time he’d concluded that that would spell the end for the specific project he was working on. It was impossible to avoid being devastated. Years of his work rendered useless in one letter. An envelope that would make or break him. It did both; he would be made into something new. His heart— his imaginal discs if you will— would always stay the same, warmed by Alette. Everything else had to change. The project had been a bust; a new approach would have to be found before he could re-apply for the grant next year. 

When Mr. Foley spoke of myths, Thomas listened. 

He was certain his colleagues would not have done the same thing. They would have laughed, mocked the idea, shrugged it off as something that could never be “proven”— supported. They were fools who dog-eared book pages and neglected to wipe down the lab tables. But Thomas was a scientist. An open-minded yet skeptical man who believed both everything and nothing at the same time.

The stack of papers his fingers sifted through led him to a new conclusion. Police logs, reports of cemetery break-ins, dozens upon dozens of news paper clippings— California, Cleveland, New York, Boston, Houston— all with anecdotes that had previously gone unexplained to him. There were government files too; some from a now defunct branch called The Initiative, others from the inner belly of the OSAD database. Reports of neck trauma, eye witness sightings of young women running through the streets with stakes and axes. Missing people. Cleveland Alternative Beat coverage. This was something big— huge— and Thomas found the papers sticking to his fingers, felt sweat beading down his forehead. Yes, he had to evolve. 

As Karl Popper once said, our knowledge can only be finite, while our ignorance must necessarily be infinite.

It was time for Thomas to start a new project.

Two men are arrested, but the police do not possess enough information for a conviction. Following the separation of the two men, the police offer both a similar deal—if one testifies against his partner (defects/betrays), and the other remains silent (cooperates/assists), the betrayer goes free and the one that remains silent receives the full one-year sentence. If both remain silent, both are sentenced to only one month in jail for a minor charge. If each ‘rats out’ the other, each receives a three-month sentence. Each prisoner must choose either to betray or remain silent; the decision of each is kept quiet. What should they do? If it is supposed here that each player is only concerned with lessening his time in jail, the game becomes a non-zero sum game where the two players may either assist or betray the other. In the game, the sole worry of the prisoners seems to be increasing his own reward. The interesting symmetry of this problem is that the logical decision leads each to betray the other, even though their individual ‘prize’ would be greater if they cooperated.

Dr. Morell,

It has come to our attention that the research grant you have filed with the National Science Foundation (grant #66395) has been rejected. This is most unfortunate and you have our deepest sympathies. That is why, in fact, we at the OSAD are very much interested in extending a metaphorical hand to you. 

In exchange for the $1,000,000 grant that we will provide you with, we have a specific project in mind that we wish you to undertake. The end result should be the same, in that your findings can help further humanity. If you are interested in hearing more and taking the OSAD up on this offer, please respond promptly to this email. Everything will be explained with a clarity that you have never before thought possible.

Regards,

Jerome Foley

Ohio Special Activities Division

tuckers-brother replied to your post: tuckers-brother replied to your post: Illegal…

[PM] I believe that, I really do, but this is a whole new world what with the illegalness and all.

[pm] There’s hardly anything scandalous about this research. I could start now, and submit for another grant next year claiming I am still at square one.

tuckers-brother replied to your post: Illegal isn’t always that bad. You’d prove them wrong. It’d be worth it, right?

[PM] R-really? I was right? Uhm, well, good. You have a lot to offer. Just… be careful.

[pm] I am always meticulously careful.

[pm] Between the two of us, I do not disagree.