Reciting the speech for the last of seventy times, I sprawled in the sleeping pod. This auction would be my first live encounter with other New Humans; flesh to flesh, no technological intervention. Ignoring the microdrones in my tummy, I played the footage on the smart mirror. “That should be enough,” I sighed, ignoring the few ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’.
by Nur Atikah Abdullah, Charles George Gajim, and Seti Faezah Rosli Disclaimer: the following article is a fictional piece that may or may not be scientifically accurate. Reading with discretion is advised. At a Glance: The idea of vaccination has always been heavily debated throughout the […]
With the presentation closing in at 11 a.m., Justin completed the cell culture work by transferring the cells into a vial. It was subsequently kept in a small container, aptly titled as ‘Mr. Frosty’, to be placed inside a -80oC freezer for initial cell preservation. Mr. Frosty allowed the cells…
Mixture of the pop song from the radio and the ventilation noise from the tissue culture hood fills the air of a small, rectangular-shaped room. The most precious tool within the laboratory, the pipette, was firmly-held in his left hand while various other flasks, tubes, containers were shifted intensively. Hands gloved and labcoated, Justin had been manipulating the cancerous cells since the crepuscular hours. The cells had to be grown in a sterile environment – confined within plastics or glasses – the living conditions tantamount to those endured by the Bubble Boy1. His nose inadvertently came in contact with the window glass of the hood, leaving a spot of sebum that partially blurred the vision, forcing him to abandon whatever he held within the hood to clear up the spot with 70% ethanol.