#Protein Extraction System | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

Text

pairing: scientist!sunghoon x scientist! reader

wc:10.5k

released date: 05.17.2025

warning: PURE FICTION!!

synopsis: In the quiet of her lab, Dr. Y/N, a skilled scientist, sets out on a risky mission to bring back her late fiancé, Park Sunghoon, who died in a car accident. Using his preserved DNA, she creates a clone that grows rapidly in just two years. When Sunghoon wakes up, he faces the difficult reality of being brought back to life and the moral issues surrounding Y/N's actions.

a/n: ITS HERE!! Hope you guys will love it as much as I did writing it! feedbacks,likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

In the cold glow of my underground biotech lab, silence is sacred. Down here, beneath layers of steel and earth, the world doesn’t exist. No grief. No time. Just me. Just him.

The capsule glows in the center of the room—a vertical womb of steel and glass, pulsing faintly with blue light. Suspended inside, wrapped in strands of bio-filaments and artificial amniotic fluid, is the reason I wake up in the morning. Or stay awake. I don’t know the difference anymore.

Park Sunghoon.

Or… what’s left of him.

One year ago, he died on his way to our civil wedding. A drunk driver. A rainy street. A second too late. I got the call before I even zipped up my dress. I still remember the way my coffee spilled all over the lab floor when my knees gave out. I never cleaned it. It’s still there, dried in the corner. A fossil of the moment my world cracked open.

⸻

He used to say I was too curious for my own good.

That I’d poke the universe too hard one day and it would poke back.

Maybe this is what he meant.

⸻

Sunghoon and I were both scientists—biotech researchers. We studied regenerative cloning, theorized about neural echo imprinting, debated ethics like it was foreplay.

He was against replicas. Always. “A copy isn’t a soul,” he’d say. “It’s just noise pretending to be music.”

But the day he died, I stopped caring about music.

I just wanted to hear his voice again.

⸻

I had everything I needed. A sample of his bone DNA—collected after a minor lab accident years ago and stored under a pseudonym. His blood type, genome map, neural scan from our first brain-simulation trial. A perfect match, all buried in our old hard drives. He never knew I kept them. Maybe he would’ve hated me for it.

Maybe I don’t care.

I called it Project ECHO.

Because that’s what he was now.

An echo. A ripple in the void.

⸻

The first version—ECHO-1—was a failure.

He looked like Sunghoon. But he never woke up. I ran every test. Monitored every vital. Adjusted nutrient cycles, protein growth, heartbeat regulators. But something in him was missing—something I couldn’t code into cells.

A soul, maybe. Or timing.

He died the second I tried to bring him out.

I cremated and buried that version in the garden, under the cherry tree he planted the first spring we moved in. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I just stood there holding the urn and whispered, “I’ll get it right next time.”

⸻

ECHO-2 was different.

I restructured the genome to prevent cellular decay. Added telomere stabilizers to delay aging. Enhanced his immune system. This time, I built him stronger. Healthier. The version of Sunghoon that would’ve never gotten sick that winter in Sapporo, or fainted in the elevator that one night after forgetting to eat. That version who could live longer. With me.

But the rest—I left untouched.

His smile. His hands. The faint mole scattered in his face. The way his hair curled when wet. All exactly the same. It had to be. He wouldn’t be Sunghoon without those things.

I even reconstructed his mind.

Using an illegal neural mapping sequence I coded from fragments of our joint research, I retrieved echoes of his memory—dream-like reflections extracted from the deepest preserved brain tissue. It wasn’t perfect. But it was him. Pieces of him. The things he never got to say. The life he never finished.

⸻

It took two years.

Two years in the dark, surrounded by synthetic fluid and filtered lights, modifying the incubator like a cradle built by obsession. I monitored every development milestone like a parent. I watched him grow. I whispered stories to him when the lab was quiet, played him our favorite records through the tank’s acoustic feed, left him notes on the console like he could read them.

⸻

One night, I touched the tank and felt warmth radiate back. His fingers twitched.

A smile cracked on his lips, soft and sleepy.

And I whispered, “You’re almost here.”

⸻

Now he floats before me—grown, complete, and terrifyingly familiar. His chest rises and falls steadily. Muscles formed and defined from synthetic stimulation. His brain is fully developed. His body—twenty-five years old. The age he was when he died. The age we should’ve gotten married.

And now, he’s ready.

⸻

The console buzzes beside me.

“Project ECHO – Stage V: Awakening. Confirm execution.”

My fingers hover. The hum of the lab grows louder. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat.

This is it.

The point of no return.

I press enter.

The Awakening didn’t look like the movies.

There was no dramatic gasp, no lightning bolt of consciousness.

It was subtle.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and uncertain, like the first morning light after a long storm. They didn’t lock onto me at first. He blinked a few times—slow, groggy—and stared at the ceiling of the pod with a confusion so human it made my knees go weak.

Then his gaze shifted.

Found me.

And held.

Just long enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

“Sunghoon,” I whispered.

His lips barely moved. “…Y/N?”

And then—just like that—he slipped under again.

His vitals were stable, but his body couldn’t process full consciousness yet. It was expected. I designed it that way. A controlled emergence. Gentle. Like thawing from ice.

He would wake again. Soon.

⸻

Phase VI: Integration.

I had the room ready before I even began the cloning process. A private suite in the East Wing of my estate, modified to resemble a recovery room from a private hospital: sterile whites and soft blues, filtered natural lighting, automated IV drips and real-time vitals displayed on sleek black monitors. The scent of lavender piped faintly through the vents. His favorite.

I moved him after he lost consciousness again—quietly, carefully. No one else involved. Not even my AI assistant, KARA. This part was just mine.

Just ours.

He lay in the bed now, dressed in soft gray cotton, sheets pulled up to his chest. The faint hum of the machines harmonized with his breathing. It was surreal. Like watching a ghost settle into a life it forgot it had.

I perched on the armchair across from him, the dim lighting casting long shadows over his face.

“You’re safe,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “And when you wake up… everything will be in place.”

⸻

I spent the next forty-eight hours setting the stage.

Fabricated records of a traumatic car accident—minor amnesia, extended coma, miraculous survival. Hacked into the hospital registry and quietly added his name under a wealthy alias. I made sure the media silence was absolute. No visitors. No suspicious calls. A full blackout.

I memorized the story I would tell him. Rehearsed it like a script.

We had been on our way to City Hall. A drunk driver ran a red light. I survived with minor injuries. He hit his head. Slipped into a coma. No signs of brain damage, but long-term memory instability was expected.

He’d been here ever since. Safe. Loved. Waiting to wake up.

And now—he had.

⸻

On the morning of the third day, I heard movement.

Soft. Shuffling. Sheets rustling.

I turned from the monitor just as he groaned softly, his head turning on the pillow.

“Sunghoon?”

His eyes blinked open again, more alert this time. Still groggy, but present.

“Y/N…?” he rasped.

I rushed to his side, heart in my throat. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His brows knit together, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” I said gently. “The day of our wedding. You’ve been in a coma. Two years.”

His eyes widened—just a little. Then flicked down to his hands. The IV. The machines. The unfamiliar room.

“…Two years?”

I nodded, bracing for the confusion. “You survived. But it was close. We weren’t sure you’d ever… come back.”

He said nothing.

Just stared at me.

Like he was trying to remember something he couldn’t quite reach.

“…Why does it feel like I never left?” he whispered.

I smiled softly. Forced. “Because I never left you.”

And for now, that was all he needed to know.

But deep down, behind those eyes, behind the half-forgotten memories and muscle memory that wasn’t truly his—

Something flickered.

Something not asleep anymore.

He was awake.

And the lie had begun.

The days that followed passed in a quiet rhythm.

He adjusted faster than I anticipated. His motor skills were strong, his speech patterns natural—so much so that sometimes I forgot he wasn’t really him. Or maybe he was. Just… rebuilt. Reassembled with grief and obsession and the memory of love that still clung to me like static.

I stayed with him in the hospital wing, sleeping on the pullout beside his bed. Every morning he’d wake before me, staring out the wide window as if trying to piece together time. And when I asked what he was thinking, he always gave the same answer:

“I feel like I dreamed you.”

On the seventh day, he turned to me, his voice clearer than ever.

“Can I go back to our room?”

I paused, fingers wrapped around the rim of his tea mug.

He still called it our room.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re strong enough now.”

And so we did.

I helped him down the hallway, hand in his, the same way I’d imagined it during the long nights of Phase II. His steps were careful, measured. But his eyes… they lit up the moment we entered.

It looked the same.

The navy sheets. The low lights. The picture of us by the bookshelf—framed and untouched. His books still on the shelf in alphabetical order. His favorite sweatshirt folded at the foot of the bed like I had never moved it.

He smiled when he saw it. “It feels like nothing’s changed.”

Except everything had.

I didn’t say that.

⸻

He asked about the lab a few nights later. We were curled together in bed—his head on my shoulder, our legs tangled like old habits finding their way home.

“How’s the lab?” he asked, voice soft in the dark. “Are we still working on the neuro-mirroring project?”

My heart skipped.

I’d gotten rid of everything. The pod. The DNA matrix. The prototype drafts. Scrubbed the drives clean. Smashed the external backups. Buried the remains of ECHO-1 under a new tree. The lab was as sterile as my conscience was not.

I turned toward him, brushing my thumb over the scar that curved above his brow. The one that hadn’t been there before the “accident.”

“It’s being renovated,” I said carefully. “After the crash… I couldn’t go in for a while. So I decided to redo it. Clear things out. Start over fresh.”

He nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t ask again.

And just like that, life began to move forward.

He followed me around the house again, stealing kisses in the kitchen, playfully poking fun at the way I never folded laundry properly. He rediscovered his favorite coffee, laughed at old movies like they were new, held my hand under the stars like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But sometimes—when he thought I wasn’t looking—he’d stare at his reflection too long. Tilt his head. Press his fingers to his chest like he was checking if something was still there.

Maybe he felt it.

The echo of what he was.

But if he did, he never said.

One night, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, he whispered into my neck, “I don’t know how I got so lucky to come back to you.”

I pressed a kiss to his temple, forcing a smile as my heart ached beneath the surface.

“I guess some things are just meant to find their way back.”

Even if they were never supposed to.

Time softened everything.

The sterile silence of the house began to fade, replaced by the quiet thrum of life again—the clink of mugs in the morning, the shuffle of his bare feet on the hardwood, the lazy hum of music playing from a speaker that hadn’t been touched since he died. I started to breathe again, and so did he.

Like we were rewriting the rhythm we’d lost.

—

Our first night out felt like time travel.

He picked the place—a rooftop restaurant we always swore we’d try, back when work kept getting in the way. I wore the same navy dress I had worn on our second anniversary. He noticed. His hand slid into mine under the table like it belonged there, his thumb tracing invisible patterns against my skin.

Halfway through dessert, he leaned in, grinning with chocolate at the corner of his lip.

“You still scrunch your nose when you’re pretending to like the wine,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

I blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded slowly. “It just feels like… I always knew.”

I smiled, heart aching in that strange, quiet way it always did now.

“You’re right,” I said, brushing the chocolate off his lip. “You always did.”

Even grocery shopping with him became a date.

He pushed the cart like a child let loose, tossing in things we didn’t need just to make me laugh. At one point, he held up a can of whipped cream with the most mischievous glint in his eye.

“For movie night,” he said innocently.

I arched a brow. “For the movie or during the movie?”

He smirked. “Depends how boring the movie is.”

We walked home with one umbrella, our fingers interlaced in the rain, and the world somehow felt smaller, warmer.

He burned the garlic the first time.

“I told you the pan was too hot,” I said, waving smoke away.

“And you told me to trust you,” he countered, looking absurdly proud of his crime against dinner. “Besides, I like it crunchy.”

“You like your taste buds annihilated, apparently.”

We ended up ordering takeout, sitting on the kitchen floor, eating noodles out of the box with chopsticks, laughing about how we’d both make terrible housewives.

But the next night, we tried again.

He stood behind me, arms around my waist, guiding my hands as I chopped vegetables.

“You used to do this,” I said softly. “When I first moved in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s one of my favorite memories.”

Cuddling became a ritual.

He always found a way to get impossibly close—sprawled across the couch with his head in my lap, humming contentedly while I read a book or ran my fingers through his hair.

Sometimes we didn’t speak for hours.

Just the quiet breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat echoing faintly against my thigh. Real. Solid. Present.

It was a miracle I could touch.

One night, as rain tapped gently on the windows and he was half-asleep on my shoulder, he whispered:

“I feel safe with you.”

I held him tighter.

Because if I let go—even for a second—I was afraid he might vanish again.

⸻

Love blossomed differently this time.

Slower. Deeper. Less like fire, more like roots. Tangled and unshakable.

And sometimes, in the quiet of our shared bed, I would watch him sleep and wonder if it was love that brought him back.

Or obsession.

But when he opened his eyes and smiled like the sun lived behind them, I told myself it didn’t matter.

He was here.

And that was enough.

For now.

⸻

I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding so violently it threatened to break free from my chest. The nightmare was still fresh, its vividness clinging to my mind like the smoke of a fire.

Sunghoon.

He was in the car again—his face frozen in the moment before everything shattered, his eyes wide with disbelief. The screech of tires, the crash. His body limp. The way I couldn’t reach him no matter how hard I screamed.

I gasped for air, my fingers clutching at the sheets, tangled in the panic that still gripped me.

My breath came in ragged bursts as I sat up, drenched in sweat. My chest heaved with the rawness of the memory, the terrible what-ifs that still haunted me.

A hand gently touched my back.

“Y/N?”

His voice, soft and concerned, cut through the haze of the nightmare. I froze for a moment, the world around me still spinning from the disorienting shock.

I turned, and there he was—Sunghoon—sitting up beside me in the bed, his eyes full of concern. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his face, and for a moment, it was almost as if everything had shifted back into place.

But only for a second.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice warm with worry.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. “I… I just had a nightmare,” I whispered, avoiding his eyes. My heart was still trying to settle, and I didn’t want him to see the fear in my face. I didn’t want him to see how broken I still was.

Sunghoon leaned forward, his hands reaching out to cradle my face gently. He brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead, his touch so familiar, so tender.

“Nightmares are just that,” he said softly, his thumb grazing my skin. “They aren’t real. I’m here.”

I nodded, trying to pull myself together, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t loosen. There was something about the way he said it—so assuredly. So real. Like the past didn’t exist, like he had never been gone.

Like I hadn’t created him from fragments of grief and obsession.

He sat next to me, his arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, slowly calmed me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him—the same as it had always been.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his voice a quiet lullaby.

But somewhere deep inside, I couldn’t shake the question that had haunted me since the moment I had revived him: Who was he really? Was this truly the Sunghoon I had loved, the one who had filled my life with light? Or was this just a perfect imitation, a replica of my memories? An echo of a man who would never truly exist again?

I wanted to believe he was him. I needed to believe it.

But as he held me, his warmth seeping into my skin, I couldn’t deny the doubt that gnawed at my soul.

“Y/N?” he murmured, sensing my tension.

“Yeah?” I whispered, pulling myself closer into his arms.

He tilted my chin up, his gaze intense as he met my eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly, with such certainty that for a moment, it almost felt real—like the love we’d always shared before the accident, before everything shattered.

And in that moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to forget everything else, to let myself drown in the reassurance that this was him—my Sunghoon.

But the ghosts of the past still lingered in the corners of my mind.

“I love you too,” I replied softly, my voice shaky but true.

And for a few minutes, we just sat there, holding each other in the stillness of the night.

But as I closed my eyes and let the warmth of his embrace lull me back to sleep, the doubt remained.

Would I ever be able to escape the shadows of my own creation?

As the days passed, the weight of my doubts gradually lightened. Sunghoon’s presence—his warmth, his voice, the way he smiled—reminded me more and more of the man I had once loved, the man who had been taken from me.

The fear, the gnawing uncertainty that had once been constant in the back of my mind, slowly started to fade. Each moment we spent together was a little piece of normalcy returning. He didn’t just look like Sunghoon. He was Sunghoon. In every little detail—his laugh, the way he tilted his head when he was deep in thought, how he always made the coffee exactly the way I liked it. His presence was enough to reassure me that this was him, in all the ways that mattered.

We went on walks together, hand in hand, strolling through the garden I had planted the day we first moved into the house. It was filled with flowers that bloomed year-round—just like the memories I had of us, blooming and growing despite the heartbreak.

We laughed, reminiscing about everything we had shared before. Sunghoon was never afraid to be vulnerable with me, and it felt like we were picking up right where we left off. His sense of humor, always dry and sarcastic, never failed to make me smile. And slowly, I began to accept that the man who stood beside me, laughing at his own jokes, was truly my Sunghoon.

One night, as we cooked dinner together, I watched him carefully slice vegetables, his movements graceful and practiced. It was simple, domestic, but it felt like everything I had longed for since he was gone.

“Don’t forget the garlic,” I reminded him, teasing.

He shot me a look, smirking. “I remember.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle into my bones. This was real. The way he made sure I was comfortable in the kitchen, the way we worked together without needing words—this was our life, reborn.

The more time we spent in the house, the more at ease I became. We cooked together, watched old movies, read books side by side, and held each other as we fell asleep at night. There were no more questions in my mind. No more doubts. Just the feeling of peace settling over me, like the calm after a storm.

Sunghoon never asked me about the lab. And I never had to lie, because there was no need to. The lab had been dismantled long ago, every trace of Project ECHO erased. It was as if it never existed. My obsession, my grief—gone.

In its place was this. A second chance.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Y/N,” he said one evening as we sat on the couch, the sound of rain tapping against the windows. He held me close, his head resting against mine. “No matter what happens, no matter what changes… you’re the one for me.”

I turned to look at him, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might reveal the truth I feared. But there was nothing. Only love. Real love.

“I feel the same,” I whispered back, brushing my lips against his.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There was no past, no lab, no questions. There was only Sunghoon, here with me. And that was enough.

The days continued to pass in a peaceful blur of moments that I had once thought lost forever. With each sunrise, my doubts melted away, and with every touch, every kiss, I felt more certain that this was real. That he was real.

Sunghoon might not be the exact same person who had walked out of that door all those years ago—but in my heart, it didn’t matter. He was my Sunghoon, and that was all I needed.

Together, we built a life—one step at a time. And this time, I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t afraid of the past. I wasn’t afraid of the future.

I was just… happy.

Sunghoon’s POV

It had been a year since I came back to her, and in that time, I had slowly convinced myself that everything was okay. That what we had, what I had, was enough. That the woman I loved, the woman who had saved me—had done so much more than just revive me—wasn’t hiding any more secrets. But the past… it always had a way of creeping up, didn’t it?

I wasn’t snooping, not exactly. I was just cleaning up. I had offered to help her tidy up the office since she had been so caught up in her work lately, and well, I had nothing else to do. After all, it’s been a year now, and I’ve come to understand her more than I could ever have imagined. She’d been distant the past few days, and it made me uneasy. The kind of unease that makes you feel like there’s something you should know, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

It was as I was sorting through the boxes in her home office—one that she hadn’t allowed me to visit much—that I found it.

A video tape.

It was tucked behind a stack of old files, half-buried in the clutter. At first, I thought nothing of it. She was always meticulous about her work, so maybe it was just an old research document, something from her past. But when I saw the words “Project ECHO – Development and Breakdown” scrawled on the side, my heart stopped. I felt a sickening knot tighten in my chest, and instinctively, my fingers curled around it.

What was this?

My thoughts raced as I fumbled with the tape, my hands trembling just slightly as I slid it into the old VCR player she kept in the corner of the office. The screen flickered to life.

There I was.

Or… the version of me that had once existed. The first one. My mind was running faster than my eyes could follow the images flashing on the screen. I saw footage of my development, from the initial growth stages to the first electrical impulses firing in my brain, as well as my physical appearance being tested and adjusted.

My stomach turned as the video documented every breakdown of my body—every failed attempt to bring me to life. I saw the wires, the artificial fluids, the machines that I had been hooked up to before I had opened my eyes, before I had woken up in that hospital room.

But it was the last part of the video that hit hardest. There, in her cold, emotionless voice, Y/N narrated her thoughts, her failed efforts, her obsession with recreating me.

“I couldn’t get it right… not the first time. But I will, because I have to. For him. For us.”

My chest tightened as the realization hit me like a brick. She had known the entire time. She had created me. I wasn’t the Sunghoon who had died. I was a version of him. A shadow of the real thing.

The screen went black, but the words echoed in my mind like an incessant drumbeat.

For him. For us.

The pain of that truth was like a knife twisting in my gut. The woman I loved had spent years trying to recreate me, to bring me back—because she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t let me go. But she never told me. She never let me in on the truth of it all.

I was a lie.

I wasn’t real. And all this time, I had been believing I was the same Sunghoon she had lost. But I wasn’t.

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as I reached for the nearby papers, pulling them out in a frantic rage. More documents. More of my development—charts, genetic breakdowns, notes about my failed memories, and even the procedures Y/N had carried out. Every page proved it. I wasn’t just a clone; I was the culmination of her grief and desire.

The door to the office opened quietly behind me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. I could feel her presence like a weight pressing down on me.

“Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur.

I finally turned to face her. She looked pale, her eyes wide, clearly having seen the documents I had scattered across the room. She knew. She knew what I had found.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I choked out, my voice raw. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Y/N?”

Her eyes flickered with guilt, and for a moment, I thought she might say something—anything to explain, to apologize. But instead, she took a step back, her hands wringing together nervously.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to lose you again. I—I thought maybe if you didn’t know… maybe we could have our life back. I just wanted to have you here again, Sunghoon.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I could feel the tears building in my eyes. “But I’m not him, am I? I’m not the real Sunghoon. I’m just… this.” I gestured around at the papers, at the video, at the mess that had been my life. “I’m a replica. A copy of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. How could you do this to me?”

She stepped forward, her face pale with fear, but her voice was firm. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted you back, Sunghoon. I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t lose you. You were taken from me so suddenly, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t live with the thought that you were gone forever.”

I looked at her, the woman who had once been everything to me—the one who I thought had rebuilt me out of love, not out of desperation.

“Do you think I’m the same person? Do you think I can just pretend that I’m the man I was before? How could you think I wouldn’t want to know the truth?” My voice cracked, emotion flooding out of me like a dam breaking. “How could you do this?”

Her face crumpled, and I saw the tears well up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely audible through the sobs. “I thought if I could just give you everything back, we could start over. But I was wrong. I—I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

I could feel the overwhelming ache in my chest, the confusion, the betrayal. But more than that, I felt the loss of something far deeper: trust. The trust that she had built between us was gone in an instant.

“You’re right. You should’ve told me,” I whispered, stepping back, my throat tight. “I need some space, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

I turned and walked out of the room, my heart shattering with each step.

I paused at the door, the weight of her voice sinking into me like a stone. I didn’t turn around, not right away. The question lingered in the air, hanging between us, impossible to ignore.

“If I was the one who died, would you do the same?”

Her words were quiet, but they cut through the silence of the room with precision, like a knife through soft flesh. I could feel the tension in the air—the desperation in her voice, the need for an answer. She was asking me to justify her actions, to somehow make sense of everything she had done.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to turn and lash out. But I couldn’t do it—not when the pain of her question was a reflection of everything I was feeling.

“I… I don’t know,” I finally muttered, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I would. I can’t say for sure. But I don’t think I’d ever hide the truth from you. I wouldn’t keep you in the dark, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.”

Her soft, broken gasp from behind me reached my ears, but I couldn’t face her—not yet. Not when the anger and hurt were still so raw.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love that much,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I couldn’t stand the thought of living without you, Sunghoon. I thought… maybe if I could just bring you back… we could have our future. But now, I see how selfish that was. How wrong.”

I wanted to say something—anything—to ease her pain, but the words stuck in my throat. The truth was, part of me still wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay. But I wasn’t sure if that would be enough. Would it ever be enough?

“I need time, Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice cracking. “I need to think. About all of this. About us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unbearable. And then, finally, I walked out the door, leaving her behind, standing in the wreckage of her choices—and my own shattered heart.

The days stretched on like a slow burn, each passing hour marked by the tension that filled every corner of our shared space. We were still in the same house, the same home, but it felt like we were living in different worlds now. The walls felt thicker, the silence heavier.

I moved through the house in a daze, keeping to myself more often than not. Y/N and I had an unspoken agreement—it was easier this way. She’d stay in the study or the kitchen, and I’d retreat to the room we used to share, now feeling like an alien space, void of the warmth it once held. We didn’t speak much anymore, and when we did, it was brief—polite, almost mechanical.

There were moments when I caught a glimpse of her, standing in the hallway, her head bent low, a soft frown on her face. Other times, she’d walk by without looking at me, her eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding my gaze as if she feared what might happen if she met my eyes for too long. I wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—but every time I did, the words felt inadequate, like they couldn’t possibly capture the weight of everything that had changed.

One evening, I found myself sitting in the living room, staring out the window at the moonlit garden. I could hear her footsteps in the hallway, the soft sound of her presence lingering in the air. For a moment, I thought she might come in, might sit beside me like she used to. But she didn’t. Instead, the silence stretched between us again, a reminder of the distance we had created.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my eyes as frustration built inside me. The whole situation felt suffocating—like I was trapped between what I wanted and what had happened. I didn’t know how to fix it, or even if it could be fixed. There was so much to unravel, so many emotions to sort through. And then there was the truth—the truth of who I was now. Not just a man trying to find his way back to a life that no longer existed, but a clone—a replica of someone who once had a future, now burdened with a past he didn’t truly own.

The sound of her voice from the kitchen broke my thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called softly, her voice almost too gentle, too careful.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the untouched glass of water on the coffee table. The empty space between us felt too vast to cross, but eventually, I stood up, making my way to the kitchen.

We sat across from each other, the dim light from the pendant lamp above casting shadows on the table. There were no small talks, no jokes exchanged like before. We ate in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound between us. Every so often, I would look up, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, but neither of us had the courage to speak the words that were hanging in the air.

The food was good, as always, but it didn’t taste the same. The flavor of everything felt hollow, like a memory that wasn’t quite mine.

When the meal was over, I helped clear the table, my movements stiff. The kitchen felt too small, the air too thick.

She turned to face me then, her expression unreadable, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. “I know you are. I… I just don’t know what to do with all of this.”

Her eyes flickered with unshed tears, and she stepped back, as though the space between us could somehow protect her from the weight of the moment. “I never wanted to hurt you, Sunghoon,” she murmured, her words full of regret. “I thought… I thought if I could just bring you back, we could have another chance. But now I see how wrong I was.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process the ache in my chest. “I don’t know how to fix this either. But I know… I know I need to understand who I am now. And what we are.” My voice trembled, but I fought it back. “I need time.”

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like a farewell, and yet, we stayed in the same house. In the same life, but now it was something unrecognizable.

The next few weeks passed in the same quiet, empty rhythm. We moved around each other, living parallel lives without ever crossing paths in any meaningful way. There were mornings where I would wake up to find her sitting on the couch, staring at her phone, or nights where I’d catch her reading a book in the dim light.

Sometimes, I would linger by the door to her study, wondering if I should knock, ask her how she was feeling, but each time, I backed away, unsure if I was ready to face the answers she might give.

At night, I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was how we were going to live—side by side but separate. I missed her. I missed us. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a shadow of the man she once loved, and that was a weight I wasn’t sure she could carry anymore.

One night, as I lay in the dark, unable to sleep, I heard the soft sound of her crying. The quiet sobs seeped through the walls, and my heart clenched painfully in my chest.

I wanted to go to her. Hold her. Tell her everything would be okay. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the words anymore.

And maybe, I never would.

The night stretched on, and despite the tension that hung thick in the house, I managed to fall into an uneasy sleep. The weight of everything—our fragmented relationship, the guilt, the uncertainty—had left me exhausted, though the sleep I sought felt shallow and restless.

It was around 3 AM when I was jolted awake by the softest sound—a faint, broken sob. My eyes snapped open in the dark, my heartbeat quickening. I froze, listening carefully, the sounds of her grief pulling at something deep within me.

It was coming from the direction of her room.

At first, I told myself to ignore it. After all, she had her own space, her own pain, and I had my own to deal with. But the sound of her brokenness—quiet and desperate—was too much to ignore.

Slowly, I slid out of bed, my bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. I moved silently through the house, drawn to the soft, muffled sounds echoing through the walls. When I reached the door to her room, I paused.

She was crying, the kind of sobs that wracked her body and left her vulnerable. I hadn’t heard her cry like this before—unfiltered, raw, as if the dam inside her had finally broken.

The light from her bedside lamp flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the walls. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head buried in her hands, the tears falling freely, like they couldn’t be held back anymore.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tightening at the sight. My first instinct was to rush to her side, to pull her into my arms and whisper that everything would be alright. But I didn’t. I just watched from the doorway, a spectator in my own home.

The sound of her pain made me feel powerless, as if I were too far gone—too far removed from who I once was to even be the man she needed. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence between us felt like an unspoken agreement, a distance neither of us knew how to cross.

And then she spoke.

“I’m sorry… Sunghoon,” she whispered to the empty room, the words slipping from her like a confession she hadn’t meant to make. “I thought I could fix it. I thought… if I could just bring you back, we could be happy again. But I don’t know what I’ve done anymore. I don’t know who you are. Or if you’re even really you.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and I could hear the weight of her regret, the guilt, the fear of everything she’d done.

The flood of emotions hit me all at once—anger, sadness, confusion—and yet, there was something else, too. The overwhelming desire to reach out to her. To show her that I understood, that I knew how hard this was for her.

But still, I stayed frozen. Silent. The words that had once flowed so easily between us now felt like strangers.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but it didn’t stop the tears.

“I was selfish,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible now. “I couldn’t let go. I wanted you back, no matter the cost. And now… I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”

That was when the weight of it all hit me fully—the pain she had been carrying, the burden she had placed on herself. The fear she had been living with, not knowing if I could ever truly forgive her for bringing me back.

I stepped forward then, unable to watch her fall apart without doing something.

“Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse, betraying the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long.

She immediately stiffened, her breath hitching as she quickly wiped her face, trying to pull herself together. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice faltering. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I heard you,” I interrupted, taking a few steps into the room. “And I’m not angry with you.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with so much sadness, it was almost more than I could bear. “But I did this to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I brought you back, Sunghoon. And I don’t know if you even want to be here. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to be—” She stopped, her breath shaky, as if even speaking the words caused her pain.

I knelt in front of her, my heart aching as I reached for her hands, gently pulling them from her face. “Y/N…” I said softly. “I am here. I’m here because I want to be.”

“But what if I’ve ruined everything?” she whispered. “What if I can never make it right?”

I shook my head, cupping her face in my hands as I looked into her eyes, searching for some glimmer of hope in her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You did what you thought was best… even if it was wrong. And I understand that. But we can’t live like this, hiding from each other. We need to talk. We need to be honest.”

She nodded slowly, tears still slipping down her cheeks. “But can we ever go back to what we were?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a quiet desperation.

I swallowed, my own emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice thick. “But I want to try. I want to figure it out. Together.”

There was a long pause, and then, slowly, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine, her tears falling onto my skin. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything settle in.

In that moment, I realized that maybe there wasn’t a way back to what we once had—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find something new. Something different. Something real.

And I was willing to fight for it.

I held her closer, whispering against her hair. “We’ll find our way. Together. One step at a time.”

The silence between us stretched out, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything we had been through. Her breath was shaky against my skin, and I could feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, like she was finally letting herself soften, letting me in again.

I wanted to say more, to fix everything, but the words weren’t coming. I could only focus on the rhythm of her breath, how the vulnerability in her touch made everything seem both fragile and precious.

And then, almost instinctively, I pulled back just slightly, my hands still cupping her face, fingers brushing softly over the damp skin of her cheeks. I searched her eyes for something, anything—some flicker of permission, of trust.

The question formed in my chest before I even realized it, and before I could second-guess myself, it slipped from my mouth, quiet and uncertain but earnest.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words were soft, tentative, as if I wasn’t sure she would say yes, as if I wasn’t sure I even had the right to ask anymore. But something in me needed to hear it—to know if we could bridge that last distance between us, if the gulf of everything we had been through could be closed with something as simple as a kiss.

Her gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything went still. She didn’t say anything. There was only the quiet sound of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest under my palms. The world outside the room felt distant, irrelevant. It was just us now, alone in this fragile moment.

I waited. She could say no. She could push me away. But I needed to know where we stood.

And then, slowly, her eyes softened. She gave a slight nod, her lips trembling as if the simple motion of it took all her strength.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was there. It was all I needed to hear.

Before I could even think, my hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her gently closer. I closed the distance between us, hesitating only for a brief second, just enough to feel the weight of the moment.

And then I kissed her.

It wasn’t the kiss I had imagined—the wild, desperate kiss of two people who couldn’t control themselves. No, this one was different. It was slow, careful, tentative, like we were both afraid to break something that had just begun to heal. My lips brushed against hers, soft and uncertain, as if I were asking for permission again with every gentle touch.

She responded after a moment, her hands finding their way to my chest, clutching at me like she was trying to ground herself in the kiss, in the connection we were rebuilding. I could feel her hesitation, but I could also feel the warmth, the pull, the quiet promise in the way she kissed me back.

The kiss deepened slowly, our movements syncing, building, and for the first time in so long, I felt something stir inside me that had been dormant—hope. A fragile, trembling hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. That maybe this was the first step in learning to trust again.

When we finally pulled away, neither of us spoke for a moment. We just stayed there, foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling in the stillness. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, a steady rhythm that told me she was here. She was still here with me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small, but it wasn’t the apology I had been expecting. It wasn’t guilt or regret. It was a quiet understanding. A promise, maybe.

“I know,” I whispered back, brushing my thumb over her cheek, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. “We’re going to be okay.”

And for the first time in so long, I actually believed it.

The air between us was thick with the weight of everything unspoken, but in that moment, there was only the soft brush of our lips, the warmth of our bodies pressed together, and the undeniable pull that had always been there. We moved slowly, cautiously, like we were both afraid of shattering something fragile that had just begun to heal.

The kiss deepened, an unspoken question lingering in the space between us. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, fast and erratic, matching mine. It was as if we both understood that this was more than just a kiss—it was a reclaiming, a restoration of something that had been lost for far too long.

I gently cupped her face, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss as my hands found their way down her back, pulling her closer, as if I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. Her fingers slid up to my chest, tracing the lines of my shirt before pushing it off, the fabric slipping to the floor without a second thought.

There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. Just the raw connection between us that had always been there, waiting to be unlocked.

She responded with the same urgency, hands moving over my body, finding the familiar places, the marks that made me me. I could feel the heat of her skin, the way her breath caught when we came closer, when I kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips. The taste of her was like everything I’d been missing, the feeling of her so real, so tangible, that for a moment, it was hard to believe she was really here. Really with me.

Our movements grew more urgent, more desperate, but still tender, as if we were both trying to savor this moment, unsure of what tomorrow might bring, but desperate to make up for the lost time. I wanted to show her everything, all the ways I loved her, all the ways I had missed her without even knowing how much.

The world outside the room disappeared. There was no lab, no documents, no research, no mistakes. Just us—finding our way back to each other, piece by piece. I held her close, kissed her as if I could never let her go, and when the moment finally came, when we both reached that point of release, it wasn’t just about the physicality. It was about trust, about healing, about starting over.

When we collapsed against each other afterward, breathless and tangled in sheets, I felt something shift inside me. Something I hadn’t realized was broken until it started to mend.

Her hand found mine, fingers lacing together, and she rested her head on my chest, her breath slowing, and for the first time in so long, I felt peace. A peace I hadn’t known I needed.

And in the quiet of the room, with her beside me, I whispered softly, “I’ll never let you go again.”

She didn’t answer right away, but I felt the way she squeezed my hand tighter, her chest rising and falling against mine. She didn’t need to say anything. I could feel it in the way she held me.

And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe that we could truly begin again.

The quiet stillness of the room enveloped us, the soft sound of our breathing the only thing that filled the space. I held her, tracing the curve of her back with my fingers, savoring the moment as though it might slip away if I wasn’t careful. The weight of everything—the doubts, the fears, the mistakes—was still there, lingering in the shadows of my mind, but for once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry them alone.

She shifted slightly, raising her head to meet my gaze. There was a softness in her eyes now, the guarded walls that had once stood so tall between us slowly crumbling. I could see the vulnerability there, but also the strength that had always been her anchor.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it carried all the weight of everything she’d been carrying inside. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin. “I know,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “I know. But we’re here now. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She nodded, her eyes closing for a moment as if gathering herself. The air between us was charged with unspoken words, and I could feel the weight of the past year pressing down on us. But there was something different now—something that had shifted between us, something I hadn’t felt in so long.

Her lips found mine again, soft and gentle, a kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was an apology, a promise, a plea all rolled into one. And for the first time in so long, I allowed myself to believe in it fully.

When we finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, both of us still tangled in the sheets, the world outside feeling miles away. I could hear the distant hum of the city, the night stretching out before us like a quiet, unspoken promise.

“I love you,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could even think about them. But it felt right. It felt real.

She smiled, her fingers brushing against my cheek. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

And in that moment, I knew. No matter the struggles we’d faced, no matter the secrets, the pain, or the mistakes, we were still here. Still us. And as long as we could keep finding our way back to each other, everything else would be okay.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading into nothingness. In the quiet, there was only peace. The peace of knowing that, together, we could face whatever came next.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I finally let go of the fear that had kept me tethered to the past. Because with her by my side, I knew we could build a future. A real future. And nothing, nothing at all could take that away from us.

As the days passed, something began to shift between us. It was subtle at first, small gestures of kindness, moments of vulnerability that had been buried under the weight of secrets and doubts. But as we spent more time together, the trust that had once been strained slowly started to blossom again, like a fragile flower daring to bloom in the cracks of the world we had rebuilt.

Every morning, Sunghoon would make me coffee, just the way I liked it—strong, a little bitter, with just a hint of sweetness. It became our small ritual, something to ground us, to remind us that we were still learning, still growing. And every evening, we’d find ourselves lost in the quiet comfort of one another’s presence. Sometimes we didn’t say much, just the familiar silence that had always existed between us, but now it felt different. It felt safe.

One night, as we sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket together, he turned to me, his expression soft. “I’ve been thinking about everything. About what you did…and why. I don’t want to just forgive you. I want to understand. I want us to really move forward.”

I smiled, the warmth in his voice soothing the lingering worries in my chest. “We will,” I whispered, “We’re already on the way.”

Sunghoon gave me a small, genuine smile, his fingers lightly brushing over mine. It was a touch so simple, yet it carried all the weight of the world. I had feared this moment—the moment when the cracks would be too deep to heal—but instead, I felt something stronger than before. Something more real.

As the weeks went on, we found ourselves sharing more than just physical space. We started talking about the future—what we wanted, where we saw ourselves. There was no more fear of the unknown between us. Instead, there was excitement. There was trust, slowly but surely, weaving its way back into our lives.

I could see it in the way Sunghoon would ask about my day, genuinely interested, and how I would lean into him when I needed comfort, no longer second-guessing whether I deserved it. Our conversations had depth now, unafraid of the things we once kept hidden. We didn’t pretend anymore. We didn’t have to.

One evening, while we were cooking dinner together, Sunghoon turned to me with a teasing smile. “You’ve improved. Your cooking’s actually…not terrible.”

I laughed, playfully shoving him. “Hey, I’ve gotten better!”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “I’m proud of you.”

I could feel the sincerity in his words, the love that had grown back between us like something tangible. The fear and doubt that had once plagued me were nowhere to be found now. In their place was a quiet certainty.

We weren’t perfect. We still had our moments of miscommunication, of moments when the past reared its head, but with each day, the trust between us grew stronger. It wasn’t about erasing the mistakes we’d made. It was about learning from them and choosing to move forward together, no matter what.

And as I looked into Sunghoon’s eyes, I saw the same thing reflected back at me—the understanding, the acceptance, the desire to never give up on us.

In that moment, I knew that trust wasn’t just something that had to be given freely—it had to be earned. And we were earning it every day. Slowly, but surely, we were becoming something new, something even more beautiful than before. Something that could withstand anything life threw at us.

And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe in the future again.

In us.

Life had felt like it was finally settling into a quiet rhythm, like the calm after a storm. Sunghoon and I had been living together in peace for the past year, our bond mended from the cracks of the past. The tension had faded, leaving room for love, laughter, and domestic moments that felt so normal and reassuring. We’d shared so many firsts again—first trips, first lazy weekends in bed, first home-cooked meals. Everything felt right. Almost.

It was during one of these peaceful afternoons that I made a discovery. I was cleaning out the attic of our home, something I’d been meaning to do for months, when I came across an old box. It was tucked away in the corner behind some old furniture, covered in dust and cobwebs. The box was unassuming, wooden with a faded label that simply read, “Don’t Open.”

Curiosity got the best of me. I knew it was probably something from my past, but that label tugged at something deep inside me, urging me to open it. I hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, I lifted the lid. Inside, I found an old video tape. It was yellowed and cracked with age, but there was no mistaking the handwriting on the label: “For Y/N.”

My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like me to leave things unexamined, especially if they seemed tied to my past. But this felt different. There was an unspoken warning in those words. Still, I couldn’t resist.

I brought the tape downstairs and found the old VCR player we kept for nostalgia’s sake. Sunghoon was in the living room, reading a book. I hesitated for a moment before calling him over.

“Sunghoon, you have to see this,” I said, holding up the tape. “I found something in the attic…”

He looked at me curiously, putting the book down. “What is it?”

I popped the tape into the player, and the screen flickered to life. At first, there was nothing—just static. But then, the image cleared, and I saw him.

The figure of a man in a lab coat appeared. His features were unmistakable—he was Park Sunghoon, the real Sunghoon, the one who had died in the accident years ago. But this Sunghoon wasn’t the one Y/N knew now. He looked younger, more fragile, and tears stained his face.

“I… I don’t know how to start this,” the Sunghoon on the screen murmured, his voice choked with emotion. “Y/N… is gone. She passed away. Leukemia. It was sudden. I—I couldn’t do anything. She was everything to me. And I… I can’t bear it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She glanced at Sunghoon, whose face had gone pale. He looked at the screen, wide-eyed, his expression unreadable.

“In my grief, I’ve decided to do something I never thought I would. I’m using her preserved DNA, the samples we took when we were researching regenerative cloning… to bring her back. I—I have to do this. I can’t live with the pain of losing her,” the real Sunghoon continued, his voice trembling.

The video cut to a series of clips from the lab: footage of the real Sunghoon working late nights, mixing chemicals, monitoring equipment, and seemingly obsessed with recreating Y/N.

“I’ve used everything we learned in our research. I’ll make her whole again,” the video continued. “But this is for me, I know. For us. I want to have a second chance. A chance to make things right. If you’re watching this, Y/N… then I’ve succeeded. I’ve recreated you.”

The video ended abruptly, and the screen turned to static.

It was strange, to know the truth about their origins—about the fact that their love had been recreated, in a sense, by science and heartache. But as Y/N lay in Sunghoon’s arms that night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that none of it truly mattered. What mattered was that they were together now. They had both fought for this. They had both fought for each other. And nothing in this world could take that away from them.

Their love had brought them to this point—not fate, not science, but love. It was a love that transcended life and death, pain and loss. A love that, no matter what had come before, had always been destined to endure.

They had started as two broken souls, unable to move forward without the other. But now, they were whole again. Their love, their memories—no matter how they came to be—were theirs to cherish.

And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

The rest, the science, the questions of whether they were real or not, faded into the background. Because, in the end, they were real. Their love was real. And that was all they needed to know.

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mindblowingscience · 2 months ago

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Researchers have developed an innovative dual-receptor T-cell therapy that promises safer and more effective cancer treatments. This study, published in Cell, demonstrates that engineering T-cells to express both a Chimeric Antigen Receptor (CAR) and a T-cell Receptor (TCR) can improve their ability to distinguish between cancerous and healthy tissues—addressing a major challenge in current immunotherapy. Treatments involving the use of the body's immune system to fight cancer have led to significant improvements in patient survival in recent years, particularly using a method called CAR T-cell therapy. This treatment involves extracting a patient's own T-cells and modifying them in a lab to express a special receptor called a Chimeric antigen receptor (CAR) that recognizes a tumor protein. These are then reinfused back into the patient, where they can find and destroy cancer cells.

#Science #Medicine #Biology #Microbiology #Biotechnology #T-Cells #Cancer

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hog-facts · 15 days ago

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In the early 1990s, as neoliberal economic policies swept across the globe, a radical agricultural experiment took root in a discreetly funded research facility in rural Iowa. Driven by the philosophy of hyper-efficiency and market optimization, geneticists and agribusiness magnates collaborated to create what became known internally as the "Farrow-Fund Hog" (FFH).

The FFH was engineered not for traditional traits like taste or size, but for peak financial performance through its digestive system. These hogs were designed with a hyper-efficient metabolism capable of converting the lowest-grade, cheapest feedstuffs—including recycled food waste and even certain types of biodegradable industrial byproducts—into marketable protein with unprecedented speed and minimal caloric loss. Their digestive tracts were micro-engineered to extract every conceivable nutrient, leaving virtually no waste.

The defining characteristic of the FFH, however, was its peculiar "bio-pricing" mechanism. Each hog possessed a subtly altered adrenal gland that, under specific dietary and environmental stimuli (carefully controlled by the facility), would produce a unique, aromatic pheromone. This pheromone, imperceptible to humans, acted as a natural "quality signal" to other FFHs, influencing their feeding patterns and, crucially, subtly altering the lean-to-fat ratio of their offspring based on perceived market demand signals. For instance, if market projections indicated a future preference for leaner pork, the hogs would subtly adjust their internal chemistry to favor muscle development in their progeny.

This meant the Farrow-Fund Hog was a self-regulating, market-responsive biological entity, theoretically capable of optimizing its own production cycle to perfectly meet fluctuating demand curves, minimizing overproduction and maximizing profit margins without human intervention. The project, though ultimately deemed too ethically contentious and biologically unstable for widespread implementation, remains a chilling hypothetical case study within obscure economic circles: the ultimate expression of neoliberalism, literally inscribed into the DNA of livestock, turning a living creature into a sentient, self-optimizing economic unit.

#hogs #hog facts #unreality

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covid-safer-hotties · 11 months ago

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Yes, there's hope in the fight against Long Covid.

Hope doesn't come in the form of natural immunity or subpar vaccines rolled out after waves of illness have already peaked. It comes in the form of clean indoor air, widespread masking, and better treatments. In that vein, the NIH is finally launching a new batch of clinical trials focused on Long Covid, five total, dedicated to different aspects of the condition. Institutes like Mount Sinai are running clinical trials on repurposed HIV drugs. So is HealthBio, a startup working on immune diseases. (They're testing maraviroc and atorvastatin.) Post-Viral Trials News is sharing updates as they roll in. Of course, the NIH and FDA need steady pressure to make sure they're funding trials that focus on a range of options. Given the urgency of the crisis, we should be doing far more. As Harvard economist David Cutler has said on developing treatments for Long Covid, "There is no amount that's overdoing it." We're talking about a $16 trillion crisis.

We're talking about an urgent need for dozens of expedited clinical trials for drugs that already exist, which have shown effectiveness in preventing and treating Long Covid in its various incarnations. We're talking about making those drugs accessible right now for off-label use, so that Covid survivors can finally get the help they need.

Long Covid is an emergency.

We're going to talk about prescription treatments first, and then supplements and extracts you can find yourself. Up front, you can try services like RTHM and CURE ID that aim to connect patients with treatments without endless waits. (I'm not endorsing them. I'm just telling you they exist.)

Let's dig in.

Healthcare largely abandoned monoclonal antibodies during the first Omicron wave, but some of them remain effective in higher doses as postviral therapies. We've also found new ones. For example: A study in Nature offers 5B8 as a therapy for fibrinogen, a protein in your body that binds to the Covid spike protein during infection. Afterward, that protein starts to behave differently, "forming pro-inflammatory blood clots" that lead to cardiac and brain dysfunction, especially in young patients with mild infections. It also suppresses your natural killer cells, weakening your immune system. So, damaged fibrinogen is the culprit behind a lot of the "mysterious" health problems we're seeing.

As the authors show, "fibrin-targeting immunotherapy may represent a therapeutic intervention for patients with acute Covid-19 and Long Covid." The monoclonal antibody 5B8 "provides protection...without adverse effects." The sooner you get it, the better it works.

A 2024 study in the American Journal of Emergency Medicine also found that the monoclonal antibody regeneron helped Long Covid survivors recover. Researchers "expressed surprise at the swift and comprehensive improvements observed in the patients," adding that "regardless of the duration of their Long Covid experience, significant progress was noted within a mere 5 days of receiving the Regeneron treatment." It might work because it helps your immune system eliminate residual amounts of virus or viral fragments, or it might replace damaged antibodies that attack your cells.

A 2022 study found that another monoclonal antibody, Sotrovimab, helped survivors with persistent viral loads after initial infection who were still reporting fatigue, chest pain, and trouble breathing months after infection. As the researchers note, the patients showed "rapid improvement of symptoms and inflammation markers as well as negative swabs."

Yet another 2022 study in Clinical Infectious Diseases found that a monoclonal antibody treatment called Leronlimab could help Long Covid patients recover by boosting their immune system in cases where Covid downregulated it, causing a drop in their CCR5 levels, a receptor found on a range of cells that fight pathogens, including your CD4 lymphocytes.

The Long Covid Action Project is also developing a list of drugs that desperately need clinical trials and faster deployment. They stress the need for monoclonal antibodies and antivirals like pemivibart, azvudine, ensitrelvir (Xocova), and sofosbuvir. They'll be releasing a full list later this year.

So while these monoclonal antibodies might not save your life during early infection, they can help your recovery.

There should be more clinical trials and off-label use.

Interferon treatments, specifically Interferon-Lambda, have shown the potential to help with immune system problems and cognitive deficits (caused by brain inflammation) after Covid infections.

Also:

A 2022 study in Frontiers in Immunology found that high doses of immunoglobulin have shown "a significant to remarkable clinical benefit" in treating a full range of brain, heart, and lung problems in Long Covid patients. A major 2023 study in Frontiers in Neuroscience confirmed that immunoglobulin lead to significant improvement in neurological problems. As researchers in a third study on immunoglobulins and Long Covid state, we already use this therapy to treat a variety of chronic inflammatory diseases, as well as flu, HIV, and measles. (The NIH has included immunoglobulins in their new clinical trials.)

HIV drugs have also shown promise for helping Long Covid patients. A 2023 study in Clinical Infectious Diseases found that Tenofovir reduced someone's Covid risk regardless of whether they had HIV. A range of studies have supported the use of Tenofovir, Darunavir Ethanolate, and Azvudine for Covid. As we noted earlier, clinical trials are currently testing HIV drugs for Long Covid.

Another study in Antiviral Research found that cobicistat, used to boost HIV antivirals, also fights Covid and leads to a significant reduction in overall risk. The researchers found that higher doses work better. They also found that higher doses work better for ritonavir, one of the key components of Paxlovid. By the way, ritonavir has been used in HIV treatments since the mid-1990s.

The research on repurposed HIV drugs points to the potential of many antiretroviral therapy (ART) medications for Long Covid, given that viral persistence plays a large role in most cases.

When you consider that Paxlovid itself contains an HIV antiviral, it sounds a little less extreme to compare Covid to HIV and discuss repurposing existing drugs.

Finally, studies have shown that molnupiravir and metformin have shown effectiveness against Covid. In particular, a 2024 study in Clinical Infectious Diseases found that metformin prescribed in the early stages of a Covid infection led to a 41 percent drop in Long Covid risk.

Other research has revealed that sometimes it takes a combination of these drugs to help patients recover. In a 2022 study in Clinical Infectious Diseases, researchers used nanopore technology to identify the specific variants patients were infected with and select the most effective treatments for that variant. In one case, a Long Covid patient with severe Paxlovid rebound only got better after doctors prescribed Paxlovid again and added remdesivir. Nobody had thought to try that yet.

It worked.

These are the drugs that demand renewed attention and clinical trials, given that most research on Long Covid points to ongoing infection, viral persistence, and the disruption of your immune system, which could mean a downregulated or weakened immune system or an overactive one. We especially need clinical trials that match drugs with specific conditions.

Specialists are going to decide the right dose for prescription drugs. Generally, the research indicates that if a standard dose doesn't work, a higher dose might as long as it doesn't trigger side effects. A combination of drugs can work when a single drug fails.

What can you do if you don't have access to these drugs?

This:

A major 2023 study in Cells found that eriodictyol, a flavonoid extracted from yerba santa, can help with the brain inflammation caused by Covid infections that leads to cognitive deficits and fatigue. Researchers have found that at least part of the "brain fog" from Long Covid happens when the virus triggers immune cells to attack the brain. Eriodictyol can also be derived from citrus fruits, tomatoes, and grapes. As the authors explain, a range of flavonoids "have been reported to prevent neuroinflammation, provide neuroprotection, and reduce cognitive dysfunction, especially brain fog."

The authors of the Cell study list flavanoids liposomal luteolin, oleuropein, and sulforaphane as all beneficial for recovering brain function. They identify formulas called BrainGain and FibroProtek containing flavonoids that helped Long Covid patients with severe brain fog in previous studies. Those contain luteolin. They ultimately recommend ViralProtek, which combines several flavonoids, "alone or together" with eriodictyol.

These formulas aren't just managing symptoms. According to the studies, they're helping you clear viral remnants and rehabilitate your immune system. They inhibit your microglia and mast cells, immune cells that often drive the brain inflammation behind Long Covid cognitive problems.

What else?

A 2022 study in Molecules found promise in nattokinase, "a popular traditional Japanese food made from soybeans fermented by Bacillus subtilis var." Not so coincidentally, nattokinase also "decreases the plasma levels of fibrinogen," the same protein that drives thrombosis in Long Covid patients and indeed "has drawn central attention in thrombolytic drug studies," as well as tumor treatment. It also inhibits the replication of bovine herpes virus. Clinical trials have found no adverse effects from eating natto. In this particular study, the researchers found that nattokinase degrades the Covid spike protein, inhibiting infection. As they conclude, "nattokinase and natto extracts have potential effects on the inhibition of SAS-cOv-2 host cell entry."

Martha Eckey describes natto extracts in more detail here, along with benefits, recommended dosage, and possible side effects. Respondents to her survey reported the best results when they took Solaray's natto extract along with serrapeptase, an enzyme and commonly used drug in Japan and Europe that helps your body break down proteins. A large number of patients reported improvement after taking the natto-serra combination, often within a week or two. Many of them also benefited from adding lumbrokinase, an enzyme shown to facilitate healing.

Like natto, lumbrokinase breaks down fibrin. We're seeing a theme here. Any kind of treatment that breaks down fibrin, whether it's a monoclonal antibody or an enzyme, helps after a Covid infection.

Take a look for yourself:

Eckey discusses cromolyn for brain inflammation and neurological issues, and some people have said it helps with other problems. She also wrote this great post about protecting kids from Long Covid.

A lot of it also applies to adults.

Another surprising study in Viruses from 2021 found that grapeseed extract (V. vinifera) contained dozens of flavonoid compounds that inhibited viral replication, including for Covid. The researchers used concentrations from 500 μg/ml down to 10 μg/ml.

Studies have even found that taurine supplements can do a lot to reduce your Covid risks, including Long Covid. A 2024 study in PLoS One found that the amino acid can serve as both a biomarker and a target for treatment in Long Covid. As they write, taurine has already "shown benefits such as reducing depressive behavior, improving memory, and mitigating age-related issues by addressing cellular senescence, chronic inflammation, DNA damage, and mitochondrial dysfunction." It can play "a potential protective role" in "alleviating the burdens of PCC." If that weren't enough, "taurine supplementation has demonstrated diverse therapeutic properties, including anti-oxidation, anti-aging, antiepileptic, cytoprotective, and cardioprotective effects in many diseases." Yes, even taurine from energy drinks. (And I guess it's a good thing I drink them.)

A standard diet contains about 40-400 mg of taurine per day. Medical use often starts at 6 grams a day.

There's a reason why many of these treatments don't get the attention they deserve, and Timothy Ferriss of all people describes it very well in the opening to The 4-Hour Body. As he learns from talking with a wide range of doctors and medical researchers, the industry frowns on any kind of treatment that doesn't look or feel "elite" enough. There's not a lot of incentive for major research on supplements or cheap, widely available drugs because they're just not cool enough, even if they work. For drug makers, it can't just work. It also has to generate enough profit.

That's what happens when you privatize medicine.

As a society, we have to overcome that. This shortcoming isn't going to help us address the myriad public health challenges of the future.

It's a little ironic that the catchphrase "do your own research," once levied against anti-vaxxers, is now used to insult Long Covid survivors and advocates who are trying desperately to find treatments. The difference is that we're not rejecting medicines.

We're simply not getting them.

This article can't replace a doctor or a nutritionist, but it offers a comprehensive starting point for anyone who needs it. You can do more digging and confirm what's here. You could also just make a list of all the things discussed here and take them to someone you trust, and go from there.

It's crucial for us to develop a range of treatments and therapies for Covid that go beyond the mainstream reliance on Paxlovid and vaccines, conveniently dominated by a single pharmaceutical company.

It won't last forever.

In fact, research has shown that Paxlovid leads increasingly to rebound infections in which "the virus can return unimpeded by the drug, bringing the risk of disease and even death."

That's the part left out by corporate media. Rebound doesn't simply mean another round of Paxlovid. It means decreased effectiveness.

It means evasion.

Just like our mediocre vaccines, Covid is developing resistance to Paxlovid. According to an article in Nature, researchers around the world are now quietly racing to develop alternatives. No doubt, viral evolution offers one of the unspoken reasons why many of us find it so hard to access the drug now. The elites are terrified of losing the thing that enables their denial and wishful thinking.

Here's what one researcher said:

“This type of approach helped to improve HIV drugs, and we think it’s a good way to improve antivirals against SARS-CoV-2,” says Sho Iketani, PhD, assistant professor of medical sciences at Columbia University’s Vagelos College of Physicians and Surgeons and Aaron Diamond AIDS Research Center, who co-led the research..."

Western countries are well behind the curve on these fronts. Japan now offers a drug called Xocova (ensitrelvir), arguably more effective than Paxlovid, and it's been sitting in the FDA approval queue for about a year. China approved HIV antivirals for Long Covid back in 2022. While some healthcare workers in Europe and North America know about combining and repurposing drugs, many of them are still busy pretending Covid is over.

It's time for government agencies to pull their heads out of the sand and do their jobs. If there had been more urgency over the last four years, and less favoritism toward one or two drug giants, we would already have these treatments deployed. As things stand, we need leaders to not only run these long overdue clinical trials but also prepare to scale up production considerably, while making sure that everyone has access, not just those with platinum insurance plans. We could already be doing that for emergency off-label use now. Why aren't we?

Although it's infuriating and demoralizing it took us so long to get here, it's encouraging to know that teams of scientists around the world have been working on this crisis and producing results. We just need the gates unlocked.

There's no time to waste.

Let's get moving.

#covid #mask up #pandemic #covid 19 #wear a mask #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #still coviding #public health #wear a respirator

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andmaybegayer · 1 year ago

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Every now and again someone will make the claim that "Calories In Calories Out weight loss techniques don't work" and a brain genius will round the corner waving a conservation of energy equation to tell this person that they're an idiot and I do not care for the brain geniuses here.

The brain geniuses are fundamentally misunderstanding several things, potentially willfully. Calories In Calories Out isn't a fundamental truth, it's the process of tracking estimates of energy consumption and usage and the problem is that both of those numbers are highly variable and nearly impossible to track reliably without continuous intervention.

The Calories in Calories In Calories Out process typically means "the number on the side of a bag of food" and "your basal metabolic rate plus activity energy" and importantly it is that and not the fundamental law of nature that conservation of energy is.

Metabolism is a very complicated thing to measure and, under real world conditions, the amount of energy you extract from food is extremely variable, depending on how and when you eat, the structure of your digestive system, your own hormone and enzymatic and bacterial profile, and many other things. The number on the side of a packet is a suggestion that is largely estimated empirically, not even measured by something as crude as a calorimeter, just added up from components and older estimates.

Similarly the amount of energy you burn both as a basic level and in activities depends on many things, basal metabolic rate estimates that you can do without specialized equipment and several days are extremely quick and dirty and are basically just simple thermodynamics estimates. Even if you do get your estimate spot on, the amount of energy you burn can change pretty dramatically in response to changes in diet, lifestyle, and situation. It doesn't help that the majority of many people's energy consumption is passive metabolic energy consumption and that's regulated hormonally, largely beyond your direct control or awareness.

I'm also sympathetic to this because I have completely given up on gaining weight. In my final year of high school after spending three years oscillating between 50 and 55kg my parents and I decided to try and increase my weight by eating more calories, I tripled my breakfast calorie intake, added supplementary protein, ate like 1.5× more at other meals, all while slightly decreasing my activity level because I had dropped some extracurriculars, It felt like a ridiculous effort, I often ate way more than I was comfortable eating, and a year later I had hit an incredible 59kg and was stuck there.

I now just manage my diet and activity to keep on useful muscle mass and make sure I don't go below 50kg because my bones have enough problems to deal with.

If I was trying to lose weight, did the opposite of what I did, cut my calories by 30%, for months, increased my activity by a small amount, and I lost less than 10% of my weight, I would probably also move my focus elsewhere. I'm sure the system works for some people! But it's not as simple as adding up some numbers and making sure one is bigger than the other.

#food #diet

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power-chords · 6 months ago

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In a New York Times review of Crichton’s most famous book, “Jurassic Park,” the literary critic Christopher Lehmann-Haupt notes that at first its dinosaur plot “sounds like just another recycling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein myth.” In “Frankenstein,” the eponymous scientist reanimates a corpse, which then escapes and runs amok. In “Jurassic Park,” scientists bring dinosaurs back to life; they too escape and run amok. But Crichton’s book, Lehmann-Haupt argues, has a unique feature that makes it a “superior specimen of the myth.”

Shelley seemed most interested in crafting a tragic human narrative. Dr. Frankenstein is isolated from society by his ambition; in a lonely mania, he makes a choice that ultimately sows destruction. Although the novel could be described as science fiction, the science isn’t meant to be recognizable. “With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet,” her narrator recalls. A few moments later, the monster opens an eye. In time, after pursuing the monster that he has made to the Arctic, Dr. Frankenstein proclaims, “Seek happiness and tranquility, and avoid ambition.” He seems to be warning about the dangers of solitary scheming, not the dangers of technology.

“Jurassic Park,” in contrast, follows Gottlieb’s dictum to deëmphasize individual characters. “By telling his island adventure from many points of view,” Lehmann-Haupt writes, “he cleverly undermines the reader’s belief that the story has a hero.” The real protagonist is the technology of de-extinction; the reader is exhilarated by its possibilities and terrified of its consequences. Whereas Shelley obfuscates how Dr. Frankenstein re-creates life, Crichton cares about the scientific details; on a guided tour, we learn how DNA is isolated from preserved prehistoric mosquitoes, and even hear about the shortcomings of the Loy antibody-extraction technique. (“Most soluble protein is leached out during fossilization, but twenty percent of the proteins are still recoverable,” a helpfully expository scientist informs us.) Crichton goes on to re-create the display of a Cray X-MP supercomputer, which identifies a DNA error that will be repaired with restriction enzymes.

“Jurassic Park,” like many dramas about technology, features a rich man with strange ambitions: John Hammond, the wealthy founder of a Silicon Valley genetics company called InGen. Yet Hammond isn’t presented as an evil figure who casts a shadow over the book; he is a jovial grandfather obsessed with creating the ultimate spectacle. He is too naïve to see the risks inherent in toying with nature, but it is difficult to imagine him declaring, “Seek happiness in tranquility, and avoid ambition!” Although Crichton ultimately has him devoured by a pack of venomous procompsognathus, we don’t really care about his interiority. We’re too busy following the exterior reality of how his creations thwart the park’s security systems.

These days, when confronting new tools that concern us, we seem to be taking our cues more from Shelley than Crichton. News coverage of Musk often focuses on his provocative statements and chaotic personality. The technology journalist Kara Swisher recently wrote on Threads, Meta’s competitor to X, that Zuckerberg is “a small little creature with a shrivelled soul.” Crichton, if he were alive, might focus more on the personality of the platforms themselves. Twitter was once conceived as a digital town square—a place where people from around the world could share a common conversation, free from media gatekeeping and government censorship. But uniting hundreds of millions of users into a limited number of common conversations required a computationally intensive curation to surface the most relevant and attention-grabbing interactions. As I’ve reported, this technical challenge is inevitably biased toward generating rancor, strife, and misinformation; these are the properties that will always thrive in an environment of algorithmic amplification. The problems with Twitter, and now X, are not just about how its weird owner runs the place. They’re intrinsic to the underlying technology.

Sometimes a Shelleyesque approach leads us to blame entire classes of individuals for the harms caused by a tool. Consider the case of e-mail, which has evolved over the past two decades to become a source of stressful distraction and overload. An obvious response is to blame faceless managers for exploiting the productive potential of employees. If only we had better bosses, the argument goes, capitalism would be more humane and we’d have better work-life balance. (This argument isn’t always wrong, of course.) Such complaints naturally lead to regulations that constrain individual behavior, as when French legislators attempted to stop managers from sending e-mails outside work hours. As I learned while researching a book about e-mail, however, many of the medium’s consequences are fundamental to its easy-to-use design. The simple act of introducing an ultra-low-friction form of messaging disrupted the fragile ecosystems of modern office work. When you make it easier to communicate, people automatically begin communicating a lot more.

—Cal Newport, “What Michael Crichton Reveals About Big Tech and A.I.,” The New Yorker, January 29, 2025, and screencaps of Spielberg's Jurassic Park as selected by yours truly.

#jurassic park #frankenstein #michael crichton #mary shelley #a.i.#big tech

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uncharismatic-fauna · 2 years ago

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Go Go Southern Lesser Galago!

Also known as the South African galago or the mohol bushbaby, the southern lesser galago (Galago moholi) is a small primate from the Galagidae, or bushbaby family. As the name implies, they are located only in southern Africa, from northern South Africa up to Rwanda. Their preferred habitats are savannahs and semi-arid woodlands, where they can often be found high in the canopy, and they are particularly associated with Acacia trees.

The mohol bushbaby is one of the smaller members of its group; at full height they stand no taller than 15 cm (6 in) and weigh only 225 g (7.9 oz). In fact, their tail is longer than their body, easily reaching 23 cm (9 in) in length. While it isn't prehensile, the tail is still an important tool for climbing as it gives G. moholi an excellent sense of balance. Along with their incredible tails, the South African galago also has one of the largest sets of ears of any primate, proportional to its size; these ears can move independently to help the southen lesser bushbaby avoid predators. G. moholi's final distinguishing feature are their eyes, which are incredibly large and a distinctive orange color. Individuals themselves tend to be gray or light brown, which helps them blend in with their surroundings.

South African galagos are almost strictly nocturnal. At night, they forage through the canopy for moths and beetles. These bits of protein, however, are supplemental; the mohol bushbaby's primary source of food is gum, or hardened sap from the Acacia plant. G. moholi has several adaptations allowing it to specialize in gum extraction, including scraping teeth on the lower mandible; long, rough tongues; and digestive systems that have evolved to break down and ferment the tough substance. Because they have very few defense mechanisms, southern lesser galagos are a common prey for many nocturnal species like eagles, owls, snakes, mongooses, civets, and gennets.

One of the few ways the South African bushbaby avoids predation is through its social units. Groups of 2-7-- typically composed of a female, her young, and a few non-reproductive relatives-- forage together. In these groups, their collective night vision and highly-developed hearing allow them to detect and alert each other to predators long before the threat is immanent. While individuals forage seperately, they keep in contact via loud, high pitched calls that can serve as a warning for predators, a point of contact between mother and offspring, or a territorial warning between males.

Male G. moholi live seperately from social groups, and are highly aggressive against other males invading their territory. This area often overlaps that of several female-led groups, but they only come in contact with each other during the mating season. Unusually, the species has two mating seasons through the year; from January to Februrary (late summer) and from October to November (early spring). Following a gestation period of 120 days, females produce a single set of twins each mating season. Each set is weaned after approximately 3 months, and young become fully mature at 300 days. Female offspring may join the mother's group, while males leave to establish their own territory. In the wild, an individual may live up to 16 years.

Conservation status: The IUCN has classified the South African bushbaby as Least Concern. Studies have indicated that the population is stable and, in some areas, increasing. However, in other areas the species is threatened by habitat loss and possibly capture for the pet and bushmeat trade.

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a ko-fi!

Photos

Gerald Doyle

Peter Webb via iNaturalist

#Southern lesser galago #south african bushbaby #Primates #Galagidae #galagos #bushbabies #mammals #savannah mammals #tropical forest mammals #africa #south africa #animal facts #biology #zoology

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pandemic-info · 1 year ago

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What Is Long COVID? Understanding the Pandemic’s Mysterious Fallout > News > Yale Medicine

Originally published: April 15, 2024. Updated: June 4, 2024

Just weeks after the first cases of COVID-19 hit U.S. shores, an op-ed appeared in The New York Times titled “We Need to Talk About What Coronavirus Recoveries Look Like: They're a lot more complicated than most people realize.”

...

Unlike most diseases, Long COVID was first described not by doctors, but by the patients themselves. Even the term “Long COVID” was coined by a patient. Dr. Elisa Perego, an honorary research fellow at University College in London, came up with the hashtag #LongCOVID when tweeting about her own experience with the post-COVID syndrome. The term went viral and suddenly social media, and then the media itself, was full of these stories.

Complaints like "I can't seem to concentrate anymore" or "I'm constantly fatigued throughout the day" became increasingly common, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. With nothing abnormal turning up from their many thorough lab tests, patients and their physicians were left feeling helpless and frustrated.

The World Health Organization (WHO) has defined Long COVID as the "continuation or development of new symptoms three months after the initial SARS-CoV-2 infection, with these symptoms lasting for at least two months with no other explanation." This deliberately broad definition reflects the complex nature of this syndrome. We now understand that these symptoms are wide-ranging, including heart palpitations, cough, nausea, fatigue, cognitive impairment (commonly referred to as "brain fog"), and more. Also, many who experience Long COVID following an acute infection face an elevated risk of such medical complications as blood clots and (type 2) diabetes.

In April 2024, an estimated 5.3% of all adults in the United States reported having Long COVID, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Data from the CDC suggest that Long COVID disproportionately affects women, and individuals between the ages of 40 and 59 have the highest reported rates of developing this post-acute infection syndrome.

...

Inderjit Singh, MBChB, a YSM assistant professor specializing in pulmonary, critical care, and sleep medicine, and director of the Pulmonary Vascular Program, is actively engaged in clinical trials aimed at uncovering the fundamental underpinnings of Long COVID.

...

Through this work, a significant revelation emerged. They observed that patients grappling with Long COVID and facing exercise difficulties were unable to efficiently extract oxygen from their bloodstream during physical exertion. This discovery identifies a specific cause underlying the biological underpinnings of Long COVID.

... Dr. Singh, along with other researchers, is focused on the identification of blood-based markers to assess the severity of Long COVID. For example, a research group, led by Akiko Iwasaki, PhD, Sterling Professor of Immunobiology and Molecular, Cellular, and Developmental Biology, and director of the Center for Infection & Immunity at YSM, most recently created a new method to classify Long COVID severity with circulating immune markers.

Further investigations conducted by Dr. Singh's team identified distinctive protein signatures in the blood of Long COVID patients, which correlated with the degree of Long COVID severity. Researchers identified two major and distinct blood profiles among the patients. Some of them exhibited blood profiles indicating that excessive inflammation played a prominent role in their condition, while others displayed profiles indicative of impaired metabolism.

...

Researchers currently believe that the impairment of a spectrum of key bodily functions may contribute to these diverse symptoms. These potential mechanisms include compromised immune system function, damage to blood vessels, and direct harm to the brain and nervous system. Importantly, it's likely that most patients experience symptoms arising from multiple underlying causes, which complicates both the diagnosis and treatment of Long COVID.

...

The last word from Lisa Sanders, MD:

I’m the internist who sees patients at Yale New Haven Health’s Multidisciplinary Long COVID Care Center. In our clinic, patients are examined by a variety of specialists to determine the best next steps for these complex patients. Sometimes that entails more testing. Often patients have had extensive testing even before they arrive, and far too often—when all the tests are normal—both doctors and patients worry that their symptoms are “all in their head.”

One of our first tasks is to reassure patients that many parts of Long COVID don’t show up on tests. We don’t know enough about the cause of many of these symptoms to create a test for them. The problem is not with the patient with the symptoms, but of the science surrounding them. If any good can be said to come out of this pandemic, it will be a better understanding of Long COVID and many of the other post-acute infection syndromes that have existed as long as the infections themselves.

#covid #long covid #article #research #study #akiko iwasaki #lisa sanders #yale medicine #2024 #june 2024 #summer 2024 #long covid research #inderjit singh

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darkmaga-returns · 7 months ago

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by Nicolas Hulscher, MPH

As the U.S. begins to escalate their response against H5N1 bird flu, we will likely see a push for more unsafe and ineffective countermeasures. The Biopharmaceutical Complex is currently preparing bird flu mRNA injections developed by Moderna, CEPI-funded H5N1 replicon (self-amplifying) shots, and Arcturus Therapeutics replicon ‘pandemic’ bird flu injections funded by BARDA and the Gates Foundation. Thus, it is of high priority to identify promising compounds with anti-avian influenza activity that don’t involve injection of modified genetic material.

A 2023 study revealed a comprehensive list of natural plants and bioactive compounds that have shown anti-avian influenza activity: A systemic review on medicinal plants and their bioactive constituents against avian influenza and further confirmation through in-silico analysis.

Methods: 33 plants and 4 natural compounds were identified and documented. Molecular docking was performed against the target viral protein neuraminidase (NA), with some plant based natural compounds and compared their results with standard drugs Oseltamivir and Zanamivir to obtain novel drug targets for influenza. Results: It was seen that most extracts exhibit their action by interacting with viral hemagglutinin or neuraminidase and inhibit viral entry or release from the host cell. Some plants also interacted with the viral RNA replication or by reducing proinflammatory cytokines. Ethanol was mostly used for extraction. Among all the plants Theobroma cacao, Capparis Sinaica Veil, Androgarphis paniculate, Thallasodendron cillatum, Sinularia candidula, Larcifomes officinalis, Lenzites betulina, Datronia molis, Trametes gibbose exhibited their activity with least concentration (below 10 μg/ ml). The docking results showed that some natural compounds (5,7- dimethoxyflavone, Aloe emodin, Anthocyanins, Quercetin, Hemanthamine, Lyocrine, Terpenoid EA showed satisfactory binding affinity and binding specificity with viral neuraminidase compared to the synthetic drugs.

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autumnslance · 2 years ago

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Do you have the werlyt screenshots? 👀

This is only because I love you, Nonny.

I also took time to transcribe these under the "Keep Reading" cut, cuz this is a lot of text and cannot always be read clearly. These images were taken with my tablet. Errors in said transcript are probably just mine. These are pages 120-121 and 169-170 of Encyclopedia Eorzea volume III. The timeline's a little weird (especially the Gaius to Valens handover), but Werlyt was an Imperial province for over 50 years.

There's also pages specifically about the Weapon project and how the Garleans tried to have a system similar to soul crystals in legatus armor, but they were behind the curve on such magic-technology and so the data's incomplete (as we saw in those fights). If there's interest, I may do a follow up with those pages, but this is long enough and I have FC things to do tonight.

Werlyt

Following in the footsteps of its neighbor across the Ghimlyt Dark, Ala Mhigo, this small nation in the far western reaches of Ilsabard recently liberated itself from the Garlean Empire.

Flag: The flag originally bore the crest of the royal family. However, as their bloodline has long since run dry, and the nation now aspires to become a republic, the interim government has organized a committee to decide on a new design.

Motto: --

Government: Werlyt is presently led by an interim government. After careful deliberation, it has decided the nation will be rebuilt as a republic.

Leader: Talbot Hunte

Ruling Body: The interim government is formed of representatives from several rebel factions that fought against the Garlean Empire.

Racial Distribution:

Ilsabardian Hyur: 80%

Near Eastern Au Ra: 15%

Other: 5%

Religion: Though religion was largely discouraged under Garlean rule, the people of Werlyt were polytheistic, believing in thirteen gods. Their religious practices are said to be largely influenced by the traditions of their western neighbors in Eorzea and its teachings of the Twelve, as well as Corvosi mythology from the east.

Industry:

Livestock: The tending of cattle is a longstanding profession of Werlyt, made possible by its lush, far-reaching pastures. A knack for livestock breeding is evidenced by the myriad varieties of both beef and dairy cattle they raise, the latter including an especially rare breed said to number only one hundred.

Dairy: In tandem with their livestock industry, the people of Werlyt excel in the production of dairy products, including butter, yogurt, and milk-based beverages. They are well known for their high-quality cheeses, which became a mainstay export to Garlemald.

Fishing: The southern edge of Werlyt touches the sea, allowing for a bustling fishing trade in coastal towns. Its many steep cliffs, however, ensure their efforts are focused on but a few major ports.

Mining: In the northern mountain range of Werlyt, one can find four mines wherein copper, zinc, tungsten, and several other rare metals are extracted. The process was refined under Garlean rule with the introduction of magitek, and while the equipment remains, the country wants for the ceruleum to operate it. To that end, Werlyt has begin negotiations with Ul'dah to barter for fuel so they may resume their mining operations.

Beliefs: While the Au Ra who migrated from the Corvos region have ostensibly been welcomed in Werlyt, there yet remains a strong sense of social incohesion in this predominantly Hyuran nation. It remains to be seen if these disparate peoples can overcome their differences to flourish in this burgeoning republic.

Diet: Werlyt is perhaps best known for its stewed dishes made using local beef, dairy, and seafood. The intermingling of native wheat-based cuisines and rice dishes brought by the Au Ra also help distinguish Werlyt cooking. Dairy enthusiasts insist that milk produced in Werlyt is indispensable to strengthening one's muscles when training the body, and it is thought to be high in protein and effective in reducing muscle inflammation.

History

A Contentious Foundation

In ages past, the western reaches of Ilsabard, known today as Werlyt, were home to myriad Hyuran tribes. There was no harmony to be found between them, however--the ceaseless cycle of war and peace was no different than the changing of the seasons. Some brave few tribes thought to flee from this war-torn land, crossing the Ghimlyt Dark to pillage and plunder on Eorzean soil. They would inevitably return home, richer for their efforts, but these ventures westward would come to a halt when the leadership of Anshelm Cotter united Gyr Abania, Ala Mhigo becoming a shield from further incursion.

With dreams of pushing farther west dashed, and the Hyuran tribes growing weary of conflict, Au Ra outlanders hailing from Corvos saw this pall of languor as an opportunity. They formed an alliance with a handful of local tribes, and together they quickly subjugated the territories that would come to be Werlyt. Despite their pivotal role in its formation, however, the Au Ra would not seek the throne of this fledgling kingdom, knowing their alchemical knowledge and mastery of the mystic arts would prove no match for the sheer numbers of their Hyuran allies. Thus did they concede kingship to the Hyuran elders. With this, some Hyurs came to see the Au Ra as powerful allies, but others would continue to cruse them as ruthless invaders.

The Garlean Occupation

Unfortunately, the newly founded nation of Werlyt would not last. The advent of magitek and transformed Garlemald into a heretofore unseen military power, allowing them to take Corvos with ease and subsequently draw Werlyt under the Garlean yoke.

The province was charged with supplying foodstuffs and mineral resources to fuel the burgeoning empire, and in some ways the dissemination of magitek would prove a boon. The mechanization of mining, for example, was momentous, but any such innovations as the Garleans would bring ever remained beyond the reach of the subjugated. For thirty years the people of Werlyt toiled thus, but they would eventually be offered a glimmer of hope. The Empire had begin the second phase of its incursion into the Far Eastern territories, a campaign requiring a considerable portion of their military force. Even the occupying force in Werlyt had been greatly diminished, affording rebel factions the leverage needed to reclaim their home.

Their dreams of freedom were fleeting, however, as a young Gaius van Baelsar led imperial forces back to assault the capital of Werlyt and restore Garlean order. As the previous viceroy had been killed by the rebels, Gaius would assume command of the newly reclaimed province.

Two Sides of Governance

Reflecting on the plight of the Werlytian peoples that drove them to rebellion, Gaius, the newly appointed viceroy, well knew that drastic measures were needed to prevent a second uprising. He began by recruiting individuals he deemed competent and capable, paying no heed to their station, race, or place of origin. Indeed, no few Werlytians were sought out for their extensive knowledge of the land, serving in various bureaucratic positions. Over the next twenty years, Gaius would also oversee a more even distribution of the province's wealth; new infrastructure in the form of roads, ports, and harbors; an a compulsory education system that would substantially increase literacy rates throughout Werlyt. But the peace and order he established there was short-lived.

The invasion of Eorzea and its consequences, naturally, left van Baelsar unable to fulfill his duties in Werlyt. The man who would take his place was Valens van Varro, an otherwise unremarkable civilian who had somehow risen through the military ranks. After losing his position amidst political turmoil in the Empire, he was given command of a newly reformed VIIth Imperial Legion. The grim shadow he cast over Werlyt would undo all the good Gaius had achieved and so much worse. Forced labor, imprisonment, and executions quickly became normalcies of day-to-day living. So much so, that it was said one could only find rest under the mortician's roof.

The Treasonous Five

Rather than subjugate the enemy, Valens was satisfied with bleeding both their resources and people dry--a tyrannical approach to governance often said to be heinous even by his fellow countrymen. It was a path that would lead to ruin for the province of Werlyt. Yet despite appearances, he was an exceedingly brilliant engineer, and there was a method to his madness.

Emperor Varis had been assassinated, and as various parties vied for the throne, Garlmald's aristocracy was in the throes of chaos. That is why Valens labored to complete his Weapons project, that he might make a triumphant return to Garlemald, wielding the ultimate tool of war. He well understood the need for urgency, and was more than willing to bring ruin upon Werlyt if it meant assuring his place as emperor.

For all his genius, however, Valens remained ignorant of his coming downfall until it was too late. The orphans he intended to use as test pilots for his project were plotting to use his Weapons against him, and the fruition of their plan would bring the VIIth Legion to its knees. One must not overlook, of course, the significance of Gaius's contributions to their efforts, as well as the rebel factions that also conspired to overthrow the Garleans. Even so, it was ultimately the bravery and sacrifice of five orphans that would spell the end of Valens, and earn Welryt her freedom.

Faces of Werlyt

GAIUS BAELSAR

"I see now that true strength is not granted by others, but resides within us. Strength of character, of spirit, of resolve."

With his defeat at the hands of the Warrior of Light in Castrum Meridianum, this former legatus of the XIVth Legion realized that he had long been a mere pawn in the Ascians' plans. He swore revenge against them for his fallen comrades, taking up the mantle of Shadowhunter, and though his quest for vengeance would claim the masks of Altima and Deudalaphon, the hunt for Ascians was quickly set aside when he learned of the Empire's plans to produce the noxious weapon Black Rose.

En route to Garlemald, Gaius crossed paths with Alphinaud, forming an alliance to halt production of the deadly gas--and this was not his only unexpected encounter with the Scions. As he infiltrated the capital, Gaius chanced to meet Estinien, and together they breached the imperial palace. There, they witnessed the assassination of Emperor Varis at the hands of Zenos. The rogue prince swiftly departed, and not moments later, imperial guards found Gaius standing over the late emperor's corpse.

His relationship with his home nation soured further when he discovered the previously abandoned Weapon project had been revived by the reformed VIIth Legion, who planned to deploy their prototypes in an assault on Eorzea. Gaius set off for Ghimlyt, hoping to warn the Eorzean Alliance before it was too late. There he found the Warrior of Light at the ready--this time, to stand with him against their common for. In a tragic twist, the orphans Gaius once fostered would also be caught up in the conflict.

Now, at the age of fifty-six and with Werlyt freed from the imperial yoke, Gaius has joined hands with its interim government in efforts to restore the region.

VALENS VAN VARRO

"As they say, 'to err is human, to forgive, divine.' And you know how forgiving I can be. When it suits me..."

Legatus of the reformed VIIth Legion, Valens joined the army following the completion of his studies at the Magitek Academy. Known for his ruthless and innovative magitek-based battle tactics, it seemed nothing could stop his ascension through the ranks. Those who served under him, however, knew well his unethical practices and penchant for sacrificing allies to serve his ambitions. Moreover, despite his achievements, he never escaped the shadow of Gaius, who was ultimately chosen to command the XIVth Legion. Believing the position stolen from him, Valens developed a deep hatred for the legatus even as he toiled to recreate Ultima Weapon under Nero's direction. This selfsame spite is what inspired him to later resume work on the Weapon project, believing that, by succeeding where Gaius had previously failed, he might at last prove himself the superior military officer.

Valens has ever been a staunch believer in Garlean supremacy. This was made all too apparent by his heinous decision to use villagers from the provinces as test subjects, believing them to be expendable. In the wake of the Emperor's death, he had hoped to take advantage of the chaos in Garlemald to assume the throne, but his dreams of grandeur would remain unfulfilled. The Weapon pilots, whom he had treated with such disdain, rebelled and eventually proved his undoing. After losing in a duel against Gaius, the fifty-six-year-old Valens met his demise at the hands of the Diamond Weapon.

SEVERA SOUTHER

"All that hatred, festering away...Nothing good could ever come of it."

Daughter to a citizen of Werlyt and a Garlean soldier, Severa joined the army in the hopes of deterring those who would cast scorn on her family. Even as she served, however, the Garleans denied Severa's mother the medicine she needed to maintain her faltering health. Though Severa deserted in the wake of the XIIth Legion's defeat in Ala Mhigo, she returned to Werlyt too late to save her mother and could do little but flee once more, eventually finding herself in the company of Gaius. Now twenty-three, she can often be found offering counsel to young Allie.

VALDEAULIN GANATHAIN

"It's taken me a long time--too long--but I've finally found a reason to live for the present. For the future."

Until Ala Mhigo fell to the Empire, Valdeaulin had made his home in the Black Shroud. As the Garleans continued their expansion, he lost not only his village, but his wife and daughter as well--his family abducted as test subjects for the fatal gas known as Black Rose. He later joined the Order of the Twin Adder, intent on exacting vengeance agains the invaders. The forty-eight-year-old Duskwight would have his chance amidst the ruin of the Praetorium, where he found a wounded Gaius on the verge of death, but ultimately chose to spare the Black Wolf and aid him in his hunt for Ascians.

ALFONSE AAN BAELSAR

"If it is the duty of the strong to lead the weak, we will become strong and protect those who cannot protect themselves."

An epidemic claimed the life of Alfonse's parents when he was still a child, leaving him and his sister Allie living on the streets of Werlyt. The two were adopted by Gaius, and Alfonse soon became an elder brother to all of the children in the Black Wolf's care. Wishing to be of greater help to their adoptive father, the Auri siblings joined the military, serving in the XIVth Legion/ During Operation Archon, they remained in Werlyt on a supply mission, but were soon transferred to the VIIth Legion, where they were coerced into becoming pilots for the Weapon project. Faced with a dire situation, they plotted to take advantage of their position and use the Weapons against the Garleans to liberate Werlyt. Although inextricably fused with the core of the Diamond Weapon, Alfonse managed to kill Valens and secure a future for his home and sister both. He was twenty-one summers old at the time of his death.

ALLIE AAN BAELSAR

"The days we spent together were the happiest of my life, and no matter what happens, nothing can take that away from me."

Allie and her brother were adopted by Gaius and given the surname Baelsar. When they were reassigned to the Legion, the name caught Valens's eye, and he wasted no time in selecting them as candidates for the Weapon project.

The youngest of her foster siblings, Allie was dearly loved by them all. She wanted nothing more than to have their portrait painted together as a family, but it was not meant to be, as she alone would survive the Weapon project. Despite having experienced so much loss by the age of sixteen summers, Allie works dauntlessly at Gaius's side to realize her siblings' dream of a free and flourishing Werlyt.

REX AAN BAELSAR

"This is our way of upholding the ideals Father instilled in us. Our lives are a small price to pay for Werlyt's freedom."

Though he too was tragically orphaned, Rex's cheery disposition always brightened the spirits of his foster siblings. He cared deeply for his adoptive family, and would do anything to shield them from harm, even should it mean defying his superiors. He placed complete faith in his brother Alfonse, whom he held in particularly high regard, seeing the elder brother's dreams as his own. Tragically, the eighteen-year-old's life was cut short when he took the helm of the Emerald Weapon, his essence overwritten with combat data modeling his beloved father Gaius as he merged with the machine's core.

RICON AAN BAELSAR

"You all made me happier than I had any right to be. And now...I've finally found my purpose. I have no regrets."

Though timid by nature, Ricon would not hesitate to lay down his life to save his adopted siblings. Upon joining the XIVth Legion, his skilled hands earned him a place working under Nero to hone his skills as an engineer, and the wealth of knowledge he gained from his training was readily applied to the Weapon project once he was permitted to assist with maintenance. Although determined to help correct the mistakes of past prototypes, he well knew they lacked time to fully prepare the Sapphire Weapon. This did Ricon elect to pilot the Weapon in place of his brother Rex, and the life of another brave youth was snuffed out by the Oversoul system. He was seventeen years of age.

MILISANDIA AAN BAELSAR

"Father still needs you. Please take care of him...in our place."

One of several orphans taken in by Gaius, Milisandia had hair of crimson, though it was not always so kissed by fire. When they still lived in an orphanage, the young lady believed that Alfonse was enamored with one of the institution's matrons and, perhaps hoping to win his attention, dyed her hair the same color as the woman who captivated him. This youthful infatuation would remain unspoken unto her dying day, when she passed away aboard the Ruby Weapon at the age of only twenty summers.

AVILINA AAN HORNE

"There's a way I can make a difference. I know there is."

Ten years ago, Ternclif-born Avilina was conscripted to serve as a magitek engineer in the XIVth Legion. These she met Milisandia, and the two became close friends. After the XIVth's defeat at Castrum Meridianum, she fled back to Werlyt, but with her experience working on the Ultima Weapon, it was inevitable that she would be assigned to the Weapon project with the VIIth Legion. Though the liberation of Werlyt granted her her freedom, she still carries the guilt of having assisted with the Weapon project, knowing that it claimed the life of her one true friend.

#final fantasy xiv #shadowbringers #Sorrow of Werlyt #encyclopaedia eorzea #lore #Weapon Project #Gaius Baelsar #Valens van Varro #Severa Souther #Valdeaulin Ganathain #Alfonse Baelsar #Allie Baelsar #Rex Baelsar #Ricon Baelsar #Milisandia Baelsar #Avilina Horne #this post brought to you by a slow day at work #that Valens saw the kids names was Baelsar and so grabbed them for the project is another level of awful on his part #Gaius really does just want to be a dad & a decent government leader he's just bad at the former & worked for an evil empire for the latter #I started to like the old wolf cuz of abuse of players who don't grasp character roles and also #abuse from his own writers in what coulda shoulda been a better handled arc and story #I'm still kinda mad about it cuz I enjoyed hating Gaius as an antagonist but he is also made of Tropes I Like #thanks formative years reading Roger Zelazny and other old school new wave scfi authors

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