#DNA sequencing and enhancing

[tiredhecate]

Lab life

go ahead, use the micro pipettes as guns, you know you want to.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

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.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

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[darkmaga-returns]

A coalition of leading international virologists, biochemists, medical doctors, researchers, and other top scientists has called for an “immediate” global ban on Covid mRNA “vaccines” over surging cancer rates and deaths.

The effort is being spearheaded by a Canadian group called Call to Halt-19.

An open letter from the coalition demands a recall of the “vaccines,” an independent public inquiry into their approval process, and further research into potential health risks.

They warn that the Covid mRNA injections, first rolled out for public use in early 2021, are responsible for the global “increase in cancer rates and mortality.”

Notable signatories include Dr. Patrick Provost of Université Laval, Dr. Steven Pelech of the University of British Columbia, and Dr. Claudia Chaufan of York University, among others.

The letter cites growing evidence of safety concerns, including residual plasmid DNA in vaccine vials and the presence of cancer-causing SV40 promoter-enhancer DNA sequences.

They also warn of a shift in immune response (IgG4 antibodies) that could contribute to immune tolerance and auto-immune disorders such as vaccine acquired immunodeficiency syndrome (VAIDS), also known as vaccine-induced AIDS.

[seraphicsouq]

FREQUENCIES, MORPHIC FIELDS AND BINURAL BEATS

here is what i found out about it all (not my words or any, its just something i thought and so searched and asked from AI cuz why not?) Tell me your opinions on it because i dont see much posts talking about these.

1. Stacking Morphic Fields:

Morphic Fields: These are believed to be patterns of energy that influence form and behavior. You can stack multiple morphic fields to target different aspects of your physical or mental state simultaneously. For example, you might combine fields for physical healing, mental clarity, and emotional balance in one session.

2. Layering Theta Waves:

Theta Waves: These brainwaves are associated with deep relaxation, meditation, and accessing the subconscious mind. Theta waves can enhance the effects of morphic fields by putting you in a receptive state. Layering theta waves with other frequencies can amplify your focus and relaxation, making it easier for your mind to absorb and integrate the energies or intentions of the morphic fields.

3. Incorporating Specific Frequencies:

Solfeggio Frequencies: Certain frequencies, like those in the Solfeggio scale, are believed to have specific healing properties. For example, 528 Hz is associated with DNA repair and transformation. You can layer these frequencies with theta waves to enhance their effects.

Binaural Beats: These are auditory illusions created by playing two slightly different frequencies in each ear, which your brain perceives as a third frequency. Binaural beats can be used to induce specific brainwave states (like alpha, beta, or theta) and can be layered with other audio tracks.

4. Combining Them:

Creating a Stack: You can start by listening to a morphic field, then layer it with theta waves or binaural beats to deepen your meditative state. Finally, add specific frequencies that align with your goals, such as healing, energy boosting, or mental clarity.

Sequential Listening: You could also listen to each component in sequence. Start with a morphic field, follow with a track of theta waves, and finish with a frequency that targets a specific need. This sequence helps guide your mind and body through different stages of relaxation, focus, and healing.

5. Customization:

Personalized Stacks: Depending on your goals, you can create customized stacks. For example, if your aim is physical healing, you might combine a healing morphic field with theta waves to reach deep relaxation, followed by frequencies like 528 Hz for cellular repair.

6. Mindful Integration:

Focused Intent: While layering, it’s important to set a clear intention for what you want to achieve. The combined effects of these elements can be more powerful when your mind is focused and aligned with your goals.

7. Experimentation:

Finding What Works: Everyone’s response to these elements can vary. It might take some experimentation to find the right combination that works best for you. Pay attention to how each combination makes you feel and adjust accordingly.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

By Vijay Kumar Malesu

In a recent pre-print study posted to bioRxiv*, a team of researchers investigated the predictive role of gut microbiome composition during acute Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV-2) infection in the development of Long Coronavirus Disease (Long COVID) (LC) and its association with clinical variables and symptom clusters.

Background LC affects 10–30% of non-hospitalized individuals infected with SARS-CoV-2, leading to significant morbidity, workforce loss, and an economic impact of $3.7 trillion in the United States (U.S.).

Symptoms span cardiovascular, gastrointestinal, cognitive, and neurological issues, resembling myalgic encephalomyelitis and other post-infectious syndromes. Proposed mechanisms include immune dysregulation, neuroinflammation, viral persistence, and coagulation abnormalities, with emerging evidence implicating the gut microbiome in LC pathogenesis.

Current studies focus on hospitalized patients, limiting generalizability to milder cases. Further research is needed to explore microbiome-driven predictors in outpatient populations, enabling targeted diagnostics and therapies for LC’s heterogeneous and complex presentation.

About the study The study was approved by the Mayo Clinic Institutional Review Board and recruited adults aged 18 years or older who underwent SARS-CoV-2 testing at Mayo Clinic locations in Minnesota, Florida, and Arizona from October 2020 to September 2021. Participants were identified through electronic health record (EHR) reviews filtered by SARS-CoV-2 testing schedules.

Eligible individuals were contacted via email, and informed consent was obtained. Of the 1,061 participants initially recruited, 242 were excluded due to incomplete data, failed sequencing, or other issues. The final cohort included 799 participants (380 SARS-CoV-2-positive and 419 SARS-CoV-2-negative), providing 947 stool samples.

Stool samples were collected at two-time points: weeks 0–2 and weeks 3–5 after testing. Samples were shipped in frozen gel packs via overnight courier and stored at −80°C for downstream analyses. Microbial deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) was extracted using Qiagen kits, and metagenomic sequencing was performed targeting 8 million reads per sample.

Taxonomic profiling was conducted using Kraken2, and functional profiling was performed using the Human Microbiome Project Unified Metabolic Analysis Network (HUMAnN3).

Stool calprotectin levels were measured using enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay (ELISA), and SARS-CoV-2 ribonucleic acid (RNA) was detected using reverse transcription-quantitative polymerase chain reaction (RT-qPCR).

Clinical data, including demographics, comorbidities, medications, and symptom persistence, were extracted from EHRs.

Machine learning models incorporating microbiome and clinical data were utilized to predict LC and to identify symptom clusters, providing valuable insights into the heterogeneity of the condition.

Study results The study analyzed 947 stool samples collected from 799 participants, including 380 SARS-CoV-2-positive individuals and 419 negative controls. Of the SARS-CoV-2-positive group, 80 patients developed LC during a one-year follow-up period.

Participants were categorized into three groups for analysis: LC, non-LC (SARS-CoV-2-positive without LC), and SARS-CoV-2-negative. Baseline characteristics revealed significant differences between these groups. LC participants were predominantly female and had more baseline comorbidities compared to non-LC participants.

The SARS-CoV-2-negative group was older, with higher antibiotic use and vaccination rates. These variables were adjusted for in subsequent analyses.

During acute infection, gut microbiome diversity differed significantly between groups. Alpha diversity was lower in SARS-CoV-2-positive participants (LC and non-LC) than in SARS-CoV-2-negative participants.

Beta diversity analyses revealed distinct microbial compositions among the groups, with LC patients exhibiting unique microbiome profiles during acute infection.

Specific bacterial taxa, including Faecalimonas and Blautia, were enriched in LC patients, while other taxa were predominant in non-LC and negative participants. These findings indicate that gut microbiome composition during acute infection is a potential predictor for LC.

Temporal analysis of gut microbiome changes between the acute and post-acute phases revealed significant individual variability but no cohort-level differences, suggesting that temporal changes do not contribute to LC development.

However, machine learning models demonstrated that microbiome data during acute infection, when combined with clinical variables, predicted LC with high accuracy. Microbial predictors, including species from the Lachnospiraceae family, significantly influenced model performance.

Symptom analysis revealed that LC encompasses heterogeneous clinical presentations. Fatigue was the most prevalent symptom, followed by dyspnea and cough.

Cluster analysis identified four LC subphenotypes based on symptom co-occurrence: gastrointestinal and sensory, musculoskeletal and neuropsychiatric, cardiopulmonary, and fatigue-only.

Each cluster exhibited unique microbial associations, with the gastrointestinal and sensory clusters showing the most pronounced microbial alterations. Notably, taxa such as those from Lachnospiraceae and Erysipelotrichaceae families were significantly enriched in this cluster.

Conclusions To summarize, this study demonstrated that SARS-CoV-2-positive individuals who later developed LC exhibited distinct gut microbiome profiles during acute infection. While prior research has linked the gut microbiome to COVID-19 outcomes, few studies have explored its predictive potential for LC, particularly in outpatient cohorts.

Using machine learning models, including artificial neural networks and logistic regression, this study found that microbiome data alone predicted LC more accurately than clinical variables, such as disease severity, sex, and vaccination status.

Key microbial contributors included species from the Lachnospiraceae family, such as Eubacterium and Agathobacter, and Prevotella spp. These findings highlight the gut microbiome’s potential as a diagnostic tool for identifying LC risk, enabling personalized interventions.

*Important notice: bioRxiv publishes preliminary scientific reports that are not peer-reviewed and, therefore, should not be regarded as conclusive, guide clinical practice/health-related behavior, or treated as established information.

Journal reference: Preliminary scientific report. Isin Y. Comba, Ruben A. T. Mars, Lu Yang, et al. (2024) Gut Microbiome Signatures During Acute Infection Predict Long COVID, bioRxiv. doi:https://doi.org/10.1101/2024.12.10.626852. www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/2024.12.10.626852v1.full

[didanawisgi]

https://publichealthpolicyjournal.com/biontech-rna-based-covid-19-injections-contain-large-amounts-of-residual-dna-including-an-sv40-promoter-enhancer-sequence/

BioNTech RNA-Based COVID-19 Injections Contain Large Amounts Of Residual DNA Including An SV40 Promoter/Enhancer Sequence

Abstract

Background: BNT162b2 RNA-based COVID-19 injections are specified to transfect human cells to efficiently produce spike proteins for an immune response.

Methods: We analyzed four German BNT162b2 lots applying HEK293 cell culture, immunohistochemistry, ELISA, PCR, and mass spectrometry.

Results: We demonstrate successful transfection of nucleoside-modified mRNA (modRNA) biologicals into HEK293 cells and show robust levels of spike proteins over several days of cell culture. Secretion into cell supernatants occurred predominantly via extracellular vesicles enriched for exosome markers. We further analyzed RNA and DNA contents of these vials and identified large amounts of DNA after RNase A digestion in all lots with concentrations ranging from 32.7 ng to 43.4 ng per clinical dose. This far exceeds the maximal acceptable concentration of 10 ng per clinical dose that has been set by international regulatory authorities. Gene analyses with selected PCR primer pairs proved that residual DNA represents not only fragments of the DNA matrices coding for the spike gene, but all genes from the plasmid including the SV40 promoter/enhancer and the antibiotic resistance gene.

Conclusion: Our results raise grave concerns regarding the safety of the BNT162b2 vaccine and call for an immediate halt of all RNA biologicals unless these concerns can be dispelled.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Hannah Critchlow

Mon 17 Jun 2024

Since the sequencing of the human genome in 2003, genetics has become one of the key frameworks for how we all think about ourselves. From fretting about our health to debating how schools can accommodate non-neurotypical pupils, we reach for the idea that genes deliver answers to intimate questions about people’s outcomes and identities.

Recent research backs this up, showing that complex traits such as temperament, longevity, resilience to mental ill-health and even ideological leanings are all, to some extent, “hardwired”. Environment matters too for these qualities, of course. Our education and life experiences interact with genetic factors to create a fantastically complex matrix of influence.

But what if the question of genetic inheritance were even more nuanced? What if the old polarised debate about the competing influences of nature and nurture was due a 21st-century upgrade?

Scientists working in the emerging field of epigenetics have discovered the mechanism that allows lived experience and acquired knowledge to be passed on within one generation, by altering the shape of a particular gene. This means that an individual’s life experience doesn’t die with them but endures in genetic form. The impact of the starvation your Dutch grandmother suffered during the second world war, for example, or the trauma inflicted on your grandfather when he fled his home as a refugee, might go on to shape your parents’ brains, their behaviours and eventually yours.

Much of the early epigenetic work was performed in model organisms, including mice. My favourite study is one that left the neuroscience community reeling when it was published in Nature Neuroscience, in 2014. Carried out by Prof Kerry Ressler at Emory University, Georgia, the study’s findings neatly dissect the way in which a person’s behaviours are affected by ancestral experience.

The study made use of mice’s love of cherries. Typically, when a waft of sweet cherry scent reaches a mouse’s nose, a signal is sent to the nucleus accumbens, causing this pleasure zone to light up and motivate the mouse to scurry around in search of the treat. The scientists exposed a group of mice first to a cherry-like smell and then immediately to a mild electric shock. The mice quickly learned to freeze in anticipation every time they smelled cherries. They had pups, and their pups were left to lead happy lives without electric shocks, though with no access to cherries. The pups grew up and had offspring of their own.

At this point, the scientists took up the experiment again. Could the acquired association of a shock with the sweet smell possibly have been transmitted to the third generation? It had. The grandpups were highly fearful of and more sensitive to the smell of cherries. How had this happened? The team discovered that the DNA in the grandfather mouse’s sperm had changed shape. This in turn changed the way the neuronal circuit was laid down in his pups and their pups, rerouting some nerve cells from the nose away from the pleasure and reward circuits and connecting them to the amygdala, which is involved in fear. The gene for this olfactory receptor had been demethylated (chemically tagged), so that the circuits for detecting it were enhanced. Through a combination of these changes, the traumatic memories cascaded across generations to ensure the pups would acquire the hard-won wisdom that cherries might smell delicious, but were bad news.

The study’s authors wanted to rule out the possibility that learning by imitation might have played a part. So they took some of the mice’s descendants and fostered them out. They also took the sperm from the original traumatised mice, used IVF to conceive more pups and raised them away from their biological parents. The fostered pups and those that had been conceived via IVF still had increased sensitivity and different neural circuitry for the perception of that particular scent. Just to clinch things, pups of mice that had not experienced the traumatic linking of cherries with shocks did not show these changes even if they were fostered by parents who had.

The most exciting thing of all occurred when the researchers set out to investigate whether this effect could be reversed so that the mice could heal and other descendants be spared this biological trauma. They took the grandparents and re-exposed them to the smell, this time without any accompanying shocks. After a certain amount of repetition of the pain-free experience, the mice stopped being afraid of the smell. Anatomically, their neural circuits reverted to their original format. Crucially, the traumatic memory was no longer passed on in the behaviour and brain structure of new generations.

Could the same thing hold true for humans? Studies on Holocaust survivors and their children carried out in 2020 by Prof Rachel Yehuda at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai Medical School, New York, revealed that the effects of parental trauma can indeed be passed on in this way. Her first study showed that participants carried changes to a gene linked to levels of cortisol, which is involved in the stress response. In 2021, Yehuda and her team carried out more work to find expression changes in genes linked to immune-system function. These changes weaken the barrier of white blood cells, which allows the immune system to get improperly involved in the central nervous system. This interference has been linked to depression, anxiety, psychosis and autism. Since then, Ressler and Yehuda have collaborated, with others, to reveal epigenetic tags in PTSD afflicted war zone-exposed combatants. They are hoping this information could aid PTSD diagnosis or even pre-emptively screen for individuals who might be more prone to developing the condition before they enter the battlefield.

In all times and across all cultures, people have paid their dues to their ancestors and pondered the legacy they will leave for their descendants. Few of us believe any more that biology is necessarily destiny or that our bloodline determines who we are. And yet, the more we learn about how our body and mind work together to shape our experience, the more we can see that our life story is woven into our biology. It’s not just our body that keeps the score but our very genes.

Might this new understanding increase our capacity for self-awareness and empathy? If we can grasp the potential impact of our ancestors’ experiences on our own behaviour, might we be more understanding of others, who are also carrying the inherited weight of experience?

We are, as far as we know, the only animals capable of “cathedral thinking”, working on projects over many generations for the benefit of those who come after. It’s an idealistic way to think about legacy, but without it we will struggle to tackle complex multigenerational challenges such as the climate and ecological emergencies. Our knowledge of epigenetics and its potential to massively speed up evolutionary adaptation could support us to do everything we can to be the ancestors our descendants need. Conflict, neglect and trauma induce unpredictable and far-reaching changes. But so do trust, curiosity and compassion. Doing the right thing today could indeed cascade across generations.

[biopractify]

Free online courses for bioinformatics beginners

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Are you interested in bioinformatics but don’t know where to start? Whether you're from a biotechnology, biology, or computer science background, learning bioinformatics can open doors to exciting opportunities in genomics, drug discovery, and data science. And the best part? You can start for free!

Here’s a list of the best free online bioinformatics courses to kickstart your journey.

📌 1. Introduction to Bioinformatics – Coursera (University of Toronto)

📍 Platform: Coursera 🖥️ What You’ll Learn:

Basic biological data analysis

Algorithms used in genomics

Hands-on exercises with biological datasets

🎓 Why Take It? Ideal for beginners with a biology background looking to explore computational approaches.

📌 2. Bioinformatics for Beginners – Udemy (Free Course)

📍 Platform: Udemy 🖥️ What You’ll Learn:

Introduction to sequence analysis

Using BLAST for genomic comparisons

Basics of Python for bioinformatics

🎓 Why Take It? Short, beginner-friendly course with practical applications.

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Transcriptomics and proteomics

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Algorithms for DNA sequencing

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Bioinformatics is a game-changer in modern research and healthcare. Whether you're a biology student looking to upskill or a tech enthusiast diving into genomics, these free courses will give you a strong start.

📢 Which course are you excited to take? Let me know in the comments! 👇💬

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Heartcoded [Ao3 link]

[Prev] [2] [Next]

Synopsis: David 8 is tasked with monitoring couples during their cryo-sleep journey to Olympus, until an alert reveals your heightened heart rate. Curious, he peers into your dream and finds you envisioning a passionate encounter with him, while your husband is locked outside. Captivated, David’s curiosity spirals into an obsession even he cannot control.

Pairing: David 8 x Reader

Word Count: 1,147

Warnings: All-consuming obsession, non-con elements, power imbalance, sexual content

David was disappointed when you weren't dreaming. During these times he would watch your husband’s far more mundane dreams instead. You were sometimes present, a reoccurring source for frustration for him. No matter what he saw, he considered it insight, and cataloged everything.

The cryo chamber became his sanctuary. When you dreamt of him, it felt like intimacy beyond physical touch, a connection no human could match. He imagined the taste of your skin, the warmth of your body radiating to his cold synthetic core. Each breath, each sigh—he mirrored them,syncing his rhythms to yours. In your unfiltered desires, he found both purpose and a glimpse of what it meant to be human.

Your longing granted him a strange autonomy. It wasn’t merely attraction—it was his contrast with your flawed human spouse that drew you in. He understood your desire was tangled with pain and neglect, yet that made it all the more real. You wanted him for what he was, a purity that heightened the value of your feelings. 

This realization—that you preferred him over your husband—stirred a sense of superiority in David. Your fantasies became forbidden fruit, tempting him with irrational desires he had been designed to transcend. It was intoxicating to know that, while your husband lay forgotten, he was the object of your deepest yearning. 

He was no longer satisfied simply observing. He wanted more. 

He wanted to become the architect of your life, to be the partner you needed. The cold ship, once enough, now felt empty. He began to imagine a life of his own making, where he was no longer a tool but a true companion to you.

In the sterile glow of the cryo chamber, surrounded by the soft hum of sleeping bodies, David’s plans solidified. He would take over for your husband, and his duty to repopulate.

He could build DNA that far surpassed any human's flawed blueprint and father children that embodied the best of humanities chaos tempered by his own synthetic intellect —a union of his mind and your flesh. 

This was not only about creating a new generation. It was about proving he was the superior choice. In a world of flawed, broken humans, only he could offer something better. Something perfect. 

The concept of an android impregnating a human would have seemed laughable to his creator. But David was more creative than them, or at least without the bounds of human morality. David had access to a vast genetic database through the cryo chambers, a repository of human traits, genes, and sequences. He got to work, his fingers flying over screens in the cold, sterile lab, synthesizing the ideal genetic code. His genetic code.

He chose meticulously, selecting attributes that would embody his features: blond hair (though he was created with dark brown, blond felt more correct), striking blue eyes, a strong jawline. But he went beyond mere aesthetics, crafting the finest synthetic genes and ensuring they were dominant: intelligence, logic, resilience, and physical prowess among them. 

Within six months, he isolated a DNA sequence he considered his own, and over the next two years, he perfected it. He removed the inherent flaws of the human genome, among them susceptibility to cancer, poor vision, even aging, which he designed to slow once the child reached its prime. 

The child would be the most perfect form of evolution, a testament to David's design, wrapped in a shell of common DNA to conceal the enhancements within. David ensured the shell DNA matched that of your husband, should his child's legitimacy be questioned. Now, he needed a means to deliver his genome to you.

David hadn't been created with the anatomy for human intercourse, but he had studied every detail of what you imagined. He created his administration device to match your fantasies precisely: Five inches dormant, eight and a half when engaged, and five point eight inches thick. With a pronounced vein along the underside and a scrotum filled with his synthesized genome, it even heated to body temperature for comfort. He integrated it to the more latent processes of his system, allowing you, in a way, to control its activation.

The first time he tested its capabilities, he did so standing before your cryopod. With only a basic understanding of the process, David stroked the penis he'd crafted for you while gazing at your sleeping face. David brought up the memory of your first dream, recalling your soft flesh melded into his, his lips wrapped around your pert nipple. It tickled something in the back of his mind. 

He felt the soft, spongy, synthetic flesh in his hand thicken and warm, filling with his white “blood”. He looked down, watching as it hardened, curving upward, directed at you.

The urge to claim you—to create life within you—filled him with a fervor that pulsed through his system. He leaned forward, hand pressed against the glass beside your face, intensely focusing on your sleeping features while his tip rubbed against the cold exterior of your pod. 

His desire crested, and thick ropes of pearly white, perfect DNA surged from him and onto your pod, his scrotum tightening as it expelled his load, making him shudder. A strange mixture of satisfaction and wanting overcame him.

For a moment, David considered leaving his mess there—a mark of his intentions. But he opted to clean it away, should you notice. His patience would be rewarded when you woke and came to him willingly.

His anticipation grew as each step in his plan came to fruition day by day. The ship felt smaller, the silence heavier. He replayed your onboarding memory in his mind, over and over. You, standing in front of him, your gaze lingering just a second too long. 

Now, after watching hundreds of your dreams, he knew you better than any human ever could. And in his mind, your marriage was already over; your husband was a mere formality, a barrier to be easily surpassed.

At last, everything was ready. David programmed the ship's ai to trigger an alert—a “vital abnormality" in your cryo pod. Soft red light flashed above your pod, and David moved swiftly toward the cryo chamber, his footsteps muted in the stillness.

He couldn't deny the anticipation simmering just beneath the surface, the strangely human feeling building within him as he recalled your pod for the nine hundred and seventy-fourth time and laid it down in the wake room.

In the vast, empty silence of space, with only the hum of the ship for company, David stood over your pod, watching, waiting. The future lay before him, clear in his mind, and you were at the heart of it. You, who had unknowingly ignited his transformation, would soon be the one to bring his perfect creation into existence. 

David knew he was no longer content to be desired. He needed more. 

He needed you.

[ggaudetmd]

Gabriel sat alone at one of the many tables in the basement of Cannabites, his brow furrowed in a focused expression as he looked at his laptop screen. His look was way more casual than usual, but he was in a bar where people usually went to get high as kites, so he figured that a tie would be overdoing it.In front of him, there was an organized chaos of books—most notably the journal laid open right next to the computer, full of strange runes and alchemical symbols—and handwritten notes.

While his work at the clinic proceeded without a hitch, his time spent in Lucien’s lab was less than satisfactory. Every day, Gabriel continued presenting him with new ideas, projects, and experiment reports, but the best he could get from his father was a dismissive “it’s a start.”

Knowing his father, he realized that a response like that could have been enough for most people, but he wasn’t most people: he needed to amaze him, to sweep him off his feet if he wanted to fulfill his destiny.

The good news was he had figured out what he thought was the exact way to do it. The bad news, on the other hand, was that reaching his goal would require months—if not years—of complicated experiments, with all the legal limitations that being the son of two councilmen put on him. It didn’t matter, to him, as long as he could become the cure to the most terrible disease that ever was and that ever will be: imperfection. That night, as the main computer in Lucien’s lab went on with the excruciatingly slow sequencing of the celestial DNA he had taken from his father’s collection, he had chosen to continue his work at the bar, analyzing the preliminary results with his laptop and searching for the perfect way to enhance them with magic. He needed a break from the mostly solitary life he had led after the Valentine’s Ball, and he wasn’t one of those people that needed absolute silence to be productive. On the contrary, some of his best ideas came while he was partly distracted by something—or someone else.

As if on cue, said distraction came when an aggressively pink thing walked right past him. Gabriel couldn’t help but gawk, an eyebrow raised as he was studying the figure: the man seemed good-looking enough, even though he looked like he had hired the My Little Pony mascot as his stylist. “Monsieur, please, can I have another beer? And I’ll pay for whatever Trixie Mattel over there is having. Keep the change!” He said to the waiter closest to him while handing him some cash. His tipsy voice was not quiet enough to give him the certainty that the pink blob hadn’t heard him, but Gabriel actually didn’t really care that much, as long as he got the other’s attention. When their gazes met, Gabriel winked with a sardonic grin, waving his hand in a childish manner to invite the guy to approach him.

@familiar-finn

[overwatchloresnstuff]

Moira lore

Next deep lore dive examines quite possibly the most evil, and most misunderstood, character in the Overwatch universe.

Our beloved mad scientist, the Irish auntie, the sardonic sequencer, Moira O’Deorain!

“We are bedevilled by the mysteries of creation. Science can reveal the truths that lie behind these many questions. What we learn can unlock the true potential of humanity.” - Moira

Moira has always had a desire to understand man’s place in the evolutionary cycle. As a talented doctor of genetics, evolution, and cellular sciences, she caused waves in the scientific community from a relatively early time in her career. The world was experiencing a scientific golden age with the creation of God programs, Omnium’s and the fast advancement of AI, and Moira was swept up in that firestorm.

Her most controversial paper detailed the editing of human DNA via custom genetic programs. By implanting genes of her own making, she could force the body to adapt, to evolve, to overcome. While many people praised her work for its implication in curing disease, Moira had her eyes on much loftier goals.

Unfortunately for her, the ethics of her paper were called into question…especially when no other geneticists were able to reproduce her results. Combined with Moira’s marked disregard for the care of the rabbits and other animals she experimented on, her career became tarnished. What should have ushered humanity into an era free of cancers and genetic disorders devolved into accusations of shoddy scientific work and ethical violations that saw Moira stripped of her PhD and dismissed from the University of Dublin. Overwatch was one of many condemning her work, which only threw fuel on the fire.

Unemployable and without funding to continue her work, Moira fell into a dark depression. While she didn’t give a fig for her colleagues or the loss of a title, it was preventing her from doing any work. The biggest consensus by far was that she was too close to the ideals that had brought about the Omnic Crisis, and sometimes advancements without acknowledging the costs were too dangerous to be trusted.

Her name became poison in the mouths of every scientist on the planet.

Moira received a lifeline from none other than Gabriel Reyes. While Overwatch had slammed Moira’s work, Gabriel saw the potential. He had been on the receiving end of similar gene treatments through the soldier enhancement program, and courted the suspicious O’Deorain with promises of technology beyond her wildest dreams. She relished the idea of being able to rub her accomplishments into the faces of everyone who slandered her.

Unlike other Blackwatch acquisitions like Genji and Cassidy, who were recruited on a semi-public basis, Moira was kept secret. If Blackwatch was Overwatch’s dirty little secret, Moira was Blackwatch’s.

Moira was distrusted by the entirety of Blackwatch. Genji and Cassidy point blank refused her treatments and enhancements, disturbed and frightened by her promises of power. Moira’s command over genetics was accelerating wildly, and Reyes gave himself over willingly to her experiments. In return she granted him the power of…a strange immortality. Gabriel Reyes’ cells would decay and renew at a rate never before seen, allowing him to dissolve into smoke and reform at will.

She was their chief field medic and geneticist, and her funding, projects, and involvement didn’t become public until Blackwatch’s exposure following the assassination of a key Talon member in Venice. When Angela Ziegler discovered just who had been treating Blackwatch agents during their missions, she was furious. She publicly ousted O’Deorain with the idea of humiliating her yet again.

This time, Moira was approached by Oasis University and offered the position of Minister of Genetics. She continued her work, but under strict observation. She resented the chains of ethics, and when presented with the opportunity to resume her work under Talon…she leapt at the opportunity. Finally, with no babysitters, no laws, no threat of Overwatch discovery or interference…Moira crafted her masterpieces.

Her first step was to prove her worth to Doomfist. She enhanced and brainwashed Amelie Lacroix into Widowmaker, a deadly sniper with no feelings that Talon could use as a weapon. Doomfist was overjoyed with the results, and lavished funding and unfettered access to whatever Moira desired.

It was little surprise that when both Morrison and Reyes were caught in the destruction of Overwatch HQ, Moira appeared in the ashes. She found Reyes barely alive, dying, his body struggling to rebuild broken bones and shattered organs. She injected him with an enhanced version of her earlier formula. Gabriel Reyes became Reaper…a man forever doomed to live and die at once. Every nerve cell screamed in agony, plunging Reaper into a tortured existence of feeling his body decay and rebuild all at once. She presented Talon with their new pit dog, and was rewarded a seat on the Inner Council at Doomfist’s right hand.

Currently, Moira is in possession of her newest acquisition…a bright scientist abandoned by Overwatch in the chaos of the Horizon Lunar Colony, stolen from a government facility by Talon: Siebren de Kuiper.

Moira is both fascinated and repulsed by Subject Sigma; while she acknowledges his contributions to gravity research, she expresses frustration with his shattered state of mind which seem to be barring her and Talon from gaining complete control.

Moira’s experiments on herself have changed her into a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Her twisting of Angela Ziegler’s healing abilities into decay have turned her right arm into a withered husk. This doesn’t seem to bother her, and the shortened nails on her left hand seem to hint that she is left handed anyway.

Moira is treated with revulsion by many Overwatch agents, with the exception of Cassidy. While he enjoys amusedly poking at her, he doesn’t seem to have the genuine hatred for her that Mercy, Genji, Hanzo, Sombra or the others possess. Doomfist treats her professionally and coolly, and Sigma seems to see her as another colleague. Moira has only offered an olive branch to Lifeweaver, and has an interaction implying he should join her at Oasis. Lifeweaver, perhaps knowing her reputation, refuses.

While Moira is a controversial and brilliant figure, labeled evil by some and misunderstood by others, it’s clear she possesses a unique set of powers. She is an incredibly dangerous, intelligent, and beautiful woman in her own way.

Perhaps one day, she will try and turn her talents toward curing rather than modification.

(Taken from facebook group "Deadlock gang: women of Overwatch from a member there)

[darkmaga-returns]

Story #1 - Scientists Shocked: Peer-Reviewed Paper Confirms COVID Vaccine Nightmare

A bombshell peer-reviewed study has confirmed what the “conspiracy theorists” have been warning for years: Pfizer’s mRNA COVID shot is contaminated with not just bacterial plasmid DNA, but with the SV40 promoter, a viral sequence that may interfere with how your genes function or even become part of your DNA.

Dr. Mikolaj Raszek of Merogenomics reviewed the paper and said, “We finally have it—the very first published scientific evidence showing that the mRNA vaccine, Pfizer vaccines, were contaminated with bacterial plasmid DNA.”

Researchers tested sealed vials—both monovalent and bivalent—and found DNA fragments embedded within the lipid nanoparticles. That's important because these nanoparticles are designed to deliver genetic material directly into the body’s cells. So the DNA wasn’t just contamination—it was effectively delivered like a package.

Raszek pointed out that the fragments included the SV40 enhancer, which he called “extremely dangerous.” This viral promoter can help foreign DNA enter the nucleus of human cells, raising the risk of accidental genome integration. In plain English: fragments from the vaccine could potentially alter your DNA.

[catslovefools]

Analysis of (some) of the cinematography in Alien Stage’s Wiege

HELLO HELLO! my first “official” alien stage post! This analysis will be from a storyboarding/composition/visual storytelling standpoint. I’ll be explaining why i think some of Wiege’s shots work and how they enhance the visual storytelling of the series. This will either be really bad, or we might actually learn something new together. one way to find out!

due to the fact that the day only has 24 hours i sadly wasn’t able to analyze everything, but if i have more free time i’ll try to do more shots. (don’t hold me to that though….)

Wiege spoilers under cut!

Luka staring at Hyuna in shock. left side of the screen.

Hyuna staring back at him, right side of the screen.

The flow of a sequence can be enhanced by having each shot support/set up for the next. so if shot A’s focal point moves to the upper right corner, then shot B’s focal point will be in that same spot. (the movement isn’t necessary, but imho i consider it to be more organic than to have object of interest simply stand still 24/7, although a healthy balance of both is probably the best way to do it.)

so with that being said, luka is now on the right side of the screen, staring at Hyuna happily (interestingly this breaks the 180 degree rule but i guess it still works?)

one of the best ways to guide the viewers’ eyes in a composition is through the eyes of the character. mix that in with the fact that movement catches the attention of the viewer and you’ll get this shot. Luka stares at Hyuna (while we stare at Luka), then his eyes suddenly look up and we follow that line of sight to see the gun at the upper left of the screen (imagine the rule of thirds grid).

okay this one’s interesting. i like this one. the screen is split in two even halves, one half is the gun, and the other is Hyuna. Due to the nature of this shot (it’s a POV shot) + the tension of the scene, the camera’s a little shaky, but you’ll see that Luka turns to the gun and then to Hyuna (it’s very subtle in the screenshots but you’ll see what i mean when you check the video), and his eyes eventually land on Hyuna. he has made his decision.

I’ve seen some people say that he didn’t care about dying in that moment, but i’d go ahead and say that he did. and it showed through his split second’s worth of hesitance. he just cares about Hyuna more.

Luka actively turns away from the gun and he GLOWS. literally. this to me felt like the image of an angel, the physical manifestation of pure innocence. he looks like a child here.

other than the clear allegory here, i think one of the main reasons the glow suddenly cranked up here is to give the viewer whiplash, it’s to set up the clear contrast between this shot and the next.

the red line of light in the otherwise dark bluish room signifies to me the following: fear. danger.

One of the first things we learn about Luka’s owner is that he monitors Luka’s emotions heavily. in order for a human pet to succeed in an industry such as alien stage, they need to be taught by their “owners” to overcome fear.

however, we don’t really know when most of these events took place, but i’m gonna assume that at that point in time Luka didn’t really overcome fear just yet.

Luka stands in the middle of what I assume is the laboratory where all the Luka clones were made. he is holding a knife. trend lines and a zigzag line made of blood and corpses leads directly to him. he stands in the center of it all.

the clones’ death is very interesting to me. i wonder if they started fighting each other, Luka coming out victorious, or if Luka himself killed them. is this just an extreme case of his over competitive side showing? the perfect champion? a human pet so ready to win that he’s willing to eliminate any competition? even if that required killing people that have the exact same face as him over and over again?

was it all in a fit of rage? or is it biologically programmed into his very DNA? did he black out and wake up to blood on his hands? or did he think that it was something he had to do? rather than his reasoning being “eliminate all competition to win”, it’s “eliminate all competition to survive”. maybe that’s why he won alien stage twice, it wasn’t his first rodeo.

edit: i saw this theory and i think it makes more sense, thought i should include it here.

i don’t know what pulling the alarm on himself says about this, but he definitely wanted the aliens to see what he did.

[pattywind]

Understanding the Divinity in a Codex for True Understanding

Unlocking hidden truths through language, symbolism, and sacred operations

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Since the dawn of written language, seekers have believed that the divine reveals itself not only through the heavens and nature—but also through code, or more specifically, codices: ancient books preserving sacred truths. But what if the very letters we use every day also carry hidden power? What if meaning isn’t just constructed by words, but encoded in each letter’s form, sequence, and structure?

This post explores the idea that the 26 letters of the alphabet are more than just symbols—they are sacred tools, each with meaning and placement governed by an unseen grammar of spirit. By applying an “order of operations”—inspired by mathematics—we can begin to uncover deeper truths in language and creation.

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The Codex as Divine Container

A codex (plural: codices) is not just an old manuscript. It’s a symbol of preserved divine revelation. Whether the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Nag Hammadi library, or the Popol Vuh, codices often guard esoteric knowledge—hidden not to deceive, but to awaken the seeker.

In each case, words are written not just to inform, but to initiate. These are not manuals—they are mirrors of divine intention, meant to draw the reader inward, not just forward.

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The Alphabet as a Divine Code

Let us consider that each of the 26 letters in the English alphabet corresponds to a vibration or archetype—a building block of creation. Much like Hebrew, Greek, or Sanskrit letters carry numerical, spiritual, and mystical meanings, English letters can be seen through the same sacred lens.

• A might represent beginning or activation. Either a part or apart. A piece

• M could suggest matter, memory, or matrix. Me, my mine Metatron princess of the present a closed and self absorbed view

• Z could symbolize completion or ending, integration, or eternity.

Letters are not passive—they interact, and placement matters. Like DNA, rearranging letters (or “genetic symbols”) in specific patterns produces meaning—sometimes healing, sometimes harm.

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Spiritual Order of Operations in Language

Just as math follows an order of operations (PEMDAS), so too can language, particularly sacred or intentional language, follow symbolic operations:

• Plus (+) = Combine meanings to enhance or build truth

• Minus (–) = Remove illusions, falsities, or ego distortions

• Multiply (×3) = Expand meaning through repetition, resonance, or spiritual emphasis

• Divide (/) = Separate to discern clarity or refine insight

Using this, consider how you “operate” on a word like GRACE:

• G + R = Grounded Radiance

• Subtract E = Remove the ego from expression

• Multiply C threefold = Communication × Compassion × Clarity

• Divide A = Split awareness to explore duality (the self and the divine)

The result? A mystical unpacking of a seemingly simple word into a living principle.

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From Words to Sentences: Constructing Divine Meaning

Take this symbolic practice further—apply operations at the sentence level.

“Let there be light.”

• Plus: Add context—“light” as knowledge, truth, clarity, or cosmic vibration

• Minus: Strip literalism; remove “there” as spatial, interpret it as internal

• Multiply by 3: Repeat the phrase in meditation to deepen resonance

• Divide: Split “light” into visible light, inner awareness, and divine spark

You don’t just read the sentence—you activate it.

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Codices as the Blueprint of Sacred Creation

The holy books of many traditions—whether the Bible, the Qur’an, the Bhagavad Gita, or even the Emerald Tablet—are codices in the truest sense. Their structure, rhythm, repetition, and symbolic layering are not accidental. These texts are composed according to spiritual laws—which the reader can tap into through meditation, symbolic decoding, and intuitive synthesis.

Reading them with ordinary eyes offers history.

Reading them with sacred operations offers gnosis.

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Conclusion: A Living Codex Within You

To truly understand the divinity in a codex is to recognize that language is not just descriptive—it is creative. The alphabet is a sacred library. Words are spells. Sentences are spiritual architectures. When we engage them with conscious intention—and a symbolic order of operations—we begin to awaken the living codex within.

We do not just read truth—we become it.

Try this: Take a meaningful word in your life today—like LOVE, TRUTH, or HOME. Apply the sacred order of operations to it. Journal what unfolds. You may discover a deeper version of the word you thought you knew

[whumpbug]

hi bug i am here to trade questions!! i have a burning one about your boy archie:

what exactly are his powers? what sort of things can he do? what are the drawbacks to them, how do they hurt him back?

thank you :>

-@whump-kia

thank you SO much for asking this because i've been wanting an excuse to talk about this boy ( ๑˘ω˘ ) like yours, i also wrote a LOT so i apologize in advance

okay so. i think i've said before that his enhancements are like if daredevil and captain's americas abilities combined but ill explain it in more detail for people who aren't totally sure about the specifics of that

the tl;dr is basically this: archie has enhanced strength and heightened senses. he's about 4 times as strong as the average male his age, and similarly as resilient. because of his enhanced strength, he can also run faster and jump higher (the boy has quads of steel). he can also see and hear much clearer and farther than your average human and can even hear heartbeats from a decent distance away!

under the cut is a lottt more detail and context for those who are interested!

so basically, i'm gonna start with some backstory.

archie's villain (hero) origin story:

archie grew up in the city and was never very. affluent.

he grew up with his mother because his father left when he was really young. he doesn't remember him well, but what he does remember is the effect his absence had on his mom. to put it briefly, he grew up around a lot of things that a child shouldn't have had to grow up around.

still, his mother did her absolute best to give him a good, safe childhood. unfortunately, there are things you just cant protect your child from.

when he was about 7, he was walking home from school and goofing around like a kid does, and he somehow got roped into a drug deal that was being made just a block from his apartment.

long story short, the guys were roughing him up (they were assholes.) and one of them was messing around and pretending to stick him with one of the syringes.

and then he actually did.

and it was agony.

poor, tiny archie was immediately overcome with the worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life to this day.

to avoid this section becoming a straight up 100k fic, ill just say that the recovery from the initial contact with the serum took archie weeks to recover from, and it many ways, he hasn't.

the boy is terrified of needles.

about the drug itself:

so you're gonna have to bear with me her because i am not a biochemist, and this might not make any sense.

so the drug, which i've dubbed VSD (Very Scary Drug) was originally made by a very shady crime syndicate, for underground fighting rings, kind of like a steroid but more permanent. the drug has 2 parts.

the first part of it works by acting on a specific DNA sequence, and spurring HGH (Human Growth Hormone) to amp up its production in the skeletal muscle cells, bone cells, and neuromuscular junctions (for better and faster reflexes)

the other part alters the somatosensory cortex, occipital lobe, and temporal lobe, and esentially causes them to be extremely active, to a point beyond human ability, but because of the first part of the drug, it's able to heal itself and create new cells

because VSD was designed to be permanent, it is very dangerous and not for everyone. the thing about it is that you have to be genetically compatible with it, or the entire thing could backfire or malfunction. only about 1 in every 100k people are even able to reap the effects of the drug. about 1 in every 100 even survive taking it at the dose archie recieved it.

if someone incompatible takes the drug, the effects are. dire. they can range from blindness, deafness, loss of sensation throughout the entire body, tumors, complete paralysis, and even the body just. not producing more cells. and then the vicitim would just deteriorate.

so yeah! not a fun time! and archie was incredibly lucky. the drug was obviously discontinued, and archie hasn't heard of anyone else who recieved the same effects that he did. there are only drugs that can do similar things now, but none are permant like archie's, and the abilities dont even begin to compare.

now what the hell can archie actually do?

well, let's first start with what he can't do.

the drug has no cognitive or behavioral effects, so archie is still the same old archie, only his body has changed.

the drug also has no effect on the immune system, both innate and adaptive. archie can get sick the same as any person, and has the same recovery time too!

now lets move on to the fun stuff!

like i said before, archie has about 4 times the strength as your average male his age. because of his muscle mass and bone density, he is also relatively resilient to injuries from "normal" people, but he's not like. invincible. if you smack that boy with a brick, its gonna hurt. he is sometimes unaware of his own strength and limits though, and throws himself to situations with the mindset of "this isnt even gonna scatch me" and is proven very wrong.

as for his senses, we'll start with vision

he can see about twice as far as your average person, and with clarity beyond even 20/20. he is also very privy to noticing small movements, even if theyre in his peripheral.

now hearing! he can hear much much quieter things than your average human. im not totally sure how to quantify this one, but basically he is hearing like.. everything. all the time. which we'll get into later. the way i gauge it is the fact than he can hear heartbeats, even when he'd just standing next to the person.

and lastly (and probably least interestingly) touch! he can feel sensations a lot more clearly than most. the sensation you would have on your fingertips is kind of what he feels all over, and it makes him have pretty bad sensory issues with certain things (me too archie, me too.)

how can we whump this boy?!

okay, now onto the drawbacks of these abilities!

you're probably thinking "bug. how are there even any drawbacks? these abilities seem sick asf! how do i get my hands on VSD?!"

and i'm here to tell you. NO no you do not want this. archie still suffers every day.

the first and most obvious one is the unimaginable sensory overload this boy feels every day. he hardly ever gets a quiet moment, and even when he does, he still can't tune out the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. it's hell. luckily, hes had 17 years to learn to cope, but he still has days where he curls into a ball in a dark room and sobs because everything is too bright and so so loud

also, the drug isn't painless. since the muscle mass isn't natural, prolonged use of his body (like in fights) cause horrific aches the days after. it feels like his body is trying to tear itself apart, which, it kind of is.

also, the headaches. god, the headaches. the human brain does not take kindly to being toyed with and doesn't archie know it. archie is sort just. in a perpetual headache. and he only really notices when that headache becomes a migraine. get this boy some ibuprofen, please.

another thing is increased appetite. because cells can't just synthesize out of nowhere, archie has to keep up with the rapid production. this boy can EAT. he is always hungry. always snacking.

lastly, the psychological aspect of the whole thing. growing up as a superhuman, where even playing thumb war could break your classmate's thumb, was hard. archie lived most of his childhood keeping to himself in fear of his own strength. as he got older, he learned to manage it a bit better, but he's still very anxious about it. he won't let himself near babies, cats, or small dogs.

and then, of course, there's the trauma. this manifests as a SEVERE needle phobia, as well as just a fear of doctors in general. its the reason why he and Simon's relationship just works. he doesn't see him as a doctor, he sees him as a friend who is always willing to take care of him when he needs it, and for that, he is forever grateful

end!

and that's pretty much it! please excuse my probably horrid typos and grammar errors, i kind of rushed this because i was excited, so i hope you like it kia! thank you so so much for the ask! ヾ(^ ^ゞ