Sins of the Father, Sins of the Flesh
folder
+M through R › Mass Effect
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
3,742
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
+M through R › Mass Effect
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
3,742
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
All Mass Effect intellectual property reserved to Bioware and Electronic Arts; I make no claim to ownership and make no profit from this fiction.
The Body Farm
Can you commodify the human body? Can you grow it, trade it, list it on exchanges and buy futures in it, like any other crop?
Can it be harvested?
The man in charge here says that all those answers are “yes.”
The very bad place is below us now. While you can get there from here (if you have the correct keycards, passwords, voiceprint and DNA), this room is for growth, not for destruction. That room was quite old fashioned. This one is very modern; not just cutting-edge, but bleeding-edge technology here.
So to speak.
It’s more of a hospital ward than a room, actually. A very large ward. It’s filled with hospital beds, softly beeping machines, the comforting hum and shuffle of white-coated doctors and nurses checking a heart-rate here, adjusting a dosage there.
Well, it’s more of a farm than a hospital ward, actually. A rather small farm, by some standards, but with a very specialized (and lucrative) crop. You see, the people in the beds aren’t really patients. They’re living (for certain definitions of the word) greenhouses.
Look at this one. He seems to be sleeping. You can see that he’s breathing, and the monitor shows his heartbeat’s strong and steady. But look closer; it also shows he’s short a few organs—in this case, most of his digestive system.
And with that pesky stomach gone, minus those intestines, there’s plenty of room in that body cavity for the four extra pair of kidneys this man is growing.
It seems he’s fertile soil for those delicate organs; his renal system is in fantastic shape, so (with the assistance of those wonderful white-coated doctors and nurses), he’s nurturing a few extra for the less fortunate (but far richer) folks who just can’t grow their own.
So to speak.
As a matter of fact, it looks like all the folks in this row are doing that. Peak season for kidneys, down on the farm.
There are other rows, of course; smart farmers rotate their crops, and the man in charge here is exceptionally smart. Lungs? Livers? Whatever you want, whatever you need, they’ve got it growing. The room smells mostly of bleach and antiseptic, but if you take a deep breath, you can almost imagine the good green smell of fertile earth and a crop taking root in the sun and the rain.
Do you find this revolting? Do you take offense at the idea that the human body can be bought and sold for parts?
Come on. Have a heart.
They’re right over here. And you can pick your own.
So to speak.
Can it be harvested?
The man in charge here says that all those answers are “yes.”
The very bad place is below us now. While you can get there from here (if you have the correct keycards, passwords, voiceprint and DNA), this room is for growth, not for destruction. That room was quite old fashioned. This one is very modern; not just cutting-edge, but bleeding-edge technology here.
So to speak.
It’s more of a hospital ward than a room, actually. A very large ward. It’s filled with hospital beds, softly beeping machines, the comforting hum and shuffle of white-coated doctors and nurses checking a heart-rate here, adjusting a dosage there.
Well, it’s more of a farm than a hospital ward, actually. A rather small farm, by some standards, but with a very specialized (and lucrative) crop. You see, the people in the beds aren’t really patients. They’re living (for certain definitions of the word) greenhouses.
Look at this one. He seems to be sleeping. You can see that he’s breathing, and the monitor shows his heartbeat’s strong and steady. But look closer; it also shows he’s short a few organs—in this case, most of his digestive system.
And with that pesky stomach gone, minus those intestines, there’s plenty of room in that body cavity for the four extra pair of kidneys this man is growing.
It seems he’s fertile soil for those delicate organs; his renal system is in fantastic shape, so (with the assistance of those wonderful white-coated doctors and nurses), he’s nurturing a few extra for the less fortunate (but far richer) folks who just can’t grow their own.
So to speak.
As a matter of fact, it looks like all the folks in this row are doing that. Peak season for kidneys, down on the farm.
There are other rows, of course; smart farmers rotate their crops, and the man in charge here is exceptionally smart. Lungs? Livers? Whatever you want, whatever you need, they’ve got it growing. The room smells mostly of bleach and antiseptic, but if you take a deep breath, you can almost imagine the good green smell of fertile earth and a crop taking root in the sun and the rain.
Do you find this revolting? Do you take offense at the idea that the human body can be bought and sold for parts?
Come on. Have a heart.
They’re right over here. And you can pick your own.
So to speak.