John Harlan and the other elderly shareholder, Arthur, were given a slow, deliberate tour of the R&D facility. Dr. Michael walked with them, explaining the various processes and technologies along the way. He moved at a gentle pace, considerate of his distinguished guests.
The primary purpose of this visit was a demonstration, a viewing of Project Aurora's current capabilities, and the final preparations were underway. Dr. Michael, initially a little nervous, quickly settled into his role. He exuded confidence; his position as head doctor was well-earned, his qualifications beyond question.
He led them to a specialized observation hall. They took their seats on a raised observation deck, shielded by thick, reinforced glass designed to withstand significant force in case of any accidents below. From this vantage point, they had a clear view of the sterile demonstration area.
John and Arthur spoke softly to each other as seven test subjects, all clad in plain blue uniforms, were brought in by facility staff. The subjects looked around, their eyes wide with fear and confusion.
Before arriving here, they had been prisoners, condemned to life sentences. They were extracted from their prisons under the guise of a transfer, only to end up in this facility, treated like lambs awaiting slaughter. Here, they endured a battery of mental tests and disorienting sleep schedules – it was more accurate to say they slept more often than they were awake.
They were denied any form of media or entertainment; their existence was stark and frightening. They slept on cold tiles with only thin quilts for comfort. It was a beyond inhuman existence. They knew their fate was sealed. Any flicker of aggression, any attempt at resistance, was met with immediate sedation, leaving them unconscious for hours.
One of these subjects was Lukas. He had been a low-level thug, part of a street gang in a foreign nation far from Kestova, sentenced for attempted murder. When imprisoned, he refused to talk, relying on his gang boss's promise of protection and a comfortable life behind bars.
Though handed a fifteen-year sentence, he was told he'd be pardoned after serving half. Orphaned, with no one to fight for him, he had accepted the deal. Initially, prison life had been surprisingly smooth. He became a minor kingpin within his block, even managing to arrange secret conjugal visits. He couldn't have asked for better under the circumstances.
But that all changed about a month ago. Only two years of his sentence had passed when a lawyer visited, bringing a new "deal" from his boss. Lukas couldn't believe his supposed importance.
He was told he would be taken overseas to Kestova. There, he would live a normal life, lying low and handling some quiet business for the gang. After five years, he could return home, no questions asked. He agreed immediately, keeping the news to himself. A week later, he was transferred. His prison friends believed he was being moved to another facility; only the prison management knew he was being shipped out of the country.
He was given fresh food and civilian clothes, shedding his orange prison uniform. For a brief period, things seemed good. Then, one day, while relaxing in what he thought was a secure hotel room, a group of masked men burst in, knocked him unconscious, and dragged him away. When he awoke, he was in a dark shipping container with six other men, all in handcuffs. The horrifying truth dawned on him: he wasn't free. He had been sold, trafficked.
As a career criminal, he knew the grim fate that awaited such individuals. He tried to reason with their handlers, even threatening them with his boss's name, but they only laughed, cruelly informing him that his boss was the one who had facilitated the sale.
That revelation shattered the last of Lukas's rational thought. He wasn't special. He was livestock, fattened for a buyer. Tragic.
Now, in the demonstration area, Lukas and the other six men were strapped tightly into chairs. Their heads were bent forward, napes exposed, as if awaiting an injection.
It was an uncomfortable, vulnerable position, but that wasn't his primary concern. The fear of what was about to be done to them was overwhelming. He couldn't struggle; none of them could. One of the other men was openly weeping, another shouting incoherently until something was placed in his mouth, silencing him, much to the relief of the viewers above.
Lukas could hear movement around him, unseen figures preparing. Panic surged when a calm, disembodied voice began speaking from hidden speakers. He started praying, a desperate, silent plea. A cold hand touched the back of his neck. He felt a cool liquid being applied, like alcohol, cleaning the area. His breathing became erratic; he was shaking uncontrollably.
The owner of the hands, a woman, spoke in a chillingly calm voice, "Stay still." Her tone brooked no argument; Lukas felt his life was entirely in her hands. He felt a sharp prick, then a strange, cold, circular pad – the Neuro-Interface Node, the NIN, made from bio-conductive polymers that gave it its coolness – was attached to his neck. A bizarre sensation washed over him. His mind felt… cool, a chilling feeling like a shiver down the spine when startled. Then, a wave of sweet relief, so profound he even started to smile.
Unbeknownst to him, as his body remained active, his consciousness was fading. After two minutes, Lukas was gone. A blissful, conscious death. The NIN, powered by the Oracle AI, had erased his awareness and installed itself as the sole pilot of his body.
The same procedure was performed on the other six men. Once all were processed, they were unshackled. The scientists quietly exited the room. The play, as Dr. Michael might have metaphorically termed it, was about to begin.
From the observation deck, Dr. Michael spoke into a microphone, reporting their status. In response, all seven men stood up, perfectly upright, their movements unnervingly synchronized. It was almost incredible. They were now completely controlled by the NIN implants. John Harlan and Arthur nodded in approval, signaling Michael to continue.
A large screen on the observation deck flickered to life, displaying biometric data from the subjects and operational data from the Oracle AI. Dr. Michael stepped before it. "The seven subjects have synchronized to seventy percent," he explained. "This means Oracle can now impersonate their baseline personalities and behaviors with seventy percent accuracy. It can act and react as the men themselves would have, but now according to pre-programmed parameters and predictive algorithms."
He continued, "But that is merely the surface. The true aim of Project Aurora lies beyond simple mimicry. These subjects can now be trained, taught anything. They will put any normal human to shame." He clarified, "Within limits, of course. They are still human, with physical limitations. However, mentally, they can learn and adapt with astonishing speed, becoming efficient, almost like savants, in any chosen skill. Oracle doesn't magically grant mastery, but it enhances the learning process exponentially. They can learn almost anything, but burnout is a real factor we must manage."
To demonstrate, Dr. Michael touched a control on the screen and issued a command through the microphone to the subjects below: "Begin performance sequence." Music filled the demonstration area. Instantly, the seven men began to dance, their movements fluid, graceful, and perfectly synchronized. They moved like seasoned professionals, so in beat and precise that it awed the viewers. Even Lonah, watching intently beside the shareholders, was struck by the display. She was witnessing the future of mankind. John and Arthur observed with keen interest, though Arthur had a hard-to-describe glint in his eye, a mixture of fascination and something colder.
The subjects were then guided through a series of recreational activities – drawing, singing – tasks that didn't require intense skill. They performed adequately. However, they failed at more complex emotional tasks, like attempting comedy. Their attempts at mimicking human emotion were too perfect, too precise, which came across as unsettling and artificial.
The testing didn't stop there. They were moved to different areas of the facility to test their capabilities in contact sports and various physical exercises. They performed with remarkable efficiency, their movements purposeful, executing every action flawlessly, without error or accident. They didn't suddenly gain superhuman strength, but their coordination and precision were optimized to an extraordinary degree.
They were also tested with equipment: firearms, musical instruments. They fumbled initially but quickly adapted, demonstrating a terrifyingly fast learning curve. Their processing power and analytical abilities were undeniable. They could solve complex, systematic problems – tasks like advanced calculations or intricate technical procedures – with ease. However, they failed when faced with problems requiring nuanced emotional understanding or unpredictable variables, such as providing emotional support or reacting to truly unexpected, chaotic situations.
Project Aurora had successfully passed its most troublesome bottleneck. The NIN-Oracle system could now function as intended. The only remaining step was to carefully regulate its features, ensuring its darkest capabilities remained hidden. The public, even Noxon's business rivals, could never know that Oracle could completely erase a user's consciousness. That particular feature would remain a deeply guarded secret, known only to the people in this observation room and the highest echelons of Noxon above them. No one below this level would ever be privy to the full truth.
This secrecy was paramount because Project Aurora was designed to make the human experience deeper, more impactful. For the intended commercial users, their consciousness wouldn't be instantly wiped. These initial subjects were unfortunate pawns in Noxon's long game. For the public, Oracle would subtly aid them. It was engineered to be addictive, not by being an intrusive, bugging implant, but by being almost unnoticeable.
It would feel intuitive, as if the user themselves were simply becoming more capable, allowing them to realize their "true potential," in Lonah's carefully crafted marketing words. It wouldn't require a direct user interface; Oracle would access the central nervous system directly, anticipating needs and thoughts, helping automatically where possible. This, ironically, meant it would subtly influence how users behaved, perhaps even how they thought.