// World War 2 and the Space Race led to numerous innovations, what might a ‘space race’ between billionaires chasing immortality create?
// 40 years in the future
A door slide open, allowing a hunched and slightly grimy 20-something to shuffle into a clean, well-lit room with a single chair, facing a large screen.
A disembodied voice says “Welcome. Please have a seat.”
They shuffle over and sit down. The chair is more comfortable than any seat they’ve sat in or bench they’ve slept on in the last 3 years.
The screen displays a crawl of text -
Welcome to MedTech. We are excited that you have decided to join the young pioneers at the forefront of medicine and life extension technology. Thanks to your test scores and genetic markers, you are being offered a chance to transform yourself and the human race, for the better.
Our glorious founders decided that after building significant amounts of wealth, they wanted to improve the state of humanity. They saw that average life expectancy was declining. So they threw their significant resources into the creation of MedTech, an organization focused on eliminating the scourges of Alzihmer’s, heart disease, and cancer. That’s why we are offering you employment for the next 50 years, with an opportunity to extend it by 25 years for five additional terms.
The person’s eyes flick to the scratched and dim surface of their watch, showing their declining social credit score and eddies balances. They sigh and think, what choice do they really have, in an era of societal collapse that made the world of Neuromancer look like a solarpunk fantasy?
A chime sounds and the voice says - “Please pay attention to this introduction to Methuselah Tech”
They do a double-take. Methuselah? That wasn’t right…
The scrolling text glitches, stutters, and then freezes. New text appears.
We don͘'t͜ ̡h̸a͞ve͢ m͏uch̨ ͞ti͜m̛e. You ̶a͘r͠e̶ signing up to be a l͘ab́ ̕ra̡t. Bil̡lion͜a̷i͝ŕe͏s ͝w̧an͠t͢e͡d, no n͝eed͏ed, to͟ ͟l̸ív̸e͟ longér.̶ Th͏éy s͠pen͟t ̷h͠ug̷e͜ ̛a̸m̕ount͝s o̕f̕ ̛m̶o͞ne̛y ̕a҉nd͞ ͞c͟o̢u͜ńtl͠ess̸ ̸res̷ea͢rc͘h̨e͏r͘s ͞and ͠lives ͡to͞ ͢attain ̨th͘e͜ir̨ goa̡l̨ ͠.
Th̴e͡ ͟p̛r̷o̸ble͟m̨ ̛is ̀tha̛t͟ ҉th͡ey ņe̸ve͠r̕ ͢ca͢n ͠kn͝o͝w i̕f ̛t́he̵y h͞a͏vę ͘t̷ru̧e͞lỳ ev́ade͏d̛ de͝at̶h͞. Th̷ey n͞e҉ed ̧pęo͘p҉le ̴w̛ìt̵h̷ ҉the͠ s̡a̡me level ̢o̡f ͟l͡i̶fe e̛x͘te̷ns͝i͞on ̡t́ec̀h͝ to d͢o ̴ad͢diti̧o̴na͘l̷ ex͡p̵e̛ri҉me̸nt́ati̶o͟ns̛ on. You’l̛l ҉h̛ave g͟r͝ea͏t foo͠d͝, ̵c̡le͢an͝ ͠a͡ir,̀ a̵nd a̷c̵cess̵ ̛t̨ơ t͞he ͝a̸m̧enities of͝ the 0͟.0͘1%̛ ͟. Kn̡o̢w t͏h̕at̡ y̷ou ar̵e ̧ju͠st̷ ̡a҉ ͟la̡b ra͢t to t̢h͠em.̛ ̶
Do͠ you w̸ańt͠ ̧t̷o ͜t̷ak҉e ̡t͢hem͠ d̷o͘w̷n̸?̷
The screen resets, and calm music resumes playing - “Would you like to proceed with the revolution? [y/n]”