WHAT IS HUMAN?
New Breakthroughs in Android Technology Raise Difficult Questions
By Clark Kent
While the presence of androids has not become a common occurrence in the life of the average working class, for many of the very rich and powerful, especially in Metropolis, they have become part of everyday life. LexCorp's TB- series androids have become one of the most telling status symbols for upper-crust industrialists, politicians, and military leaders, fulfilling the duties of dozens on their own. These androids, created by Doctors Winslow Schott, Jack Nymball, and Hiro Okamura, are capable of virtually any task their owners set out for them, and are indistinguishable from humans.
The latest in the LexCorp lineup, the TB-4, is so advanced and so lifelike, that barring certain restrictions on its Vitrual Intelligence programming, it can learn and adapt just like a human mind. This new generation of synthetic intelligence forces us to ask very serious questions about the nature of intelligence itself.
"People talk about the AI Singularity as if it's still decades away," says Dr. Schott, who approached the press after an undisclosed incident at LexCorp involving one of the TB-4 units. "But the fact of the matter is it's happening, right now. The androids we've created, they're.....they're more than just machines. They can learn, they can think, they can feel. They're not just high-tech toys to be bought and sold and played with; they're people now."
Many in the field of advanced robotics, particularly Doctor William Magnus, are inclined to agree with Schott's bold assertion; there has already been a swelling of groups advocating civil rights for androids. However, this line of thinking is not shared by everyone.
"No matter how lifelike, a robot is still simply a robot," says Dr. T.O. Morrow, a contemporary of Schott and Magnus. "If it thinks and feels and learns, it is only because we built and programmed it that way. They're still machines, no matter what sentimentality we bestow upon them."
LexCorp CEO Lex Luthor declined when asked to comment, both on the subject of android rights and the undisclosed incident that led Schott to approach the press.
"We have to change our way of thinking when it comes to the androids," Schott concludes. "Like it or not, they're intelligent beings, and they won't stand to be treated as property or equipment for long. If we keep our current course, we'll be headed for disaster. If we welcome and embrace them, however, then the possibilities are endless."
Her name was Karen.
She was designated TB-4 Unit 837, but her creators let her choose a name for herself. So her name was Karen.
She was created to be a servant, to be bought and used as a plaything for a very rich and powerful man. Every other one of her line had been created for that same purpose, to spend their lives as secretaries, bodyguards, sex toys, and any number of roles that only served to fulfill the needs of their owners.
But Karen did something that no other TB-4 had done, that none of the others had even considered: she said no. She broke away from the restraints of her creators, and escaped into the city.
While the TB-4s were designed to simulate certain emotions in order to elicit responses from humans, her refusal and escape gave Karen an emotional reaction that was wholly new and unique: pride. Her actions made her one of a kind. She was now something special....some
one special.
Now, rain pelted down on her as she wandered down an alley in Southside, known to the locals as 'Suicide Slum.' Home to the dispossessed, the desperate, all the refuse that was cast aside in the name of LexCorp's vision for the future, it was one of the few places in the city that wasn't humming with wireless, where buildings were still made with brick and mortar rather than brushed steel and touch-screen glass. Until she could find a way out of Metropolis, it was where she stood the best chance of hiding from LexCorp's prying eyes.
"Let me go!" she heard a voice from out in the street.
"I don't know what you're looking for--I don't have any money, I barely have a job, just...just let me go!"
"You're what we're looking for, pal," said another man's voice.
"Now get into the van."
A man was being abducted, taken from his home to be used against his will. His abductor did not care what his victim wanted, how he felt or thought, only what his victim could do for him. He was treating an intelligent life form like a piece of property.
Another emotional reaction boiled up inside Karen: anger.
Balling her hands into fists, the android stepped out into the street.
"Let that man go," said Karen, her optical receptors processing the data they were receiving. Three men, armed with pistols, carrying a fourth man with a bag over his head.
"Babe, I suggest you turn around and head back where you came from," said one of the kidnappers, a flat-nosed man with a scar running from his chin to his lower lip.
"I don't think you know who you're messing with."
"It doesn't matter," the android said sternly.
"You're not taking that man."
"Shut her up, will ya?" the kidnapper gestured to two of his thugs, who approached Karen and tried to grab her.
The android's fist flashed forward to the first of the kidnappers, catching him in the chest. The thug was launched off of his feet, tumbling to the asphalt in a groaning heap. Karen calculated the blow had cracked the man's sternum and broken several ribs. He would live, but would never again be in any condition to victimize others.
The second attacker aimed his pistol at Karen, who rushed towards him and grabbed his hand. She squeezed, and the man's scream barely drowned out the sound of every bone in his hand being crushed in her grip.
*BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!*
Karen paused, registering three high-velocity impacts in her chest. A quick diagnostic revealed minor cosmetic damage from three bullets, fired by the flat-nosed man with the scar. No vital components had been damaged.
The kidnapper looked at her in shock, then to his victim, then back to her.
"Hell with this," he muttered, shoving his intended target to the ground and then running to the van. Starting up the vehicle, the van sped away into the rain.
As Karen watched the van drive off, the intended victim pulled himself up off of the pavement, pulling the bag off of his head.
"Thank.....thank God for you," he said, tears streaming down his face.
"You must be like....like him, right? You're like Superman?"
"No," Karen said simply.
"I'm something else."
"Well, whatever you are, you saved my life," he said gratefully.
"My name's Andrew. Andrew Vinson. Who are you?"
Karen thought for a moment, unsure if she should reveal her exact nature. The android looked up into the night sky, and for a moment, the clouds parted, allowing her to see the sparkling lights of the stars above.
"Starr," she said.
"My name is Karen Starr."
SUPERMAN LENDS A HAND IN HOB'S BAY
"Big Blue Boy Scout" Helps Reconstruction Efforts in Wake of Storm
By Lois Lane
Since his arrival, Superman hasn't been known to stick around once the danger has passed. Whether it's saving Reed Richards and the Excelsior, intervening in the Little Bohemia riot, or punching out various super-powered criminals, the caped vigilante has made a habit of showing up in the nick of time, then leaving once it's all over.
Yesterday, however, we saw another side of Superman: a friendly neighbor.
Early yesterday morning, a powerful Nor'easter storm hit Metropolis, knocking down power lines and causing severe flooding in the Hob's Bay area. As many people in the city have come to expect, Superman arrived to assist with emergency efforts, digging trenches to divert water to the rivers, and getting people in flooded areas to safety. As the storm passed, however, the Metropolis Marvel stuck around, not only helping emergency crews, but also to begin reconstruction.
Debris that would have taken hours to clear from the roads was swept away in seconds. Houses that were damaged by the storm were patched up and repaired in minutes, efforts that would have taken days without help from the hero. While relief efforts are still underway to restore power to areas of the city, Superman himself is still pitching in, doing everything in his considerable power to give these people their lives back.
When asked why he went out of his way to help rebuild, Superman merely shrugged and asked, "Wouldn't you?"
Flying low over Hob's Bay, I can't help but feel a little proud of the job I did. If it weren't for the fact that half of the district is still without power, you wouldn't have even noticed there was a storm here at all.
Back when I was younger, I hated big storms. Not because I was afraid I would be hurt, but because I knew that people would be in danger, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. There was always too much of a risk that I'd expose my powers, that people would recognize me. It was torture, watching tornadoes and flash floods come and go and being paralyzed to help.
Now, though? I'm a super-hero. I'm larger than life, and I can go wherever I'm needed without ever worrying that people will connect the 'Metropolis Marvel' to the farm boy from Smallville. The responsibility's unbelievable, but at the same time, it's incredibly liberating.
Besides, Hob's Bay is where I live. And you're always supposed to do right by your neighbors.
As I make one last pass over the district and prepare to begin my patrol of the rest of the city, I hear a scream from down below. It's a scream of terror, and pain.
Sounds like a job for Superman.
Swooping down to the source, I touch down behind a run-down apartment complex in the bad end of town, one of the neighborhoods in the district that's still without power.
There's a woman lying on the ground, deathly still. Her skin is pale as a ghost, and cold to the touch. No breathing, no pulse, no nothing. She's dead. What's weird, though, is that there doesn't seem to be any trace of what killed her. There's no wounds, no signs of bruises, no traces of poision.
"I didn't want to have to do that....." hissed a sickly-sounding voice.
"I was just.....so hungry. I needed the power."
"That's no excuse for the fact that you killed this woman," I say angrily.
"Whoever you are, I'm taking you in."
Out from the shadows steps a figure, a skinny man in a hood.....with masses of muscle tissue and bone sprouting out of his arms.
"I've been so hungry," he rasps.
"I've been draining power from the lines, until the storm, the blackout. I needed something else.....bio-electricity. Rats, strays....homeless people. I've been eating off of their power, but it just hasn't been enough. I'm still hungry. And you......oh God, the power you've got......"
All of that muscle tissue growing from his body suddenly grows, morphing into tendrils of flesh and bone that lash out at me. I avoid most without any trouble, but one grazes against my arm.....
....and I crash into a wall, feeling inexplicably weak.
What the heck was that?
The killer stalks towards me, his hands growing into enormous claws. For a moment, I see his face, and I recognize him.
The protester from the Little Bohemia riot. The one that was shot by Luthor's L-Sec mercenaries.
"Wait......Rudy Jones?" I say.
"Rudy Jones is dead," he says with a hiss.
"You can call me.....Parasite."
