Doctor Benedict Newman (Done)

Before everything else began, there was nothing.  His own mind didn't even exist yet.  If he could perceive at all, the only thing he would find is a void, a vessel for what was soon to come.  After years of waiting, a man, Doctor Newman, began his work on his creation.  At first, there wasn't much.  The void was filled with meaningless letters, numbers, and symbols.  These characters would only have meaning after the rest of their bretheren were introduced.  Soon, something new was added, something uncomprehensible.  A sudden flood of information and logic began to fill the void, making the previous symbols seem too small to be of any significance at all.  From this information, a personality began to form, giving each character meaning.  It took many hours, maybe even a day, but Benedict Newman had finally given himself a fresh start.

Before he was forced to take this leap of faith into a new body, Dr. Newman was one of the best in his field.  His studies all involved the human brain, how it worked, what it needed to work, etcetera.  For some time, he had been theorizing about a way to move one's mind into a new vessel, a more durable organ.  However, although he was a genius in his own field, he wasn't some sort of master programmer, so he had to rely on his friend, Mark, for help.  Soon, he had to rely on Mark for much more than his knowledge of computers.  In the middle of his research, Benedict felt the very first threat to his life.  He collapsed on the floor, and Mark did his best to keep him alive until an ambulance could arrive.  Benedict had been diagnosed with heart cancer, and a malignant tumor now had it's hold on his life, threatening to end it all at any moment.

Desperate and terrified, Benedict now had an even stronger motivation to continue his studies than some simple thirst for knowledge.  He began his trials on mice, trying to download their consciousness onto a small metal version of their former selves.  Time and time again, their trials failed, and the two researchers would do their best to improve their work.  Out of the hundreds of trials they performed, only one was successful.  Luckily, that was enough for the dying man, and they began their work on a replacement body.  Their original plan was to make a perfect replica of his original body, just artificial.  However, in a more recent examination at a hospital, Benedict was hit with the horrifying news of his impending death.  It was coming much sooner than expected.  With an estimated three months before he would pass, Benedict was urged to stay at the hospital, to start getting treated, to make his life last maybe a few months longer than the time he was given.  He refused.  If he was going to die, he was going to die with one of his only friends at his side.

When Benedict arrived home that night, Mark was sitting at his desk, the widest grin on his face.  From behind his seat, Mark revealed a marvelous metal body.  Of course, it wasn't the optimal body, but what other choices did they have?  This one was bought by Mark by some sort of robotics company, of course, so it was already professionally done, and they didn't have nearly enough time to make a whole new body just like his own.  Benedict began his work on the device that would push his mind into this new body, taking great care in not making the same mistakes as in each failed trial.  After only two months, it was ready.  Benedict, weakened by his own heart, sat anxiously in his chair, putting his full trust in Mark as he placed the apparatus on his skull.

"And, well, that's where we are now.  Did any of that sound unfamiliar?  Missing details, details that shouldn't be there?"

"I am Dr. Newman.  You're Mark.  Oh God, Mark, you've done it!  I mean no offense, I'm sure you're aware, but never in all of my days would I have fortold something like this happening.  I'm forever in your debt, friend."

Walking about his home, he took in every detail, big and small, of each room.  He hardly remembered any of them at all.  As Mark walked alongside him, he looked up to him, expecting an amount of guidance from his companion.  Less important memories didn't seem to make it through the transfer, and he had to rely on his friend once again, albeit for a less crucial reason.

"All of this is mine?  It's astonishing how much one can do with a life once they are given proper motivation.  It's pleasing to know that I have such a refined taste in things."  His joints suddenly locked, a horrible truth dawning on him.  "Oh, Mark.  What will I do?"  Benedict's head tilted towards the floor. "I can no longer enjoy dinner parties.  I've lost the ability to paint.  And my wine! What of my wine, Mark?  Oh, if only I had realized the true price of a body!"

Benedict laid himself down onto the floor, looking at nothing but his own reflection in the polished wood, now scratched by his new body's claws.  If he was capable of doing so, he would weep.  Mark would simply chuckle at his emotionally crushed friend, almost pitying his great loss.  They may have seemed like small things to some, like something Benedict could easily life without, but being such a successful doctor paid so well, and now he couldn't possibly use his wealth for anything!  He began to claw at his faint reflection with one 'paw,' anger replacing his sorrow.  It was going to be tough, adjusting to a completely new life.