Chinese researchers creating new strains of influenza virus in veterinary lab

Discussion in 'Tin Foil Hat Lounge' started by Quigley_Sharps, May 3, 2013.

  1. Quigley_Sharps

    Quigley_Sharps The Badministrator Administrator Founding Member

    Chinese researchers creating new strains of influenza virus in veterinary lab

    'Appalling irresponsibility': Senior scientists attack Chinese researchers for creating new strains of influenza virus in veterinary laboratory

    Experts warn of danger that the new viral strains created by mixing bird-flu virus with human influenza could escape from the laboratory to cause a global pandemic killing millions of people.


    “The record of containment in labs like this is not reassuring. They are taking it upon themselves to create human-to-human transmission of very dangerous viruses. It’s appallingly irresponsible,” he said.

    The controversial study into viral mixing was carried out by a team led by Professor Hualan Chen, director of China’s National Avian Influenza Reference Laboratory at Harbin Veterinary Research Institute.

    Professor Chen and her colleagues deliberately mixed the H5N1 bird-flu virus, which is highly lethal but not easily transmitted between people, with a 2009 strain of H1N1 flu virus, which is very infectious to humans
  2. stg58

    stg58 Monkey+++ Founding Member

    Read that as well, all for research and the betterment of all no doubt....
    Tracy likes this.
  3. Icefoot

    Icefoot Monkey+

    Apparently the one child per couple policy is not working. Gotta depopulate the country somehow. Who cares it if depopulates the rest of the world as well? They don't live there...
  4. DarkLight

    DarkLight I self identify as a Blackhawk Attack Helicopter! Site Supporter

    You guys are kidding right? Seriously, where else do you think this "new strain every year" is coming from? Evolution is one thing but evolving and mutating SO FAST and SO MUCH that the vaccine from the previous year is completely useless within 12 months? I don't think so.

    On a related note, does anyone find it ironic that the government is STILL including H1N1 vaccine (originally found in 2009...4 years ago) in the CURRENT/2013 flu vaccine, yet vaccines aren't good for strains from year to year...

    If I drop off the face of the earth and nobody hears from me after a couple of days, you'll know it's because I've finally outed something/someone that shouldn't have been outed. :D
    NotSoSneaky likes this.
  5. BTPost

    BTPost Old Fart Snow Monkey Moderator

    If you do, make sure you Nuke your MonkeyNet, FIRST.... .....[lolol]
  6. Quigley_Sharps

    Quigley_Sharps The Badministrator Administrator Founding Member

    The Zombie Apocalypse always originates in China, no matter what book you read or TV show you watch.:D
    Tracy and Icefoot like this.
  7. Brokor

    Brokor Live Free or Cry Moderator Site Supporter+++ Founding Member

    I think this may be why... 1918 flu pandemic - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    Nothing quite like resurrecting the Spanish Flu bug to brighten your day!

    Quigley_Sharps likes this.
  8. DarkLight

    DarkLight I self identify as a Blackhawk Attack Helicopter! Site Supporter

  9. tulianr

    tulianr Don Quixote de la Monkey

    Lab Revives History's Deadliest Flu Virus
    Scientists blast 'crazy' pandemic experiments
    Posted Jun 12, 2014 4:52 AM CDT

    Researchers in a Wisconsin lab have created a mutant, highly infectious version of the "Spanish Flu" that killed around 50 million people in 1918—and if you think that sounds completely insane, there are a lot of scientists who agree with you. The University of Wisconsin researchers argue that their experiments will aid the understanding of the pandemic risk posed by bird flu, but other scientists say it is just too risky. "The work they are doing is absolutely crazy. The whole thing is exceedingly dangerous," a former chief science adviser to the British government tells the Guardian. "Yes, there is a danger, but it's not arising from the viruses out there in the animals, it's arising from the labs of grossly ambitious people."

    Lead researcher Yoshihiro Kawaoka—who resumed his work in 2012 after a moratorium on genetically engineering flu viruses ended—tweaked bird flu viruses to create a virus very similar to the one that caused the 1918 pandemic, reports NBC. It was then used to infect ferrets, which are the animals most like humans for catching flu. Since bird viruses need only "a few changes to adapt to humans and cause a pandemic, it is important to understand the mechanisms involved in adaptation and identify the key mutations so we can be better prepared," Kawaoka says. But that explanation isn't good enough for those scientists uneasy about the creation of such a deadly virus—and infected ferrets capable of spreading it—even in the safest labs. "I am worried that this signals a growing trend to make transmissible novel viruses willy-nilly, without strong public health rationale," says a Harvard professor of epidemiology, warning that a catastrophic pandemic could result if the virus escaped or was intentionally released.

    Lab Revives History's Deadliest Flu Virus - Scientists blast 'crazy' pandemic experiments
    Yard Dart and NotSoSneaky like this.
  10. kellory

    kellory An unemployed Jester, is nobody's fool. Banned

    Oh gee, time for an animal Rights group to raid the lab and set the oppressed rodents free....[sarca][woot]
    Yard Dart, tulianr and Brokor like this.
  11. Snoozebum

    Snoozebum Monkey

    They need to invent a virus that sterilizes evil scientists, bankers, and beliebers.
    Brokor and tulianr like this.
  12. BTPost

    BTPost Old Fart Snow Monkey Moderator

    Do NOT forget Lawyers..... It must infect Lawyers... And that will deal with most Politicos as we'll......
    Yard Dart, Brokor, oldawg and 2 others like this.
  13. VHestin

    VHestin Farm Chick

    I'm gonna go with the old guy(the former nuclear scientist) on Doomsday Preppers season 1 on this score. "There has never been a time in man's history when he has made a weapon that he hasn't used it." Of course he was talking about nukes, but I think it applies to biological warfare too. Pandemics can be scarier than nuclear war to me, at least to me. One sick person(the patient zero) does not a pandemic make. It's not called a pandemic until AFTER the fact when it's too late. And it's alot easier to carry around small containers of diseases/viruses and release them in population centers than it is nukes. Plus with biological weapons, you have the advantage of getting away before anyone knows what's going on(depending on the incubation period of the strain), and releasing the germs in dozens of places before it's discovered what's going on.
    Sapper John and kellory like this.
  14. Brokor

    Brokor Live Free or Cry Moderator Site Supporter+++ Founding Member

    Let's see, AIDS, BIRD FLU, H1N1, Tuskegee syphilus, Anthrax, Lyme Disease...cancer...

    I suppose the list goes on and on.

    I don't even want to think about Ft. Detrick and the dozens of other bio labs.

    Last edited: Jun 15, 2014
  15. kellory

    kellory An unemployed Jester, is nobody's fool. Banned

    What? Did you forget the Black Death itself? plague!
    Brokor likes this.
  16. DKR

    DKR Interesting ideas, interesting stories

    I wrote this a while back, seems to fit the thread - virus, the Chinese and what could happen..... This and others are in my "Many Universes of..." book

    The Cure

    Matt's luck had gone downhill after his first week on site. The slide started with the littlest of things. His radio broke. No real loss, weather reports from the distant cities were more a source of amusement than any real value. In his hidden valley, alone with the sheep and his dogs, it was nothing. The weather changed as it would, he could only cope as best as he might.

    Then his horse managed to stupidly break a leg. Running in a panic over nothing it found a rodent hole. The break was massive, bone was sticking out of the animals flesh. He'd been forced to shoot the poor thing. Now moving his herder's wagon would require the use of a truck or another horse. Worse, he had no idea how old man Caruthers would take the loss. This wasn't just a low budget operation, it worked on less than a shoestring, in fact.

    Then he was up valley checking a stream when Caruthers made his supply drop days early. It would be another two months before he could count on the old mans return. The wind and rain ruined the stack of newspapers he'd left with the supplies, while the stack of lurid novels had oddly survived. The novels would be perfect to fire up his woodstove in the mornings.

    As each day came and went, he always had 'extra' things to do. Some days a bath, others, he spent washing his clothes. The dogs seemed happy on those days where he would read aloud entire passages of Shakespeare. His Kindle was a lifeline to reality. He'd heard of sheepmen that had gone catatonic. Some even to the point of forgetting how to speak, the loneliness and the isolation out here could be so overwhelming at times.

    He noted the weather or anything else that changed in his daily journal. The journal calendar was also carefully marked each day, along with a list of items he would want to ready the outfit for the fall movement of the herd. Writing out the details gave him another outlet to escape, even if it was just for a moment.

    The one bit of real excitement was the day the plane crashed. The aircraft passed overhead, lower than he thought of as normal, disappearing into the hills, later to be replaced by a thin column of smoke. He'd waited for two days for the rescuers to arrive, only to be disappointed. He made note of where he thought it might have crashed. That information would go out with Caruthers. Somebody somewhere would care. He knew that beacons often failed to work or were destroyed when aircraft crashed. So he made the notes, then put the event out of his mind.

    Two months came and left. No Caruthers on the appointed day. Each day after that, he became more anxious, Had the old man gotten sick? Worse, had the old man passed on, with nobody taking on his responsibilities? A week later, he was left with no choice. He would have to walk back to town and see what had happened to Caruthers. To see what had happened, period. It was full on four months since he'd moved the herd up into the hills for the summer. He wanted to vote, so taking a trip into town was a no brainer.

    He fought a battle internally. What to take on his trip? The old 30-30 would stay at the camp. It was too much weight to carry, weight better used for water. His battered old single shot .22 would go, any food he could gather along the way would be a bonus, well worth the couple of pounds the rifle represented. He'd long ago cut away much of the stock, so it and a handful of shells would be enough.

    Water went into a set of old soda bottles, these into a pair of bags made from an old sheet. The hardtack was carefully wrapped in a plastic sheet, then placed into one bag. A tattered blanket and another sheet of plastic would do for shelter or protection from the rain. Finally, he tossed in two cans of potted meat.

    Packing the canned meat tripped another worry. For some unknown reason, Caruthers had left a huge stack of canned meat, canned potatoes and canned fruit with his other supplies, far more than Matt could possibility eat in one summer. He'd cached the surplus assuming they were for next summer. Even with the price of gasoline to transport supplies, it was still a wonder the old man would spend ahead by that much.

    That night he'd poured over his maps. He could follow the long and winding dirt road, a track really. Three or four days later, he would reach the pavement. From there, he could try and hitch a ride into town. He could hike up and over the mountains and save the time, with the plus of springs that he knew would be along the way. Or, he decided, he could hike over the foothills, then down onto a different paved road. Following that he would finally reach the intersection of two remote highways. There he knew he would find a gas station/cafe/motel and most importantly, a payphone. He placed four quarters and all of his cash into his wallet, then secured it with tape to ensure he would not arrive, literally, empty handed.

    Leaving at the crack of dawn ensured that the hike uphill would at least start in the cool of the morning. Ordering the dogs back, twice, had hurt. He couldn't carry food and water for all of them. They would be fine; he'd left out enough food for them for more than two weeks. Nightfall found him near the ridge that marked the halfway point. In the light of the setting sun he found, not a cave, rather a large divot in the rocks. The gap was large enough for a pile of leaves and him. It made for a rude but comfortable bed for the night.

    The sound of rain woke him, but just for a bit. Pulling the blanket a bit closer, he went back to sleep. When he woke, the rain was still falling, more a mist than real rain. Exactly the kind of weather he hated to walk through. He gave it another hour by his watch but the weather ran on its own time, not governed by mere mortals. He now regretted not bringing his pot. A cup of hot coffee would have been wonderful.

    Accepting his fate, he put the blanket and plastic sheet over his head, a basic poncho, then his hat, and with his bags over one shoulder, walked on. Despite his precautions, the mist soon soaked him completely. He saw this as another lesson in the immutable facts of life. Walk long enough in the rain and you will get wet. He laughed at the thought, after all, how many lessons came so cheaply?

    Before the day was half done, he was delighted to find a road, one that headed in the right direction. The area was riddled with old mines, prospects and other activity that had left a warren of roads all over the west side of the hills, now to his benefit. The road was in rough shape, unused for some time, but it was easier that pushing through brush or having to watch his every step quite so carefully, lest he twist an ankle on a loose rock.

    He'd gone less than two miles when he saw the truck blocking the road. It was lopsided. One front tire was missing and the brake drum was sitting directly on the ground. He stopped and gave a shout. No sense in walking up on someone with no warning. A lot of folks out here were armed; many of those folks didn't deal real well with surprises.

    After several shouts went unanswered, he walked up to the truck. He couldn't really tell how long it had been sitting there. The rain had washed away any telltale accumulation of dust. Looking in the window, he saw that it was empty. Empty, except for the obviously flat tire in the rear of the vehicle. "Did they have two flats and no way to repair them?" he wondered aloud. Shaking his head at the sheer stupidity, he pressed on down the road. Not his worry, since it was a newer vehicle, someone would be along to retrieve it, sometime.

    At the next turn, he stopped again. Laid out before him was something so horrible, he couldn't sort it out for a time. It had been a camp, in the past. The camp held a tent, a tarp was strung up in the trees covering the tent, a small fire-pit and the usual clutter that so many took along when they left the city to 'go camping'. Only now, the tent was a burned tatter, the tarp scorched from the heat. In the front of it all was a body, sitting in a chair. The body had a weapon propped between its legs.

    Matt had to sit to take it all in. He had no choice, it was all so - terrible. As he looked at the scene in detail, it became ever more horrific. Small bones were visible in the remains of the tent. Human bones.

    It took some time before he stopped vomiting. He had to assume these people were the owners of the disabled truck, but why? Why would a broken truck promote...murder? Suicide? He went no closer, his tracks would wash away in the rain, but he wanted no trace that he'd even approached this...this...disaster. He would report it to the Sheriff, letting him worry about the specifics, All he wanted now was to be gone. How long it would take to clean his memory of the tableau was an open question.

    Nightfall found him within sight of the paved road, much to his relief. The rain had stopped, and he was able to top off his water bottles from the water trapped on the top of the rocks that lay scattered across the landscape. In the morning, he left the blanket, rifle and other non-essentials cached on the side of the road. With one bag to hold his food and water, he pressed on toward the intersection and the civilization it represented.

    Trudging down the road, in the middle of the oncoming traffic lane, he couldn't help but wonder about the poor souls he'd left in the hills. What level of despair could drive a person to commit such an act?

    He'd hit bottom four years before. Divorced, children dead in an auto wreck with his ex, heavily in debt and his own life a drunken ruin; he'd fled to the hills to find a new start. Even in the depths of his own misery, he'd never considered, even remotely, anything so final or violent. It had taken years, but he was finally at peace with his own life, or at least as much as one could be with that history.

    The sun was well past overhead when he walked up on the intersection. The utter lack of traffic was no concern, this far out in the boonies, the State Troopers made a pass every other day or so to discover and deal with any accidents or breakdowns. The other highway carried some tourist traffic, but real commerce stayed on the Interstate highway and it ran hundreds of miles to the north of this little junction in the vast middle of nowhere.

    The building had a single vehicle parked under the shade by the gas pumps. Maybe he could beg a ride into Ely, a small town that was more than a little ways up the road. Otherwise, he would be forced to wait here until Caruthers came to collect him. He was more than one hundred meters away when the stench hit him. The odor was so intense, he involuntarily vomited.

    The inside of the building was a charnel house. Filled with bloated bodies, death came so long ago that fluid was leaking on the floor. He retreated upwind to find breathable air.

    "What in the Hell?" escaped his lips. Finally, after putting a bandana over his nose and mouth he staggered back into the stench to the pay phone. It was dead. No dial tone.

    Back into the clean air, he took some time to think. "What in the Hell is going on?" he said. "Better yet, what's killed this bunch?" Coaxing a few drops of gasoline out of the pump nozzle onto his bandana allowed him to enter the building, rather than bolt at the door. The fumes covered enough of the stench to allow him to look for a bit longer. Four bodies sat at a table, and that table was covered in liquor bottles. Not cheap stuff he noted, but the best money could buy.

    * * * * * *

    Forcing himself to look closely, he could see no wounds, no cuts or evidence of trauma. The scene before him looked, for all the world, like these four decided to drink themselves to death. A newspaper was on the table but so soaked in gore, it was worthless to him. Back outside, he considered what the building held. He'd seen people kill themselves drinking pinklady, but that was a long and intensely painful path to take. Others he'd known drank themselves into a stupor, eventually dieing of malnutrition. More than once he'd come off of a binge to find himself covered in his own filth. That discovery was enough to finally force him into sobriety.

    As he sat pondering the mystery, it struck him. No flies. The place should have been covered with a cloud of flies. Yet, none were to be seen. That was enough for him to decide to flee. He found a truck in the back of the building, filled the tanks with gasoline, adding a couple of jerry cans as well. He had no idea what the future held, but being forced to start walking again was the last thing he wanted, this far out in the sticks. He rummaged through the kitchen, taking some cans of food, a pot and utensils. He would wash the outside of the cans with boiling water, but he knew if some contagion had struck these people down, he was next. Just to cover himself, he left a long note explaining his actions and taped it to the unopened cash register.

    He started driving east. He knew more towns and cities would lay in that direction. The first he arrived at was empty. Not a soul or body to be found. He also found few vehicles, so perhaps they had fled. The next village put that to a lie. Burned buildings lined the main street. As he walked around, he saw more than one bloated body, with several in more advanced stages of corruption. Again, no flies or other scavengers were to be seen on those bodies. The dogs and cats were another matter.

    Several had been shot. Others, killed by unknown means, all were covered with flies and maggots. He drove on, the puzzle just growing. Had the world gone mad?

    The sign came into view, on the side of the road just where it should. It marked the turnoff to a small ecclesiastical farm community. Normally closed to visitors, it represented his best chance to discover what had happened. The gate leading to the road was closed, as normal, but the sign at that gate was drastically different. Parking the truck on the roadside across from the gate, he shut off the engine. Stepping out, he walked up to the gate.

    The normal polite warning that the road led to a closed community was painted over and a new set of text sat in its place. "STOP" the sign announced, "Enter and we will shoot to kill." That was different. The two bullet riddled and burned out vehicles next to the gate and the long trench across the access road put demonstrated fact behind the warning.

    As he stood pondering what choices he had, the telephone rang. An outdoor phone had always been on the sign; the residents had never been unwilling to help. They just wanted their privacy. In the past, the phone had been there to ask for help, something he was in desperate need of right now.

    He picked up the handset and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

    The voice wasn't harsh, he could swear it was almost sad, but the message was the same. "Move on, Mister. You try to come in here and we will kill you. We can always seek forgiveness later." Click.

    He flashed the hookset and put the handset back to his ear

    The voice returned - "You that dumb, Mister? We aren't going to warn you again!"

    "Before you hang up, will you answer one question for me?"

    "That would be?"

    "What happened?"

    A long pause later - "What?"

    "What happened? I've been herding sheep up in the Cave Lake area. My supplies didn't come in last week and all I've seen since I walked out is dead people."

    "You have the flu anytime in the last three or four months?"

    Now it was Matt's turn - "What?"

    "Simple question. Did you have the flu anytime in the last three or four months?"

    Matt had to think. "Well, I don't think it was the flu, but right after my supplies got dropped off, I was a bit under the weather. I'd spent the whole day walking in a cold rain, not quite a cold, certainly not the flu."

    "When was this?"

    "Ah. Nine weeks ago, give or take a day. I'd need to look at my journal."

    The telephone spat out an obscenity. "You feel okay right now?"

    "Yes. But I'd still like to know what happened."

    "The Four Horsemen now ride the land, my friend. Death is everywhere."

    "Okay, I can see that. I want to know what is killing everyone. Some disease?"

    "Greed and playing at the work of the Almighty Himself."

    "Which means?"

    "NESH has killed everyone."

    Matt took a deep breath. This was going to take a while; the last thing he wanted was for the man to hang up. "I'm sorry - NESH?"

    "Hold on." The new voice was deeper, more mature. "James isn't quite up on all of this, Pilgrim. Neoplastic E-cadherin-mediated Substitution Hepatocellular virus. I can say that only because the last of the papers that came in had the information."

    "Thank you. James was helpful but I asked what has killed everyone." Again, Matt was careful in what he said. This guy could hang up in an instant as before.

    "You have been out of touch for some time then?"

    "A little over four months. Been tending to sheep up in the mountains."

    "I see. That's when it started to get bad. A few years ago Canadian and Australian researchers started to use genetically modified viruses to treat cancer. The Canadians used a variant of the smallpox virus, needless to say, that made the US Government most unhappy. In Oz, they focused on coxsackie virus variants - the virus that causes a cold. They had some early success, but many others were impatient. 'Rich Man's Medicine' they called it."

    The voice gave up a deep sigh, "And like many things, greed got into it early on as well. Labs in India and China obtained sample virus strains. The viruses at the time were weak, barely able to attack cancer weakened cells. May the Lord have mercy on us; the Chinese announced a new, self-replicating virus for use in cancer treatment."

    Matt had to ask. "This was bad because?"

    "Because in the earlier work, the virus strains were weak and took a lot of care to replicate. The Chinese version could be ground out using mass production methods like used for making flu vaccines. Cheaply and in mass quantity."

    "Did it work?"

    "All too well, Pilgrim. It cured a wide variety of common cancers, and of course, the Chinese were happy to proclaim that not only that the East was Red, so was medicine. They flooded the world with their super virus. If you had a loved one with terminal cancer, who wouldn't want to use it for a cure? They had a ready market." He paused, "Even here."

    "When did the trouble start?"

    "I really can't say. The early deaths were considered an anomaly. Others may have been hidden. The first real wave hit in Shanquanxiang. The entire city died in two days. The Chinese Government managed to hide that for some time, but it was already too late."

    "I'm sorry, Cousin, I just don't understand."

    "When first exposed to the virus, the person has mild flu like symptoms, and all cancer cells are killed. It truly is a cure. That's Stage One. Stage Two the person feels fine and exhibits no symptoms." He heard a paper rustle, the man was reading from something. "The trouble is that the virus is still active. Stage Three starts when some unknown environmental trigger sets off the virus and it starts killing all of the cells in the body. Supposedly painless, until the brain ceases to function. I take it you have seen the final results."

    His barely whispered "Yes" left no doubt as to his witness.

    "The last twist to this tale of perdition, many have survived. The virus never triggers a Stage Three attack - it dies out in the host. Perhaps the Chinese quality control or lack thereof caused a minor mutation. Up to now, it seems mostly women have been found to be virus free after Stage Two. Maybe as much as ten percent of a population lives. And therein lies your death sentence."

    "How's that? I'm still here, assuming my being sick earlier was an infection."

    "You may never experience a Stage Thee attack, but you still carry the virus. It doesn't seem to die out in men." He continued, "The virus can be transmitted by touch, by breathing, or an exchange of fluids. You are a walking Typhoid Mary. There is no known way to kill the virus that doesn't kill the host at the same time.

    "What in the hell?"

    "The Indians discovered this and called the Chinese virus an act of war. The nukes followed three minutes later. It seems we added to that conflagration when a crew of a Trident sub discovered the virus was on board. Faced with a use it or lose it situation, they launched the entire compliment of their missiles. Between the bombs and the virus, China no longer exists as a Nation." Silence filled the line.

    Finally Matt said, "Can it get any worse?"

    "It can and does. In a rare few individuals, the virus doesn't kill. At least, not right away. Some become the walking dead, like in those horror movies - Zombies.

    "Any clean community, such as ours, will shoot you, or anyone moving, on sight. No matter your condition. Nothing personal, it's the only way we know of to ensure our own safety. There are other survivors; we hear them on the radio all the time. Just exactly where they are, I cannot say. We don't talk with them for fear of revealing ourselves." He paused.

    Matt was quick to say "No need to shoot me, I've no reason to tell of your little city. You've been kind enough to lay this all out and I'm not an ungrateful man. You have my word on this."

    The silence continued to stretch on. "You may be sincere, Pilgrim. But I'd rather make it in your interest to stay silent. We have a need for someone that can move about without fear, we are prepared to do business with you."

    "That would be?"

    "For the near future, we will need motor fuel, for example. You will need fresh food."

    "I see. I believe you are correct, Cousin. I'll leave to get some now, so you will be ready for the winter."

    "Excellent. We look forward to doing business with you for a long time..."

    As he drove away, Matt was certain of only one thing. This place would have to pray for Divine help, they'd get none from him. There really was only one question before him.

    * * * * * *

    Well, Dear Reader. Matt is a man who has lost everything, his marriage, children, wife, job, home, even his dignity - everything. Now sober for four years, and very much used to living by himself, what will Matt do?

    The real question here, of course is -- "What would you do?"

    Why do I ask, you say?

    Because this is coming and maybe sooner than you might think...

    The use of a virus based cancer cure is a real thing. See ... wa-110831/ ... 1xdtf.html
    Byte, gunbunny, kellory and 1 other person like this.
  17. Brokor

    Brokor Live Free or Cry Moderator Site Supporter+++ Founding Member


    GRrrr!! :mad: *returns to watching sci-fi*
  18. VHestin

    VHestin Farm Chick

    haha I have time for it. If I lock myself in the bathroom.
  19. DKR

    DKR Interesting ideas, interesting stories

    THe trouble is, that fiction is based, at least in part, on working facts of today.

    Am I the only one that thinks using **smallpox !!** virus to make some kind of cancer drug is past stupid?
    Yard Dart, Brokor and tulianr like this.
  20. kellory

    kellory An unemployed Jester, is nobody's fool. Banned

    Depends on how it works. What happens in the cells. It is possible that something good could be produced. Plague is still studied to see how it kills, what it does. This tells them how to stop it in the fewest moves, the least time, but trying to ride piggyback on any virus without a clear and full understanding of it IS foolish.
    Knowledge is power. The power to kill, or the power to stop a killer. Two sides of the same knowledge.
    Yard Dart, Brokor and tulianr like this.
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