Quote (ease. @ May 10 2010 09:36pm)
well, relative to every other action/reaction observed by science, if anything in our universe has free will it would be humans (at least we come closest to it)
No, we don't.
Quote (LindeRKV @ May 10 2010 09:36pm)
I never said i believe that. But you cannot push one way through without considering others.
Everything and nothing could be "real" in our lives
On one hand, you have scientific evidence. On the other, you have people the refuse to believe said evidence. Who are you going to believe?
Also;
Quote
Thomas dropped the disc in the tray. They were all sitting now.
The screen was black.
 ‘Do those work?’ Agent Atta asked, pointing at his desktop speakers. Thomas clicked through a couple different windows.
‘YOU LIKE THAT?’ blared from the speakers.
The voice sounded male, but it was electronically distorted – deep, as though gurgling through a synthesizer’s version of the ocean bottom. Thomas’s skin pimpled. What was this?
‘What are you doing?’ A female voice, breathless and undistorted. She sounded confused, as if she wanted to be terrified but . . .
DO YOU LIKE?’
‘Nnnngha . . . Oh God, yesssss.’
But was too aroused.
There was a tussle of lights on the screen, then Thomas saw a home video shot of a woman’s torso. She was sitting in some kind of black leather chair, and wearing a patterned-pink shift so soaked in water or sweat that it clung to her like a semi-translucent condom. She was panting like a dog, her back arched, her nipples hard. Her face remained off camera.
‘YES . . . YOU LIKE,’ the rumbling voice declared. Whoever was speaking, Thomas realized, was also holding the videocam.
‘What… Wha-what are you doing?’
‘MAKING AN ARGUMENT.’
‘Oh, Jeeeeesussss . . .’
The camera dipped, and Thomas glimpsed her naked thighs swaying. She seemed to be grinding her hips, but nothing was touching her. Nothing he could see.
‘MAKING LOVE.’
‘Mmmm . . . Mmmm,’ the faceless woman moaned, her voice curiously childlike.
‘MORE?’
The camera jerked upward, and Thomas saw her face. She was bleach-blond, with the pouty-lipped, harem-beauty of a Hollywood starlet. Her right cheek was thrust against her shoulder. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, her lips pulled into a pained O.
‘Pleeeeaaase,’ she gasped.
Her body stiffened. Her face slackened. For a moment, her lips hitched into an Elvis curl. Then she started writhing in ecstasy. Gasps became howls, and for a mad moment, she shrieked, until the tendon-baring intensity strangled the possibility of sound. She convulsed, jerked to the plucking of inner strings.
&Then suddenly she was back, whimpering, ‘Oh-my-gawd-oh-my-gawd—’
‘AGAIN?’
‘Oh-please-yes!’ Swallow, then, ‘Yes-yes-yes-yes!’ with every quick breath.
Then she was coming again, and the camera jerked yet farther up.
Thomas exploded from his chair. ‘Are you fucking kidding me!’
The woman’s braincase had been sawed open. A flea-circus of pins and wires formed a scaffold over the convoluted neural tissue. Lobes glistened in the light.
‘Calm down, Mr Bible,’ Agent Atta said.
Thomas clutched his scalp, fairly yanked his hair. ‘Do you realize I could fucking sue you for showing me this . . . this . . . What the fuck is this?’
‘WOULD YOU LIKE THE CONTROLS?’
‘The disc arrived by mail in Quantico, Virginia, the day before yesterday.’
‘So this is your fucking mail? What? You belong to the rape-of-the-month club or something?’
As far as we can tell,’ Shelley Atta said hesitantly, ‘the woman in the video was not sexually assaulted.’
‘YOU ARE FREE,’ the ocean-voice croaked. ‘YOU KNOW THIS? YOU MAY LEAVE ANY TIME YOU WISH.’
Thomas clicked pause. An image of the woman biting her lower lip froze on the screen. He found himself looking away, around the claustrophobic confines of his office. The air seemed thick with exhalations. Someone smelled like coleslaw.