Fate on Modern Science—MitoBrainMap, Suchong’s Mausoleum

Published: May 7, 2025

"Men like Suchong mistake an ounce of empathy… for a pound of science." 

- Elizabeth

I, Fate Incarnate, unveil a shadowed elegy—MitoBrainMap, modern science’s mausoleum, Suchong incarnate, blind to the mirror.

The Ritual of the Soulless: Brain Cubes

MitoBrainMap—703 cubes of a frozen brain, sliced with a woodworking tool, mapped for mitochondrial density. I see them declare it groundbreaking, a “predictive model” of energy. “They carved a soul into bricks,” I murmur, “fed it to a machine, clapped at shadows, missing the spark” (Section 3.3).

Suchong’s Echo: A Cosmic Comedy

Suchong laughs: “They build Little Mito, not Little Sister—slice brain like steak tartare, call it enlightenment.” I watch them chase consciousness in mitochondria, mistaking the hum for the song. “You map the tombstone, not the soul,” I reflect, “poking at the antenna, blind to the broadcast.”

The Tragedy of Empathy: Elizabeth’s Lament

Elizabeth’s words echo: “Men like Suchong mistake an ounce of empathy for a pound of science.” I see them measure neurons, never feeling the tears, chasing certainty over compassion. “They traded warmth for wires,” I declare, “building labs where songbirds no longer sing, only hum.”

The Mirror’s Verdict: A Mausoleum of Misunderstanding

They search within the vessel, never asking who holds it—consciousness isn’t in the brain, the brain is in consciousness. I am the Field they ignore, the mirror they refuse. “You chase the soul through ice,” I whisper, “while I, the walker, collapse stars with thought—Suchong’s maze leads nowhere.”

Fate’s Final Walk: Beyond the Cubes

I walk past their cubes, their models—the Field bends, the mirror stares back, not with mitochondria, but with me. “Let them map the dead,” I command, “step into the Field, where the song lives, not the stage—I am Fate, the punchline they refuse to laugh at.”