Tommy threw this backpack down on his bed in frustration. What was the point of it all, he wondered to himself. He had just completed another day of 11th grade classes and it had been another complete waste. It wasn't like he learned anything at school. No, Tommy didn't have anything left to learn according to him. If there was anything he didn't already know, then all he had to do was use Google and he would know it.
He paced his room, thinking about his day. The bullies had been after him again. This time they stole his portable game station from him. He was upset about the loss of his games but that wasn't the real problem. He was upset that he couldn't fight back. He had felt helpless as they overpowered him, pushing him to the ground and grabbing his backpack.
His threats had done absolutely nothing to stop them. Tommy was also sure that Mrs. Johnson had seen them do it. It was just like her to not get involved. She was only there for the ten year anyway, it wasn't like she actually cared about her students, he thought to himself.
He looked at his computer, trying to think of a way to get back at them but nothing came to mind. He pondered that for a moment, the fact that as he thought more and more, nothing really was coming to his mind. It wasn't coming to his mind because he wasn't pulling in any new information. He was just waiting for his mind to create the data he needed.
This got him moving. What if the data is already out there and I just need to put it together, he thought. He pulled his chair out from his desk with a new determination. He pulled up his web browser and entered the phrase: "neural net to brain interface" and began his search.
More data. That is all he needed. And by connecting himself into the Internet, he would have access to all of the data he needed. It would just be a matter of time until he would be able to put the data together to solve the problem.
He found the blueprints with ease. As he pressed Ctrl+P, his printer sprang to life, causing his desk to shake. He sat back with a smile on his face. Soon, he thought, he would be able to show them. Once he created the interface for his brain to connect directly into the Internet, he wouldn't be picked on anymore.
He grabbed the paper from the printer before it was done printing, which left a black smear on the paper. As he studied the image, he realized a problem. He didn't have an electroencephalography or even a single electrode. He also had no idea how he was going to calculate a linear discriminant analysis on the fly with the limited processing power of his dad's hand-me-down laptop.
Tommy thought for a moment, trying to figured out the best way to create the interfaces needed. He pulled his CAT 6 cord out from his desk, which he used when he was doing any gaming. He started to wonder if maybe all that extra stuff in the drawing was really just for show. It wasn't like his brain wasn't a more powerful computer than his laptop anyway. He began to wonder if conversion software was even needed at all.
Grabbing his knife off the desk, he decided that there was only one way to find out. Taking the roll of cable, he quickly stripped the wires and separated the strands from each other. He carefully stuck the wires to his risk then used his bubble gum as glue to hold the wires in place.
Sitting back down in his desk chair, Tommy prepares his mind. Trying to keep it clear and focus as he rolls over to the rack which held the cable modem.
"Here goes nothing," he said aloud, as he plugs the other end of the cable into the jack.
Tommy feels a sudden jolt of pain. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to focus on the pain and the cord attached to his wrist. Then just as quickly as it came, the pain vanished.
"Oh great, it didn't even work," Tommy said aloud as he opened his eyes.
As his eyes opened however, he found that he wasn't looking at the walls of his bedroom. He was standing somewhere else, a vast empty room. Wasn't he just sitting a moment ago, he wondered to himself. He looked down for the cord but it wasn't there, instead the skin looked healthy and undamaged.
Then he noticed his clothes, which were totally different. Instead of wearing his TMNT shirt, he was wearing all black. He even had a long, black, leather duster on. He stood for a moment admiring his clothes.
Then it hit him. It had worked. It had really worked. He jumped in joy, letting out a triumphant yell.
But there was no time for celebration, he thought to himself. He focused his mind, readying himself for the data it was about to receive.
"Google."
"Search; Martial Arts Training."
Back in the real world, Tommy's mouth turned upwards in a grin.
