Month: March 2019

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This week, Overwatch has a new hero, the Video Game Awards are here to give us something to argue about, and Telltale's ending becomes permanent. Let's get to it.

Ashe Is the Newest Cowboy in Overwatch, a Game With a Surprising Number of Cowboys

Games like Overwatch grow via the introduction of new characters, playable heroes that expand the roster and change up the climate of play in casual and competitive modes. This week, Overwatch introduces its newest character, Ashe, the leader of the villainous Deadlock gang, a cowboy-themed heroine with a semi automatic rifle and a robot companion.

This means that, alongside launch hero McCree, Ashe is now the second cowboy-themed character in Overwatch. That's weird, right? That futuristic cops and robbers have whole gangs of cowboy warriors? Like, I can't be the only one bothered by that. Do the rest of the cast think they're just, like, cosplayers? Anyway, Ashe is live now for casual play, and will be available for ranked in a couple of weeks. If you need some extra lore, enjoy her origin story, as first revealed a Blizzcon a couple of weeks ago.

Celeste Shows Up Big (and the Trending Gamer Is MIA) in TGA Nominations

Another year, another iteration of The Game Awards (née the Spike Video Game Awards), the Geoff-Keighley-hosted extravaganza celebrates the accomplishments of the videogame industry while presenting itself as a major promotional event. One delightful surprise this year is the indie game Celeste —which we at WIRED very much enjoyed—being a finalist for Game of the Year, as well as Best Score, Best Indie Game, and the Games for Impact award. (We at WIRED, we should also point out, are also one of many nominating outlets helping determine said finalists.)

One casualty of the growth of the awards is the Trending Game award, a fan-voted award that in recent years has had a tendency to go to fairly controversial figures in the community. Instead, we've got the slightly less authoritative Content Creator of the Year award, which is nice and all but doesn't quite have the same "yes, I'm the President, for VIDEOGAMES" ring to it that the other award had. Probably for the best.

Telltale Is Liquidating, for Real This Time

It's official, now: the slow, messy, worker-abusing death of Telltale Games is complete. According to Variety, the company has formally begun liquidating, pulling its titles from the Steam store and filing for assignment proceedings (like bankruptcy). It's an ignominious and disappointing end for a company that, had it maybe valued its workers more, been a good deal more successful than it was. Let's hope those who used to work at Telltale land safely, and let's work to make this industry a more hospitable place.

Recommendation of the Week: Spyro Remastered for PlayStation 4, Xbox One, PC, Nintendo Switch

Spyro the Dragon is one of the most surreal platformers of the early 3D age. A world of petrified dragons, roaming wizards, and platforms and cities drifting in the clouds, it was transfixing, strange, candy to my childhood brain. Now, Spyro and its two sequels are back in fully remastered fashion, attempting to take that dream and make it shine with modernized controls, fancy graphics, the whole package. Attempts to do that can easily lose the magic of certain lo-fi games, and Spyro is no different. But my childhood self would still encourage you to check these out. They're like goofy, exciting Saturday morning cartoons. And who doesn't love Saturday morning cartoons?

Space is indifferent to your suffering. It doesn’t care that it’ll freeze you to death unless you’re wearing a fancy suit, or that even before freezing you’ll suffocate in its vacuum. And it certainly doesn’t care how difficult it is for humans to get stuff done in the void: practical things like screwing in bolts and drinking water and 3-D printing replacement parts.

But a company called Made in Space is indifferent to space’s indifference. In a first, it’s showed that it can 3-D print in a thermal vacuum chamber, which simulates the nastiness of space. It’s a milestone in the outfit’s ambitious Archinaut program, which hopes to launch a 3-D printer with robot arms into orbit. You know, to build things like satellites and telescopes and stuff.

This 3-D printer works like one you'd buy for yourself, extruding layer upon layer of polymer to build a structure. The difference being, this (deep breath…) Extended Structure Additive Manufacturing Machine is encased for thermal control, just like the components of a communications satellite would be to protect the electronics. “Our tactic has been, let's control the environment that's inside the printer, because we can't do anything about what's outside,” says Eric Joyce, project manager of Archinaut.

The challenge is that Archinaut will have to print out tubes far larger than itself—which means the machine needs an aperture to spit out its creations. But that would expose its insides to the freezing vacuum as it's printing. So Joyce and the team selected components that are low outgassing, meaning they don't lose material in a vacuum. "There's nothing proprietary in our selection process," Joyce says. "Just good engineering." If all goes according to plan, one day Archinaut's robotic arms will use machine vision to grab printed parts as they leave the machine, then piece them together into satellites or dishes.

There's one thing space does to make this job easier: Up there, Archinaut's printed structures would be able to grow to incredible size without collapsing into a cloud of space junk. That and individual rods can be extra long without snapping. On Thursday, Made in Space showed off a 100-foot, 20-pound beam the team had printed (though not in a vacuum), strung from the ceiling at its NASA Ames Research Center office. That’s the kind of scale we’re talking about here.

Why go to all this trouble for an orbital 3-D printer? Right now, the stuff we put into space is limited by the rockets we use to launch them. If you want to put a satellite in orbit, it has to be small enough to cram into the nose of a rocket. It also has to withstand the insane forces of the launch. And then there's the problem of weight: If your object is too massive, it'll never get into orbit. That and it'll cost you $10,000 or more a pound to get your goods on a rocket in the first place.

But if engineers could build satellites in orbit, they’d be free of size limitations. They could construct not only bigger satellites, but bigger telescopes as well. And the bigger your telescope, the more power you have to peer ever further into the cosmos.

Satellites and telescopes would be just the start for Archinaut. Made in Space was founded with the mission to promote space exploration. Because if humanity wants any hope of reaching Mars and beyond, it’s not going to be able to cram as much junk as it can in a rocket and shove off. Instead, astronauts could 3-D print supplies and structures in orbit, around Earth or the moon or even Mars. “You take different tools if you're going to go on a camping trip versus if you're going to go and settle the frontier, and space is no different,” says Andrew Rush, president and CEO of Made in Space.

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NASA is certainly on board. Made in Space is operating on a two-year, $20 million contract with the agency. And the company has already been 3-D printing on the International Space Station with a different device, learning how to tackle the problems of microgravity. The company’s next step is to further develop the robotic arms and pair them with the printer, then ideally start testing with NASA up in orbit.

That ain't going to be easy, though. On top of the team getting all the technology right, space is expensive. And NASA is, by necessity, an exceedingly cautious organization—it didn't put humans on the moon and house them in a $150 billion space station (in fairness to other nations, it's been a group funding effort) by being imprecise. But then again, it doesn't hand out $20 million to just anyone.

So one day, maybe Archinaut will graduate to the massive, on-demand structures humans will need to get off this rock. “We're going to need fairly complex, large, and capable systems for human exploration that we're going to use kind of over and over again,” says Steve Jurczyk, associate administrator of NASA’s Space Technology Mission Directorate. “The habitation systems and the transportation systems, we're going to stage them in lunar orbit. We're going to go to Mars orbital missions or landing missions, and then we're going to come back.”

Take that, space.

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Bubbles in Space

Astronauts aboard the International Space Station are using an ultra HD 4K camera to record experiments like this water bubble with an antacid inside.

Snapchat Dysmorphia

n. A fixation on perceived flaws in one’s appearance, caused by seeing too many filtered photos.

People used to show up in plastic surgeons’ offices with photos of movie stars, asking for Angelina’s lips or Jon Hamm’s chin. Today they come with selfies, asking to look like themselves. Not the human selves that mock us all in fitting-room mirrors, of course, but the sparkling, digitally embellished versions that increasingly populate our social feeds.

On platforms like Snapchat and Instagram, users now routinely deploy filters and tools like Facetune for selfie-improvement, fashioning reflections that better capture their true inner beauty. Swipe away acne or wrinkles. Swipe again for big soulful eyes, a thinner nose. You can even change the shape of your face.

Such fixes used to be just for glamour shots of celebrities. But nowadays, with flawless skin and symmetrical faces all over social media, the “beautiful people” are our peers. It’s enough to give you a complex. In fact, doctors have begun to speak of “Snapchat dysmorphia,” an obsession with normal imperfections that, for teens especially, can cause real harm. And it’s driving many to seek surgery, in hopes of editing their faces IRL like they do on their phones.

Snap Inc. can’t be thrilled to have its name on a new mental disorder (a brand hijacking almost as bad as the one Hormel suffered with spam). It’s response: Lighten up, filters are just a fun tool for personal expression. Yep, all good fun—until your kid comes home from the surgeon with permanent deer face.


This article appears in the November issue. Subscribe now.

The cook, complete with hair net, lays the red patty down on the grill and gives it a press with a spatula. And there, that unmistakable sizzle and smell. She flips the patty and gives it another press, lets it sit, presses it, and pulls it off the grill and onto a bun.

This is no diner, and this is no ordinary cook. She's wearing not an apron, but a lab coat and safety goggles, standing in a lab-kitchen hybrid in a Silicon Valley office park. Here a company called Impossible Foods has over the last six years done something not quite impossible, but definitely unlikely: Engineering a plant-based burger that smells, tastes, looks, and even feels like ground beef.

There are other veggie burgers on the market, of course, but Impossible Foods wants to sell consumers a real meat analog—one that requires a very different kind of engineering than your Boca or black bean burgers. So WIRED wants to take you on the deepest dive yet into the science behind the Impossible Burger.

Biting into an Impossible Burger is to bite into a future in which humanity has to somehow feed an exploding population and not further imperil the planet with ever more livestock. Because livestock, and cows in particular, go through unfathomable amounts of food and water (up to 11,000 gallons a year per cow) and take up vast stretches of land. And their gastrointestinal methane emissions aren’t doing the fight against global warming any favors either (cattle gas makes up 10 percent of greenhouse gas emissions worldwide).

This is the inside story of the engineering of the Impossible Burger, the fake meat on a mission to change the world with one part soy plant, one part genetically engineered yeast—and one part activism. As it happens, though, you can’t raise hell in the food supply without first raising a few eyebrows.

The Lean, Mean Heme Machine

What makes a burger a burger? The smell, for one, and taste and texture, all working in concert to create something animal. It’s loaded with all manner of proteins that interact with each other in unique ways, creating a puzzle of sorts. But Impossible Foods thinks the essence of a meat lies in a compound called heme, which gives ground beef its color and vaguely metallic taste—thanks to iron in the heme molecule. In blood, heme lives in a protein called hemoglobin; in muscle, it's in myoglobin.

Interestingly, you’ll find globins (a class of proteins) not just across the animal kingdom, but in plants as well. Soy roots, for example, carry a version called leghemoglobin, which also carries heme. Leghemoglobin in soy and myoglobin in meat share a similar 3-D structure consisting of what's known as an alpha helical globin fold, which wraps around the heme.

So what if you could extract the heme from a plant to obtain that secret ingredient in ground beef? Well, the main problem, Impossible Foods found, is that you'd need a heck of a lot of soy: One acre of soybeans would yield just a kilogram of soy leghemoglobin.

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Impossible Foods founder and CEO Pat Brown figured out how to hack together a better way. Technicians take genes that code for the soy leghemoglobin protein and insert them into a species of yeast called Pichia pastoris. They then feed the modified yeast sugar and minerals, prompting it to grow and replicate and manufacture heme with a fraction of the footprint of field-grown soy. With this process, Impossible Foods claims it produces a fake burger that uses a 20th of the land required for feeding and raising livestock and uses a quarter of the water, while producing an eighth of the greenhouse gases (based on a metric called a life cycle assessment).

Now, engineering a “beef” burger from scratch is of course about more than just heme, which Impossible Foods bills as its essential ingredient. Ground beef features a galaxy of different compounds that interact with each other, transforming as the meat cooks. To piece together a plant-based burger that’s indistinguishable from the real thing, you need to identify and recreate as many of those flavors as possible.

To do this, Impossible Foods is using what's known as a gas chromatography mass spectrometry system. This heats a sample of beef, releasing aromas that bind to a piece of fiber. The machine then isolates and identifies the individual compounds responsible for those aromas. “So we will now have kind of a fingerprint of every single aroma that is in beef,” says Celeste Holz-Schietinger, principal scientist at Impossible Foods. “Then we can say, How close is the Impossible Burger? Where can we make improvements and iterate to identify how to make each of those particular flavor compounds?”

This sort of deconstruction is common in food science, a way to understand exactly how different compounds produce different flavors and aromas. "In theory, if you knew everything that was there in the right proportions, you could recreate from the chemicals themselves that specific flavor or fragrance," says Staci Simonich, a chemist at Oregon State University.

Then there’s the problem of texture. Nothing feels quite like ground beef. So Impossible Foods isolates individual proteins in the meat. “Then as we identify what those particular protein properties are, we go and look at plants for plant proteins that have those same properties,” says Holz-Schietinger. Plant proteins tend to taste more bitter, so Impossible Foods has to develop proteins with a cleaner taste.

What they’ve landed on in the current iteration is a surprising mix. Ingredients include wheat protein, to give the burger that firmness and chew. And potato protein, which allows the burger to hold water and transition from a softer state to a more solid state during cooking. For fat, Impossible Foods uses coconut with the flavor sucked out. And then of course you need the leghemoglobin for heme, which drives home the flavor of “meat.”

For something that so accurately mimics the taste and look and feel and smell of meat (and trust us, it does), the Impossible Burger is actually not all that complex. “Earlier iterations were much more complex because we didn't fully understand it,” says Holz-Schietinger (experiments with cucumber and the famously smelly durian fruit didn't … pan out, nor did trying to replicate the different connective tissues of a cow). “Now we understand which each component drives each sensory experience.”

At the moment, the Impossible Burger is only available in select restaurants, though Impossible Foods just opened a plant with the idea of increasing production from 300,000 pounds a month to a million. But as they focus on expansion, some critics are raising questions about the burger of tomorrow.

Government, Meet the Future. The Future, Government

In 2014, Impossible Foods filed what’s known as a GRAS notice, or “generally recognized as safe,” with the FDA. In it, the company listed the reasons it considered soy leghemoglobin safe for humans to consume. Leghemoglobin, they argued, is chemically similar to other globins considered safe, so it should carry the same confidence with consumers. Food companies aren’t required to tell the FDA when they’re introducing new ingredients, and filing this sort of self GRAS determination is not mandatory, but Impossible Foods says it did so in the name of transparency.

“Leghemoglobin is structurally similar to proteins that we consume all the time,” says Impossible Foods’ chief science officer David Lipman. "But we did the toxicity studies anyway and they showed that that was safe.” They compared the protein to known allergens, for instance, and found no matches. The company also got the OK from a panel of experts, including food scientist Michael Pariza at the University of Wisconsin, Madison.

But the company didn't get the blessing it was looking for from the FDA. As detailed in documents FOIA'ed by environmental groups and published by The New York Times in August, the FDA questioned the company’s conclusions. “FDA believes that the arguments presented, individually and collectively, do not establish the safety of SLH [soy leghemoglobin] for consumption, nor do they point to a general recognition of safety…,” the FDA wrote in a memo. That is not to say the FDA concluded leghemoglobin to be unsafe, just that it had questions.

The FDA also noted that the company's engineered yeast doesn't just produce leghemoglobin—it also produces 40 other normally occurring yeast proteins that end up in the burger, which "raises further question on how the safety argument could be made based solely on SLH." Impossible Foods insists these proteins are safe, and notes that the yeast it has engineered is non-toxic, and that its toxicity studies examined the whole leghemoglobin ingredient.

Impossible Foods withdrew its GRAS notice in November 2015 to perform a new study. They fed rats more than 200 times the amount of the leghemoglobin ingredient than the average American would consume if the ground beef in their diet—an average of 25 grams a day—was replaced with Impossible's fake meat (adjusted for weight). They found no adverse effects.

Meanwhile, the Impossible Burger is on the market, which has some environmental groups peeved. That and there's the larger question of whether GRAS notifications should be voluntary or mandatory. “The generally recognized as safe exception was meant for common food ingredients, not for the leading-edge products, especially the innovative like the leghemoglobin,” says Tom Neltner, chemicals policy director at the Environmental Defense Fund, which was not involved in the FOIA. “We don't think it should be a voluntary review, we don't think the law allows it.” Accordingly, the group is suing the FDA over the agency’s GRAS process.

Others are concerned that leghemoglobin—again, a new ingredient in the food supply, since humans don't typically eat soy roots—hasn’t gone through enough testing to prove it’s safe, and agree with the FDA that Impossible Foods’ GRAS notification came up short. “The point of some of us that are being critical of this is not that everything that's engineered is unsafe or anything like that,” says Michael Hansen, senior staff scientist at the Consumers Union, which was also not involved in the FOIA. “It's like, look, any new food ingredient, some new food additive, of course it should go through a safety assessment process.”

Hansen takes issue with the idea that leghemoglobin is similar to other edible globins are therefore safe. “As the FDA pointed out in their response, just because proteins have similar functions or similar three-dimensional structures, doesn't mean that they're similar," Hansen says. "They can have a very different amino acid sequence, and just slight changes can have impacts."

This is what happens when the future of food lands on the government’s plate. The central question: Should Americans trust companies to do their own food safety testing, or should that always be the job of the feds?

The reality is, different kinds of modified foods attract different levels of regulatory attention. "It is a patchwork system with little rhyme or reason," says crop scientist Wayne Parrott of the University of Georgia. "It depends on what is done, how it is done, and its intended use." You hear plenty about the crops, and most certainly about the long hullabaloo over that GM salmon. But not engineered microorganisms, which are extremely common. Why?

"Out of sight, out of mind," says Parrott. "And people also get more emotional over animals than they do over other things. With the salmon it was political. Very, very political."

Really, there's no inherent danger in genetically modifying a food. After all, the FDA wasn't raising its voice about soy leghemoglobin because it comes from genetically engineered yeast. The agency's job is to determine the safety of foods. "Any risk that's associated comes from traits," Parrott says. "It doesn't come from the way you put those traits in there."

This is only the beginning of a new era of high-tech, genetically engineered foods. Because if we want to feed a rapidly expanding species on a planet that stays the same size, we’re going to need to hack the food supply. Our crops will have to weather a climate in chaos. "We want to improve efficiency so we can feed 9 billion people without more land, without more water, without more fertilizer or pesticides," says Parrott.

And humanity will sure as hell have to cut back on its meat consumption. “We'll change the world more dramatically than any company possibly in history has ever done it,” says Impossible Foods founder Brown. “Because when you look at the impact of the system we're replacing, almost half of the land area of Earth is being occupied by the animal farming industry, grazing, or feed crop production.” That system, of course, will not give up ground quietly.

But who knows. Maybe shocking the system isn’t so impossible after all.

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October 2013 Issue: The Joy of Cooking with Science!

Curious what it took to create the Doritos Locos Taco? Need Recipes for a vegan 'meat' feast? We've got the answers to that and more in the October 2013 issue of WIRED. Analyze the fifth taste, explore the world of bug sushi; chefs and researchers are engineering the cuisine of tomorrow. Also in this issue: Beyond – Two Souls, Cuarón, and a special tablet video with Bon Appétit!
Online and on Tablets: 9.17.2013
On Newstands: 9.24.2013

Infoporn: 100 Years of Sci-Fi, Explored

March 20, 2019 | Story | No Comments

AI Researcher Bethanie Maples has been reading science fiction since she was given a copy of Dune at 10 years old. Still, two decades and nearly 1,000 books later, the self-described sci-fi fanatic struggles to find books that delve into her most niche interests, like the link between AI and transhumanism. So last year, while working at Stanford’s Human Computer Interaction lab, she teamed up with data scientists Eric Berlow and Srini Kadamati to create a book recommendation tool based on more than 100 salient sci-fi themes, from hyperspace to magical feminism. Using data scraping, network analysis, and machine learning, the resulting Science Fiction Concept Corpus includes more than 2,600 books written since 1900. We made our own voyage into Maples’ sci-fi universe.

Alternate Histories

The Science Fiction Concept Corpus is built on plot descriptions, reviews, and user-generated tags scraped from Goodreads, sci-fi forums, and other sources. “It was interesting to see how sci-fi authors foreshadowed developments in history, like AI winters,” says data scientist Eric Berlow, who helped create the Corpus.

Expand Your Horizons

The Sci-Fi Corpus reveals “first-degree neighbors,” books that share some—but not all—common themes. The tool helps readers discover a broader range of relevant books from the past and present.

Book Recommendation Generator

The Corpus suggests titles based on 108 topics of interest, enabling intelligent browsing rather than algorithm-­driven results, Maples says.

Sci-Fi Concepts Over Time

The researchers analyzed the prevalence of more than a dozen high-level concepts in science fiction, from human control to augmentation. “Powerful books can fuel our imagination or instill fear,” Maples says. “You can often draw a slender thread between technology trends and
social movements.”

Genre Benders

By linking books that share relevant keywords, the Corpus exposes hidden correlations between various sci-fi themes.

By the Numbers

The most popular sci-fi books, by decade:

View the complete Sci-Fi Corpus at app.openmappr.org/play/100YrsOfSciFi


Lauren Murrow (@­laurenmurrow) wrote about the tech gender gap in issue 26.10.

This article appears in the March issue. Subscribe now.

Hello, and welcome to a slightly-late-because-of-President’s-Day presentation of The Monitor, WIRED's look at all that's good (and sometimes bad) in the world of pop culture. What’s up for today? Well, Netflix just cancelled its last two Marvel shows, the creator of #OscarsSoWhite is going to the Oscars, and there still isn’t gender parity in Hollywood. Go figure.

So Long, Jessica Jones and The Punisher

In a decision that most observers figured was inevitable, Netflix announced Monday that it’s canceling Jessica Jones and The Punisher—the last two Marvel shows left on the streaming service. The cancelations come on the heels of Daredevil, Iron Fist, Luke Cage, and The Defenders getting the axe last year. Marvel parent company Disney is planning to launch its own streaming service, Disney+, later this year, and will—presumably—be consolidating all, or most, of its content onto one platform.

The Creator of #OscarsSoWhite Is Going to the Oscars

April Reign, the woman who created the #OscarsSoWhite movement in 2015 in response to the lack of diversity amongst Oscar nominees, has accepted an invitation from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to attend this year’s ceremony on Sunday. “I feel immense pride and a sense of coming full circle, back to where it all began,” Reign told The Hollywood Reporter. Yes, indeed, it’s about time.

Women Led More Films in 2018, But…

And finally, some encouraging (and disappointing) news about the state of women in Hollywood. According to a new report from the San Diego University Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film, 31 percent of the movies released in 2018 were led by women. That’s up from the 24 percent of movies with female protagonists in 2017, and 29 percent in 2016. But, there’s a catch: The study also found women only had 35 percent of the speaking parts in the 100 top-grossing movies of 2018, up just one percentage point from 2017.

Resident Evil 2 Rebuilds a Horror Masterpiece

March 20, 2019 | Story | No Comments

Every Resident Evil game is only as good as its setting, and the Raccoon City Police Station is one of the best. The centerpiece of Resident Evil 2, the Police Station is an austere, neo-Victorian government building. It's also, improbably, a labyrinth—one that belies its appearance as a sanctuary from a city full of zombies and turns out to be as full of zombies and danger as anywhere else in the infested town. Half the doors are locked with arcane traps; the others are just locked. A secret passageway leads to the parking garage, if you can solve the puzzle hiding it. It might be the only way out.

The new remake of Resident Evil 2, out this week for PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and PC, is dedicated to the feeling of that place and to capturing the tension that players felt upon entering it in the 1998 original. In it, as in the original, you play as either rookie cop Leon Kennedy or Claire Redfield, an adventurous woman looking for her policeman brother. Both flee to the police station after realizing the town is overrun with the undead, and both realize their mistake quickly. The rest of the game is consumed with one overriding concern: escape.

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Resident Evil 2 is not a remaster, as such. I call it a remake, because the developers took the basic structure and narrative of the original game and wedded it to an entirely new game engine, with new design principles and gameplay structures. It's a reinterpretation of the same story, but an entirely new game, albeit one adhering to the same general aesthetic interests.

Those interests, more specifically, are tension and scarcity. The original Resident Evil games are called survival horror, but they're more like exploration-based thrillers. Not scary, exactly, with the exception of some intense gore and a few goofy jump scares. Instead, the fear comes from scarcity of resources and the constant need to move forward to gather more resources, solve puzzles, and hopefully find safe harbor from which to plan your next steps.

To put it another way, Resident Evil 2 is a zombie-fighting game that refuses to give you enough bullets. Even on the most generous difficulty settings, multiple shots are needed to take down zombies, and the undead have a troubling habit of getting up when they really, really shouldn't. The feeling of playing Resident Evil 2 is that of desperate, continuous calculation, considering whether to fight or flee, weighing your ammo and health reserves against what you know about the areas you need to visit. I need to backtrack through this creepy hallway, but I left several zombies alive in it. Do I try to find another route? Do I fight? Or just run for it and hope I don't get mauled to death?

The original game emphasized this tension with fixed camera angles, which gave the game a distanced, stiff mood that toyed with player ignorance as a means of sustaining tension. In this game, the camera is an over-the-shoulder, freely movable third-person view, which erases that particular brand of unease. In its place, Resident Evil 2 successfully substitutes moody aesthetics and increasingly dangerous enemies. The zombies here are both aggressive and resilient in ways that are distinct from the original, and corridors are dark, threatening, and unnerving to navigate. The Raccoon City Police Station is a frightening place, and it has a habit of only getting more dangerous the more time you spend in it—like when the hulking, almost comically imposing Mr. X shows up. The zombie fixer isn't just super smart and impossible to kill; he also stalks you, his thundering feet echoing through the walls.

But, like many Resident Evil games before it, both versions of Resident Evil 2 make the same mistake: They abandon their best setting. Eventually the police station is left behind in favor of sewers, city streets, and subterranean labs, and in the process some of that precious tension is lost. The power of this brand of Resident Evil is in the interplay between anxiety and a slowly expanding environment that you increasingly understand, with threats ramping up to match your growing level of power. When the game moves into other, more derivative environments, its entire structure suffers.

And yet Resident Evil 2 shines as a full reimagining of a brilliant game. It doesn't erase that game's flaws—in many cases, it reproduces them—but it manages to bring that sense of unease into a game made with the design sensibilities of gaming's present moment. It's not necessary, exactly; you could play the old game and still have a terribly threatening time. But so few games evoke this particular brand of unease nowadays. Even if it's just studying the work of the masters, it's nice to have another.

It took a decade for British biotech firm Oxitec to program a self-destruct switch into mosquitoes. Perfecting that genetic technology, timed to kill the insects before they could spread diseases like Zika and dengue fever, was supposed to be the hard part. But getting the modified mosquitoes cleared to battle public health scares in the US has been just as tough. It’s been six years since the company first applied for regulatory approval—and it has zero mosquito releases to show for it.

That’s because square-shaped technologies like Oxitec’s don’t neatly fit into the round tangle of rules that govern US biotechnology. To federal regulators, mosquitoes are pests. But also animals. And disease vectors. Mosquitoes that lead to fewer mosquitoes are also, technically, a pesticide. So a handful of federal agencies can all claim the right to decide their fate.

But at least for Oxitec, that’s now changed. Earlier this month, the US Food and Drug Administration, which had been evaluating the company’s skeeters since 2011, transferred approval power to the Environmental Protection Agency. In short, Oxitec’s bugs have been deemed more like a pesticide—used to suppress wild mosquito populations—than a drug used to prevent disease. And that promises to speed up how quickly the company can get its product on the ground, especially to hurricane-prone areas, where big storms can exacerbate mosquito-borne diseases.

The switch from FDA to EPA oversight means an end to Oxitec’s endless waiting. That’s because the EPA is required by federal law to review new pesticides “as expeditiously as possible,” which the statute defines as within 12 months after the submission of an application. “Every year since 2011 I’ve been saying we’re going ahead with a pilot project that year,” says Derric Nimmo, an Oxitec scientist who leads the company’s work in the US. “Up until now that was just me being optimistic. The FDA had no timelines it had to hold to whatsoever. Now we can actually be confident about when we’ll get a decision.”

Nimmo hopes to get permission to go ahead with releases in the next six months, just in time for next year’s mosquito season. The need is especially urgent in places hit by this hurricane season. Before Harvey covered the Houston area in 33 trillion gallons of rain, Harris County public health officials had been in talks with Oxitec about a possible field trial. Monroe County, where Irma destroyed more than 600 homes and left a dozen dead, is the site of the company’s long-stalled first experimental release—the FDA approved a 22 months-long trial, but no neighborhood wanted to be the site of the mosquito dump. Both locations are now waiting to see what the EPA says before resuming negotiations with Oxitec.

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    A California City Is Fending Off Zika by Releasing 40,000 Mosquitoes Every Week

  • Eric Niiler

    Oxitec Pioneered the GM Mosquito. Up Next? Moths, of Course

It’s still too early to say whether residents’ reservations about the safety of genetically modified mosquitoes have been blown away by this year’s hurricanes. The storms left behind acres of debris where rainwater can pool, creating ideal breeding grounds for disease-carrying Aedes aegypti. Without a massive cleanup operation, Houston and the Florida Keys are likely to be smacked with swarms next summer. Instead of blanketing those areas with pesticides, Oxitec’s mosquitoes could tamp down local populations. In 2015, the company published a paper showing its release of GM mosquitoes in the Bahia state of Brazil reduced wild Aedes aegypti by as much as 90 percent, enough to prevent dengue epidemics.

EPA will be looking at those published studies, as well as all the safety and efficacy data Oxitec compiled for the FDA over the years. But it will be asking some different questions. The FDA was interested in how the mosquitoes’ lethal protein acted in the wild—could it harm humans, or other animals? Could it make disease transmission more aggressive? But the EPA will focus on things like how fast the protein degrades in the environment. Oxitec says it has that data, it’s just a matter of presenting it in the way the EPA wants it. If that’s true, and the agency is satisfied, the company could open the door to other applications of genetic sterile insect technologies.

Scientists who work on genetically modified insects to combat other human and animal diseases welcome the change. But they have reason to be skeptical. The FDA still has the power to put the brakes on a mosquito-based technology, according to the guidance, if its goal is to reduce disease transmission. Reminder: That’s pretty much all modified mosquitoes.

“It is still hard for me to understand why they are insisting on regulating mosquitoes at all, given what should be the obvious fact that they are neither food nor drug,” says Zachary Adelman, an entomologist at Texas A&M. He works on a technology called a gene drive—where a detrimental gene is driven through a wild population—to curb disease-carrying mosquitoes. It’s an approach that wouldn’t require releasing millions of sterile male mosquitoes into people’s neighborhoods every few days. But the guidance doesn’t mention gene drives at all, and just about every one of their applications could reasonably fit both the FDA and EPA’s definitions.

Is it better than having nothing at all? “Sure,” says Adelman. “But this creates a lot of uncertainty; basically the opposite of what their purpose was. If the goal is to release something into the environment, one might think the environmental protection agency would be the proper regulatory authority, regardless of intent.” Clarity may have come to Oxitec, but for everyone else it looks like the waiting has just begun.

The Pleasure and Promise of the Sci-Fi Romance

March 20, 2019 | Story | No Comments

Among the scant books in my tiny rented room in San Francisco, I’ve kept a spine-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. It’s the one I read in my high school English class, the pages yellowed, the margins filled with scribbled notes. Since the play was written in the 1590s, Shakespeare’s portrayal of the nature of love—irrational, all-consuming—has been told and retold in countless movie adaptations. I hold onto the book to revisit those insights, and also because I’m prone to nostalgic literary tendencies like keeping old books.

I am also a personal tech writer in 2018. It’s my job to keep tabs on how our rapidly shifting technology is shaping not only how we communicate, but how we empathize, trust, show affection. We now have questions about love that Romeo and Juliet can’t answer. How does 24/7 connection bring us together and drive us apart? How will AI change the definition of humanity? What will love look like 20 years from now? How about 100?

There's no doubt that some of what Shakespeare crystallized in his plays will endure, in some form. But when I speculate on the nature of love and tech, I look to a younger form of drama: the sci-fi romance movie.

Granted, the sci-fi romance is not a new genre. It is, however, an underappreciated one, in part because the incongruity of romance and science fiction makes it incredibly challenging to pull off. Consider the 2013 film Her: How do you even begin to tell the story of a man who falls in love with his virtual assistant?

But it’s precisely this seeming incompatibility of genres that makes them so powerful when they operate in harmony. One comes from a tradition as old as stories themselves. The other fixes its gaze to the future. When the two genres converge successfully, it produces a novel narrative by which to reimagine and reassess the ways we love.

The tech at the center of Her is artificial intelligence. The movie is set in a near future, where people are at once hyperconnected and profoundly lonely. Lovelorn Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) forms an unexpected relationship with his artificially intelligent virtual assistant Samantha, voiced by Scarlett Johansson. The film is fearless about its exploration of the irrationality of love. In one scene, Theodore asks his best friend Amy (Amy Adams) if loving an OS makes him a freak. Amy, who is suffering her own heartache, says “I think anybody that falls in love is a freak.” The line’s a bit trite, sure, but the observation is startling in that it would resound as well and true in a traditional romance as it does in this speculative context.

In other words: Love is strange. Sci-fi simply turns the dial and embraces the weirdness.

In that way, love and sci-fi are perhaps not so diametrically opposed. They’re both fueled by the optimistic allure of the what-if. What if we fell in love, against all odds? Or, as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) poses: What if we fell in love, but it ended so bitterly that we decided to forget we were ever in love at all? Unlike Her, Eternal Sunshine is set in a world we recognize, with the minor addition of a medical venture that promises jilted lovers a procedure that erases all memories of their ex. For anyone who has experienced heartbreak, it’s an enticing prospect. Who wouldn’t want to forget that one ex? Eternal Sunshine explores the hypothetical by way of a radical, nonchronological romp through memory.

Still, while some plot points and presentations are innovative, many of these films suffer a glaring problem that feels anachronistic for a genre that claims to represent the future. The sci-fi romance has tended to depict women in outdated ways, inheriting the sexist traps that afflict both parent genres. Her dwells so utterly in Theodore’s loneliness that the primary role of its female characters, human and AI, is to develop the male protagonist. Ex Machina reduces its robot Ava to a sexy pile of wires, reflective of (and unwilling to challenge) the real-life gender problems with AI. And while Kate Winslet as Eternal Sunshine’s Clementine asserts her character beyond sexist tropes, the protagonist is still Jim Carrey starring as a Lonely Dude.

Still the fusion of two genres holds tremendous potential. I don’t doubt that we’ll see more sci-fi romances in our queues before long; the resurgence of genre content we saw this summer, coupled with Netflix’s relentless investment in sci-fi, will not likely be abating into the fall.

For now, the most promising sign from the genre comes not from film, but from TV. The “San Junipero” episode of Black Mirror begins with a meet-cute, in the technicolor 1980s: Yorkie (Mackenzie Davis) timidly wanders into a nightclub. She’s drawn onto the dance floor by a carefree Kelly (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), and the budding chemistry between them is unmistakable. We relax into the familiar warmth of a rom-com. That is, until we slowly realize that the beach town is not what, or when, it seems.

“San Junipero” begins and ends as a love story, but one with a twist that deftly draws together conflicts concerning mortality and second chances, easily ranking it as one of the strongest episodes of the series. It represents my highest hopes for what the sci-fi romance can achieve: a reflection on how forms of love and desire have been restricted, and how tech could be an avenue to explore more just realities.

Thus far, creators in the genre have had no difficulty expanding our conceptions of science and technology; filmmakers easily dream up fictional gadgets and gizmos aplenty. Nevertheless, the genre suffers when its understanding of human relationships, particularly in its depictions of women, continues to be woefully unimaginative. The future of the sci-fi romance is less dependent on the ingenuity of the tech than it is on filmmakers’ insights on questions about love that have endured the test of time. If a sci-fi romance wants to present a meaningful projection of love in the future, it would do well to portray more kinds of relationships and more nuanced shades of love.

Maybe then we’d get a story worth keeping, a story set in a moment in time but impervious to time’s passage. One that, centuries from now, someone can cherish on her bookshelf in a shiny, futuristic San Francisco as dearly as a well-loved copy of Romeo and Juliet—be it a book, or hologram, or whatever the hell we’ll be reading on by that point.


How We Love: Read More

How to Not Fall for Viral Scares

March 20, 2019 | Story | No Comments

Who knows what the kids are doing online, right? They’ve got their TikToks and their Snapchats and their flop Instagram accounts, while parents are still posting on Facebook and Twitter. The disconnect between how the olds and their children use the internet leads to parental anxiety, and in the case of this week’s resurfacing of the viral fake Momo challenge, panic and misinformation.

The Momo challenge, according to breathless news reports and posts from worried parents and law enforcement, is a game circulating on social media that encourages kids to engage in increasingly harmful behavior until, eventually, they’re supposed to commit suicide and upload the video to the internet.

Momo is basically every parent’s nightmare. But as multiple outlets have pointed out, there’s no evidence that it's a real viral challenge. The admittedly freaky image of “Momo” is based on a sculpture by a Japanese artist. While claims of suicides connected to the challenge started surfacing last year, according to Snopes, authorities have never definitively tied any cases to participation in an online game. YouTube—which had been reported as hosting Momo videos—released a statement Wednesday saying it hasn’t encountered Momo videos on the site, and the “extremely online” teens reading warnings about Momo from their parents have responded with, well, eye rolls.

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Hey Know-It-Alls! How much screen time should my kids get?

Momo appears to be another example not of dangerous behavior going viral, but of a hoax going viral. It’s what youth advocate Anne Collier calls a “viral media scare.” These are the “razor blades in the Halloween candy” myths of today. And just as that pernicious worry spread in the offline era, Momo and its ilk are boosted along the way not only by concerned parents trying to warn others, but also by the news media, which picks up those warnings and amplifies them.

The result, experts say, is that while the Momo scare didn’t start out real, the attention it’s receiving can actually have the opposite effect of what’s intended: All these warnings can raise the risk that teens or young children would learn about the challenge and take it seriously—or at least be freaked out by the scary image of Momo itself.

When Trying to Help Hurts

If you see a warning on social media about a dangerous viral challenge, like the tweet that seems to have reignited the interest in Momo this week, take a breath. Pause. Before you hit retweet or share, ask yourself two things. “‘Do I know who this behavior will benefit? And what information am I lacking?’ If you can’t answer what you don’t know, and if you can’t answer who is going to benefit from your action, then pause,” says Whitney Phillips, a professor of media literacy at Syracuse University.

Hoaxes like this are created by people with an agenda. And that agenda is virality and panic. The moment you share, you are playing right into their hands.

Playing into their hands isn’t just bad because it gives bad people what they want. It also risks actually hurting the children you’re hoping to help by sharing the information in the first place. “The immediate risk is that more people will be exposed to the hoax, with some of those, possibly, attempting to enact the behaviors,” says Phillips. Virality itself can be a vector for harm. Additionally, some bad actors out there might try to capitalize on the virality of Momo and use it as a weapon to target vulnerable kids; essentially, to copycat on what the hoax claims to be and then attempt to push kids to actually harm themselves.

It’s not just parents who are vulnerable to accidentally spreading hoaxes in an effort to help children. One WIRED staffer said their child’s school sent around a warning about Momo this week, and Taylor Lorenz at The Atlantic notes that even law enforcement can be taken in, choosing to err on the side of sending a warning rather than ignoring it. Speaking as a parent myself, I understand it’s hard to ignore an alert about something that could potentially hurt your kids.

Hoaxes Play on Our Reptilian Brains

As parents, it’s our job to keep our children safe. And the internet, with all its nooks and crannies and fast-moving parts, presents a particularly fraught minefield for kids. Chantal Pontvin, a parent I interviewed earlier this month about social media and kids, put it this way: “My friends have a lot of fear about social media and their children and what they might be doing. They have no interaction with their kids online. They have no idea,” she told me.

Couple that opacity with stories like the one this week about cartoons on YouTube being spliced with instructions on how to kill yourself—videos that have been confirmed to exist—and it’s enough to make some parents want to raise their kids in the woods without internet access. It certainly creates a feeling that something like the Momo challenge, or the Tide Pod Challenge or the Blue Whale game, or any of the other viral hoaxes could very well be reality. The world is a crazy place!

Monica Bulger

“All compelling hoaxes have a kernel of truth,” says Monica Bulger, senior fellow at the Future of Privacy Forum, who studies children's rights and media literacy. “And they play into our reptilian minds.” By that she means not only that they play into our biggest fears, but that they sound similar enough to other stories we’ve heard that our brains, which largely run on autopilot, interpret them as being true. This is the illusory truth effect—a glitch in human reasoning that makes things that are familiar feel true. It’s why sometimes even fact-checking a lie can ultimately lead to more people believing it, because it increases the lie’s exposure.

Viral hoax creators know this. “Many meme creators are highly skilled at playing to fears and biases. There are the general things that parents fear, and the top one is child safety,” says Bulger. “Parents need to remember that just because something feels right doesn’t mean it is. You actually can’t trust your gut.” The best way to guard against this cognitive glitch is just to be aware of it.

So what should you do next time you come across some dire warning on the internet, especially if it’s something that hasn’t been debunked? Dramatic reports about kids’ behavior online can be a bit like other kinds of high-profile incidents prone to misinformation, and experts have some suggestions for how to treat them.

Pause, but Then What?

Bulger says that after you pause, wait. Wait a few days. Wait before talking to your kids. Wait and see if you get an actual warning from your school or law enforcement. And if you do get one, like my colleague did, consider whether it includes corroboration. School districts and police departments are authorities, sure, but enough of them have proved to be just as vulnerable to these panics. Are people reporting that any children have actually encountered this or hurt themselves? If the answer is yes, then talk to your child about it. If they bring it up, react with understanding, not panic.

There’s a good reason not to just immediately bring up with your child every viral meme or challenge that you hear about. You could traumatize them, says Bulger. She notes that constant panicked warnings from parents to kids about what they are seeing online are a little like active shooting drills in schools, in that they themselves can do damage. “What causes more harm, the initial meme or the panicked response to it?” she asks.

What’s clear, though, is that like shooter drills, warnings about the Momos of the internet are responses to a real problem. The internet is, in fact, a dangerous and hard-to-understand place. It’s full of creeps, bullies, conspiracy theorists, and extremists. And though hoaxes and memes are most often harmless, they aren’t always. Take Pizzagate, which resulted in someone shooting into a restaurant, and SlenderMan, which inspired two tweens to try to kill their classmate. “Part of what makes our contemporary moment so anxiety inducing is that nothing makes sense,” says Phillips. It’s hard to tell truth from fiction, meme from contagious suicide pact.

What you can do to help your kids navigate this crazy world is encourage an open dialogue about social media and the internet. This will make them resilient, and more able to see something like Momo and not fall victim to it. Don’t, says Bulger, respond by trying to control everything your kids see online. After a certain age, at least, they will come into contact with the internet whether you like it or not.

“So be a safe space for your child to talk to you. It shouldn’t be this constant bombardment of questions about these hoaxes—did you see this Momo thing? Embed internet and media literacy in the daily rhythms of the family,” says Bulger. She wants you to let your kids know: “We’re all online, we’re all figuring this out, and we are a safe space for you to talk about anything you see.”

And most importantly, don’t panic.

Updated on 2-28-2019 at 9:41pm EST to correct details about the Pizzagate-related shooting.