My God Has A Hammer

You find yourself just awoken in a cold, damp, and vast room. You are strapped to a cold surgical table and you hear the snap and crackle of electricity. An ominous voice comes from the shadows declaring you to be the beginning of a new age. The old woman comes out of the shadows in a lab coat and surgical gloves. She wheels before her a cart that had shiny metal surgical equipment, all that look clean but with definite serrated edges that look painful if used on a living, conscious person. She declares that she has found a way to graft histories greatest minds into the minds of the current populous. The subject of the graft gain the great skills of the historical brain as well as their faults without loosing any of the host’s personality. She, herself, was once a brain surgeon who was given this warehouse filled with histories greatest brains. She was able to graft the brain of Mary Shelley into her mind and she now is not only a genius brain surgeon but an accomplished romantic/sci-fi/horror writer with bout of manic-depression. She offers you the choice to have one of the following three brains grafted into your mind: Nikola Tesla, Pablo Picasso, and Genghis Khan. You can not back out this arrangement, if refuse she will graft Ugabuktu, the cave-man who invented the wheel, into your head. And while clever Ugabuktu had a thing for goats. Better make a choice, she is very excited to do the next procedure.