Elian Rho had three PhDs, two dead houseplants named Schrödinger and Heisenberg, and exactly zero unread emails.
Because he read everything. Even spam. Even the ones that started with "Dear Esteemed Lucky Beneficiary." He was above them, yet trapped by their persistence.
At 37, Elian was lean but not athletic — a man who clearly never met a gym he liked. His dark brown hair was perpetually tousled, like a scientist who'd just survived a minor electrical storm. His sharp, deep-set hazel eyes were the kind that looked through you — and occasionally through his own sanity. His face was angular, framed by a light stubble that gave him an air of "I stayed up all night debating physics and forgot to shave."
Today, like every Monday, was statistically proven to be the worst day for inspiration, printer functionality, and emotional stability.
Elian worked at a research campus nestled deep within Estonia's pine-laced countryside. The government technically funded it, though judging by the coffee quality, their enthusiasm was lukewarm at best.
The building was a relic from the Soviet era — its peeling paint, flickering fluorescent lights, and faint smell of ozone mixed with old books and burnt silicon told stories of better-funded days long past. The dim hum of aging servers mixed with distant bird calls outside, a strange harmony of nature and technology.
Elian taught, wrote papers that few read, and peer-reviewed work that even fewer cared about. And every so often, he'd have a thought so advanced it made his own head ache — a reminder that his brain was wired to think too far ahead of everyone else.
Then he remembered: he earned less than a mediocre YouTuber who reviewed glue.
Mornings with Elian
His alarm buzzed sharply at 6:00 AM. Elian lay flat on his back, staring at his cracked ceiling, contemplating mortality, the heat death of the universe, and whether claiming food poisoning would get him out of work today.
His apartment was cramped and functional, walls lined with whiteboards filled with half-erased equations and doodles of cats wearing lab goggles — the unofficial lab mascot.
He shuffled to the kitchen and brewed coffee so strong it could wake the dead. The aroma filled the small room, briefly distracting him from existential dread.
On his main whiteboard, sticky notes waged a passive-aggressive war against complex equations:
"Remind lab techs not to microwave fish again."
"Buy more caffeine. Or invent a better molecule."
"Figure out why BCI simulation keeps hallucinating cats."
Showered and dressed in his usual uniform — a faded gray hoodie and jeans combo that hadn't changed since 2013 — Elian grabbed his backpack and left his apartment exactly 22 minutes late.
Enter Jenna
Jenna Li leaned casually against a locker in the hallway, her sleek black hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed as she moved. Her almond-shaped eyes, a piercing jade green, seemed to flicker with constant curiosity—and just the right amount of mischief. She had a lithe, athletic build honed from weekend hikes and a secret obsession with rock climbing, giving her a quiet strength that contrasted perfectly with her sharp wit.
Her skin was a smooth, warm olive tone, and her smile—when it appeared—was a rare but dazzling thing, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Jenna had a habit of wearing practical clothes with a splash of rebellion: today it was ripped black jeans paired with a vintage band tee, layered under a worn leather jacket she'd probably had since college.
Known around campus as the youngest AI behaviorist with a mind as sharp as her tongue, Jenna was infamous for crushing grown men in StarCraft tournaments while simultaneously debating ethics in machine learning. A natural leader who didn't suffer fools gladly, she was Elian's perfect foil: quick, fearless, and never afraid to call him out.
"Late again, Rho?" she teased, raising a brow as she sipped from a suspiciously expensive thermos.
Does this fit the vibe you want for Jenna? Want me to tweak or expand anything else?
"Time's a social construct," Elian replied, smirking. "Also, the bus broke. Then the driver had an existential crisis. I had to buy him a donut."
"You bought a man a donut to cure nihilism?"
"I'm an optimist."
She grinned, unimpressed. "Coffee's still garbage. I filed a complaint."
"They'll ignore it. Again. We're stuck in a Kafka loop. I've accepted it."
"Of course you have," she said, shaking her head. "You're practically married to despair."
"I flirt with hope occasionally."
"Slut."
He smirked. Jenna was the only reason he still showed up early some days — even if early meant before lunch.
Broken Things and Bright Sparks
The AI lab itself was a chaotic blend of high-tech and decrepit. Today's surprise: the main transformer had fried during a routine power test. The servers were down, half the campus had no internet, and panic was setting in like a bad virus.
Elian, naturally, was calm.
"This is fine," he muttered, stepping carefully over a pile of smoking circuit boards and cables. "Just another Monday."
"Hey," Jenna called from across the lab, waving her thermos. "Wanna help me not die of boredom while IT does their ritualistic dance?"
"I charge by the minute."
"I'll pay in sarcasm."
"Sold."
Aftermath
They sat cross-legged on the cold floor, nursing lukewarm coffee from chipped mugs and picking at a half-eaten packet of emergency cookies.
They talked about the latest AI simulation experiment that kept glitching — one that bizarrely insisted on worshipping a pizza deity. They debated AI ethics and the strange behaviors emerging from complex algorithms.
For a brief moment, Elian let himself relax.
"Y'know," Jenna said, poking at her thermos, "sometimes I wonder if we're on the edge of something huge. Like we're close, but too stupid to see it."
Elian blinked. "That's disturbingly accurate."
"Maybe we need a cosmic nudge."
He chuckled softly. "Knowing our luck, it'd be an error message."
They sipped quietly, neither noticing the faint, low hum rising from the power core beneath the server racks.
Nor the shimmer of something unexplainable flickering into existence — slow, subtle, unstoppable.
Elsewhere
Far beyond all human comprehension, in a place where time, space, and sanity blurred beyond recognition, trillions of bored, godlike entities leaned forward in their infinite seats.
"Here we go…"
"Place your bets — nervous breakdown or breakthrough first?"
"I'm rooting for awkward romance subplot."
"Shut up and pass the popcorn."