What is the point if we die in the end? Everything is just chance plus matter plus time. Nothing we do matters and nothing that happens to us matters. No purpose in it at all. So why do we continue?

— AL

King’s Cross University, located on a hill in the charming Northern English town of Little Lee, wasn’t the nation’s biggest or most beautiful university. However, its gorgeous lush lawns, ancient architecture and sculptures maintained for generations, gave the campus a regal feel. It was also the only place that would hire him, and that was only due to his relationship with the vice-chancellor, who was like a father to him. King’s Cross wasn’t Al’s first choice, particularly because of how connected the school was to the church, but breaking the nose of your head of department in a fit of rage at one of the top universities in the world left him with few options. And so, against his preference, he found himself back at King’s Cross.

Al surveyed the rows of seats that formed a half circle around him, each row elevated above the one before it. He turned his head, observing the pitiful undergrads that filled the class. Bright lights in the lecture room seemed to highlight every confused twitch and furrowed brow, causing a spike of concern to drill into his temples like tiny needles. If it weren’t for a few students who actually bothered to practice or read, this would be a complete waste of his time.

With a sigh, Al held out the white chalk and shook his head. This blackboard could have been replaced with a more modern whiteboard, or one of those new smart boards. Still, there was something satisfying about the feel of the chalk as it left drops of wisdom on the flat surface. He smiled at the chalk after writing another hint on the board, then turned to survey the group. They seemed even more confused.

Al adjusted the mic on his shirt.

Disgraceful.

More than forty second-year students sat before him, yet not a single one appeared capable of deciphering a simple cryptographic algorithm with shifting patterns in a recursive structure. It was very basic stuff. They gaped in wonder as though some cryptic alien script was written on the board. A numbskull raised her hand. “Pr-Pro-Professor,” the blue-haired student stuttered, “the base case would have to be determined before…”

“Rubbish!” Al yelled. He shook his head. Yes, they were undergrads, but still, this was high school stuff, was it not?

Hope dwindled from the eyes of the bewildered ignoramuses with half-raised hands. Al rubbed his temples. “Oh my,” he whispered to himself. “The immense lethargy of the undergraduate mind never ceases to amaze me. Have I been wasting my time the entire semester?”

“Sir,” another student said.

“What is it?”

“You know we can hear you right?”

He looked down. The mic was still on. Despondent eyes regarded him, the students’ dejected expressions seemed to question every life choice that led them to this point.

“Good, maybe now you’ll actually do some work!”

Two students promptly got up and left, while the others shifted uneasily in their seats.

“Professor!” A student shouted. “This is madness. We can’t solve the problem—big deal, I get it, but to discourage us like—”

“Who are you calling mad!” Al shouted, stepping forward.

The student’s eyes darted around the room, a puzzled look on his face. Al repeated the question, his teeth clenched and fists tightened. No one here could hold a candle to his brilliant mind, and yet this halfwit undergrad dared to imply that he was unstable. Al stepped from behind the lectern, moving closer to the rows.

“Who are you calling mad?” Al’s voice boomed throughout the lecture theatre.

The student spread his arms in confusion and looked around at the others. He opened his mouth to speak, but Al cut in first, pointing at the board.

“You think I am mad?” he said in a soft voice. “I’ll show you madness.”

Al strode back to the blackboard with purposeful steps, picked up the chalk and scrawled out a new problem in bold, confident letters. As he stood back to survey his work, he could hear grumbles and mutters from the rows behind him. Only one student dared to speak up, the same dim-witted student who had been causing trouble all semester.

“Sir, this isn’t fair, we—”

Al spread his arms to the side. “And such is life,” he said. A cynical smile transformed his features as he assessed the room. Fearful eyes regarded him.

Such is life, young fools, such is life.

The job of an educator was not only to provide academic knowledge, but also to teach practical life lessons in a controlled environment. They couldn’t see it now, but this was for their benefit.

“Come on man,” another student protested. “We should have at least been given some hope of understanding the problem, but this—”

Al’s smile twisted into a mocking grin. “Listen to me, young man,” he said in a steady voice. “Hope is for fools. In this unpredictable universe of randomly occurring events, depending on hope is like typing random words on a computer and expecting a functional software to emerge. That, my young friend, is what we call lunacy. Lift yourself from that inferior mindset and trust only in your ability to shape the world around you. Otherwise, life will devour you and your hope, leaving nothing but an empty husk of bitterness in its wake.”

“Is that what happened to you?” the dimwit asked. The class went silent for a moment, expecting another outburst, but Al would not be manipulated by an undergrad.

He took his time to respond, his arms folded as he eyed the smart-mouth imbecile.

“Listen,” Al said, checking his watch, “class will end in approximately forty-seven point three two seconds. If you cannot solve this problem before our next interaction, don’t bother showing up.

The corners of his lips curled upward in a sly smile. “Oh, and this is worth five percent of your final grade. You better solve this problem or die trying.” With that, he left.

He couldn’t help but be struck by the beauty of King’s Cross University. The ancient hallway stretched out before him, leading to a lush open space with well-manicured grass. The high arched ceilings, adorned with intricate patterns, gave the halls a sense of character and history. The walls themselves seemed to radiate a sense of knowledge and prestige, imbuing the entire campus with an air of sophistication and importance.

Al found himself unable to suppress a smile as he thought about the petrified expressions and quivering lips of his students after his last comment. If he hadn’t sprinted out the door, he would have succumbed to the sheer pleasure of watching their humiliated faces. The gall of those twits to call him mad! Seeing them fail his course could not bring him more pleasure. Al’s face grew grim at the thought.

His gator-studded shoes clicked against sparkling tiles as he glided along in his brown knee-length coat—it was a perfect fit for his spindly frame. A distinct cadence marked his steps, causing both students and staff alike to give way at the mere sound of his approach.Their bodies made way even before heads turned to regard him.

Now I can get back to my real work.

“Jessica,” he called, raising his watch to his mouth. A blue sphere sprang to light on his watch.

“Yes Boss,” the AI replied.

“Can you believe these students?”

“Boss,” Jessica said, “I cannot believe anything, my thoughts and actions are based on empirical facts and probabilistic models. If you want me to—”

“Come on Jessica. You know what I mean.”

“Well, in that sense, no, I cannot believe them. I was able to solve that problem within one point three-two seconds even though I am only three years old.”

Al chuckled. “Exactly,” he said. “Anyway, what’s the state of the network?”

The blue sphere on his watch pulsated as the AI gathered information from the network. Waves of blue light rippled out from its center. After two seconds, a chime sounded from his wrist.

“The base classifiers are all in place and are functioning correctly,” Jessica said. “However, the training protocols are reporting less than optimal results for the newly implemented models.”

Al tilted his head. “Explain.”

“They are not converging at their global minimum,” Jessica said.

“What activation function are they using?”

“Sigmoid,” Jessica replied.

“Try ReLU.”

“Will do,” she said. “Anything else Boss?”

“No.”

Al was vaguely aware of students who called out to him, nodding and waving, but he strode along without a second glance. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but engaging in insignificant social interactions was a colossal waste of his energy. His body could only produce so much adenosine triphosphate each day, best not to waste a single joule of energy.

Al’s steps slowed as he passed the janitor, Mr Hicks, who had been scrubbing those floor tiles since before Al was an undergrad. The short, stocky man smiled and waved at Al, quickly moving to give him passage. Al returned a subtle nod, and that seemed to brighten the man’s appearance. Mr. Hicks sheepishly grinned, averting his eyes from Al’s. Al shook his head and continued. Mr. Hicks was more than twice his age and still bobbed and nodded at everyone he saw. This shouldn’t anger Al, but for some reason, it did. Meaningless. Mr. Hicks was wasting his life and mind through fear and complacency. Still, maybe such a pitiful existence would be more desirable than living life with a cursed brain.

“Professor,” a voice said.

Al noticed James walking toward him and gave him a quizzical look. He tried to recall if he was supposed to be meeting with him again. Al was less than eager to continue their earlier conversation. If only church people channelled their relentless attitude into something useful, the sky would be the limit.

“James,” Al replied. “What are you doing on this side of campus? You might feel a bit out of place. We have no test tubes here.”

Professor James chuckled, and Al squinted in annoyance. Church people always seemed to find something to laugh about, even when there was nothing particularly funny. It was insufferable, but Al tried not to allow the raging blackness of his reality to cause him to despise the joy of others. However, the persistent ebullience of these “Spirit-led” people often triggered an inappropriate response in him. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stay calm.

“Surprisingly,” James said, “I don’t feel as awkward as I thought I would. Just now I heard some students speaking English. I thought you guys only spoke in zeros and ones.”

Al assumed that James’ response was intended to be a joke, as evidenced by his expectant grin. He smirked and obliged with a chuckle, because he respected James as a friend and an intellectual equal. It was the least he could do.

Some students passed by, intentionally giving the two men a wide berth. Al couldn’t help but wonder if that was due to his reputation, or perhaps the awkward shape his face took when he tried to smile these days.

“That was a good one,” Al lied, his face remaining flat.

James’ mirth petered out, which pleased Al. He was relieved to see a serious expression on his friend’s face. As they walked toward Al’s office, they passed a group of students who were blabbering and laughing loudly. Simple-minded fools. Their furtive eyes bounced between James and Al as they quickly moved to allow them to pass. Al regarded the students’ palpable glee and obliviousness to the world around them with disgust.

He fished in his coat pocket for the key to his office door.

“Wilfred?” James said, and Al turned to see his colleague fast approaching.

“What a coincidence,” James continued, “I had no idea you would be here at this specific point in time.”

Al narrowed his eyes at James, realizing it was a set-up. James shrugged and pointed to the shorter man, who wore a wide smile on his face. The only thing worse than imbeciles smiling for no apparent reason, was imbeciles smiling for no apparent reason while looking at him. He should have seen this coming. James called for backup. Again.

Al shook his head and pushed into his office, ignoring the two misguided academics outside, who seemed devoted to annoying him.

“Come on Al,” Wilfred said. “You know we only want what’s best for you.”

Al had no doubt that they believed their idea was best. The conflict was with their outdated perspective. Pouring out his feelings to a man of the cloth while sobbing helplessly at the altar like a love-sick school girl who gets dumped on prom night, might have offered some consolation eons ago. But now, Al couldn’t relate to that person.

Al’s office was a testament to his love for organization and efficiency. The walls were lined with shelves of neatly arranged books and papers, each with its designated spot. A sleek and modern computer sat on the desk, surrounded by various gadgets and devices designed to streamline his work. The desk itself was a model of tidiness, with everything in its place and no clutter in sight. A single window allowed in a soft, natural light that illuminated the room, giving it a warm and welcoming feel. The only personal touch was a small plant on the windowsill, adding a hint of greenery to the otherwise sterile space. Hence, the object adjacent to the wireless keyboard struck Al as not just misplaced, but rather peculiar.

“What’s this?” Al asked, taking the black knight chess piece in hand.

“How should I know?” James said, “It’s your office.”

Al turned the knight over in his hand, “I don’t own a chessboard. It’s been years since… what’s that?” He held the knight up for closer inspection, trying to identify the red substance around its base. “Paint?”

“It’s just a prank from your students,” Wilfred said, waving a hand.

Al turned it over, “It has a QR code on the bottom.”

“Ha!” James laughed. “This is clearly a game. It has all the markings of a sophomore prank.”

Wilfred stroked his smooth chin, voicing the question that had been puzzling Al, “But how did they get in here?”

James settled into a guest chair with a nonchalant shrug. “Let’s humor them,” he mused. “They did go to great lengths, after all.”

Al turned the knight over in his hand, an ominous tension rising in his chest. He stared at the QR code for a moment as if trying to decode it with his mind. With a resigned shake of his head, he scanned the code with his phone and watched with narrowed eyes as the webpage loaded. The stark contrast between the black background and the bright red letters of the word “DEATH” immediately caught his attention. His brow furrowed upon seeing the timer’s dwindling numbers, yet he dismissed the unease with a subtle shake of his head.

“Whoever designed this only has basic web design skills,” Al observed.

“What is the timer for?” James asked.

Al shrugged.

The timer counted down, 14-13-12…

Al tossed the knight to the side. “That was a waste of our time. Now, what do you two want…”

Screams erupted from outside, followed by the sound of feet scampering past the door and students shouting in the hall. The professors exchanged a look, then ran to the door, scanning the hallway for the source of the commotion. They could hear more screams and the sound of panicked footsteps running past. James grabbed one of the passing undergrads.

“Young lad, what is happening? What is causing all this chaos?” James asked.

“Girl—roof—ground,” the boy said, straightening his glasses and trying to catch his breath.

“What?” James asked as another pack of bewildered undergrads dashed past.

The boy pointed to the end of the hall where a crowd had gathered near the faculty building. James and Wilfred hurried toward the crowd ahead of Al.

If this was just another undergrad’s prank, Al thought, his long, even steps carrying him toward the crowd. He would muster every ounce of his academic and intellectual prowess to ensure that all the dim-wits involved would thank the heavens if they managed to secure a position at Starbucks once he was finished with them.

Al waded through a sea of undergrads, parting one row of students after another, each one’s terrified eyes mirroring the other’s. Several girls sobbed into the necks of their friends, their wails muffled. Al scowled at a few students who were snapping pictures and recording videos.

Al’s temples thumped as he moved. He came to a halt when he reached the center of the commotion. He saw her feet first: one with a strappy sandal tied around her ankle, the other foot, bare. The girl’s mangled body lay lifeless on the concrete. He didn’t need to see the pool of blood around her head to know she was dead. His knees threatened to give way, but he locked them in place and stood.

Images from that night flooded his mind. He could smell her charred body. Al shook his head, forcing his mind to remain in the present. Someone had loved this girl, someone had cared, and now she was gone. It was the dark reality of this meaningless life. His breath caught and his stomach churned as recognition settled in. She was in his class earlier, he allowed the thought to take root. The bitter bile of his morning meal threatened to resurface. She had tried to answer, she wanted to contribute, but he shut her down even before she could form her response.

Al stood, his hands clenched tight at his sides. The student’s body lay contorted, eyes wide, staring up at him. Quickly looking away from the grim sight, he addressed the surrounding students in a low voice. “What happened?” he asked in a calm voice. Several disturbed faces stared back at him.

“She died,” said one of the fools.

“Obviously!” Al snapped, then took a deep breath.

“S-Sh-She…jumped,” another student responded.

“Madness,” Al whispered. “Why?” His heart thumped, and a sharp pain shot across his forehead. He pressed two fingers to both sides of his temples, rubbing in a circular motion, and the pain subsided, somewhat. He exhaled through his mouth, relieved that it wasn’t another seizure.

“Al, James,” Wilfred called, pointing at the ground a few paces away from the body. “You two need to see this.”

Al felt an uneasiness in the air as he moved toward Wilfred. It felt like his reality was about to be upended for no apparent reason, again! He met Wilfred’s eyes and followed the man’s gaze to the floor. Al’s chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe. A heavy pressure settled against his ribs, making it hard to swallow as he read the name the student wrote in blood.

Alphonso.