Meaningless, all is meaningless, says the teacher. Indeed, we continue to debate the purpose of life from time to time, yet these gentlemen are as dull as ever. And as for Deathbringer, he seems eager to bring an end to all things, even us.

— Val

Al sat with his arms folded in the dim conference room, thin strands of sunlight peeking through the nearly closed blinds. In the dim illumination, shadows whispered across the faces of the seven board members. They sat around a dark wooden table that seemed to stretch on endlessly, a silent testament to the gravitas of their gathering. They scrutinized him with cold, silent stares. He couldn’t completely fault them, they were likely just frightened. Al recognized that these high-society individuals cared more about the impact of the incident on their social standing than genuinely mourning the loss of the young woman.

Al leaned back in his chair, unfazed by the ominous ambiance that intensified the feeling of sitting in a tribunal. It was a cheap psychological trick designed to intimidate him; he almost laughed. They’d have better luck trying to intimidate a dragon with a butterfly’s wings. He had stared into the face of death, walked the streets of despair, and lived in the pits of darkness. Yet, here he was, alive and in his right mind, unscathed by life’s adversities, despite the universe’s deliberate attempts to plunge him into obscurity.

Dr. Kristen, the petite-framed woman from geology, cleared her throat and leaned forward. Her thick-rimmed glasses balanced on the tip of her crooked nose as she spoke. “Okay,” she began, her tone ripe with condescension. “Listen, Dr. Alphonso, we—”

“Professor,” Al said in a low, calm voice. “It is Professor Alphonso.”

Dr. Kristen raised a supercilious eyebrow, and the others eyed Al with patent disdain. Why should he care what these second-rate academics thought? These power-hungry, pseudo-academics had made little significant contribution to their respective fields in the past ten years. Nevertheless, he needed the University’s resources, so he had to at least try to play along. Al had to admit that they held his academic future in their woefully incapable hands.

Professor Emmerson chuckled. “Well,” he said, “that’s what I call marking your territory.”

Dr. Kristen gave him a sidelong glance. Emmerson, carefree as usual, was once a respected scholar, but his constant attempts at humour seemed to always come at the wrong time.

“Emmerson,” the vice-chancellor said sternly, “this is serious.” The vice-chancellor, Kyson, sat at the center of the group of seven, his gaze fixed on Al. Because of his position, Kyson held the final say on what happened. He rested his elbows on the table and stroked his greying beard, what was left of it at least. The old man was probably the only respected one among them. Having mentored Al during undergrad and encouraged his research, Kyson was even the reason why Al met Elizabeth. Al trusted that this old man would not show favoritism, but he would ensure that the truth was sought and that the right thing was done.

“A student died because of you, Professor Alphonso,” Kyson said. “And if this is what they had to deal with…”

“Professor Kyson,” Al said softly. He paused, closing his eyes before continuing. A normal person in his situation might have been nervous and concerned about their career and future, but Al didn’t care. His only struggle was having to sit through this crap. It took all the self-control he could muster, not to get up and leave.

My dear man, you need their resources. So behave.

Al sighed and obeyed. “She… killed herself,” he said. “Tragic, yes, but I fail to see how her death is attributed to me.”

“That is not what we are suggesting,” Emmerson said.

Why was this clown here? Al thought.

“So why exactly am I being suspended?” Al asked.

Professor Kyson spoke in a calm, yet strong tone as if he had not been interrupted. “Did you or did you not tell the students not to come back to class if they could not solve the problem?”

Al rubbed his eyes, struggling to conceal his growing irritation. “We say things like that all the time, if—”

“Speak for yourself,” Dr. Kristen snapped. “You seem to think that your work is more valuable than—”

She was cut off by Kyson’s raised hand.

“Al,” Kyson said, clasping his hands before him on the table, “she wrote your name in her blood. The only reason you are here and not at the police station is because the police ruled it a suicide. But we have to think about our students’ well-being and if a member of staff—”

“Professor Kyson,” Al said, leaning forward. “Isn’t that strange?”

Kyson cocked an eyebrow, appearing displeased at being interrupted yet again.

“It is highly unlikely that she could have written my name after she jumped, and it’s also highly improbable that she could have done it before. Where would she have gotten the blood?” Al shook his head, wondering why he had to state the obvious to everyone.

Professor Kyson sighed and observed the other members. He leaned back and laced his fingers before him. “We thought about that,” he said, “but that is for the police to investigate. Our concern is whether you pose a threat to the mental health of our students?”

“Do you expect me to bear the burden of an emotionally unstable teenage girl’s mental state?”

Kyson sighed before continuing, “We have received reports from both students and staff, Al. Did you say this to the students at the end of class?” He took a sheet of paper from Dr. Emmerson. “You all better solve this problem or die trying.”

Professor Al cupped his forehead. “This is a colossal waste of time,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Kristen asked, ears cocked.

“You may leave,” Al replied.

Al felt a sense of satisfaction as he noticed the anger in Kristen’s eyes. Her mouth worked as if to respond but Kyson silenced her with another raised hand.

Al decided that this had dragged on for too long and wanted to address what was important to him. He asked, “Will I still have access to the university servers to continue my work during my suspension?” The board members looked at Kyson, and he nodded.

Good! That’s all that mattered.

“Yes,” Dr. Kristen said, “but you will agree to a no-pay leave—”

“Then we are done here,” Al said, disregarding Dr. Kristen’s comment. He rose and left the room.

“Professor Al!” Dr. Kristen shouted, “Professor Alphonso Valentino Green, I—”

The conference room door thumped satisfyingly behind Al, cutting off that raging lunatic. If he had known that he would still have access to the resources he needed to continue his work, he would have been out in five minutes rather than an hour. What a waste of time.

Al descended the steps of the central building, a place where academics went to die. It was one of the more modern buildings on the compound. It had no stained glass windows, no spires, no character, no life—just plain glass and concrete.

As Al exited the building, he was greeted by James.

“How was it?” James asked.

“Jessica,” Al called to his watch. “How many joules of energy did I just waste?”

James snickered. “That bad, huh?”

Al nodded.

“Nearly half of your daily supply has been depleted,” the AI replied. “I recommend being more prudent with your daily energy levels, Boss. At this rate, you will have no time to work on the network this afternoon.”

As they made their way toward the parking lot Al paused, turning his attention to the part of the university that really mattered. He was struck by the beauty of King’s Cross University. The high arched ceilings, adorned with intricate and ancient patterns, gave the halls a sense of character and history. Maybe he would miss this place after all. He paused, arms folded, taking in the park.

Founders Park, the verdant heart of the university, was a sprawling expanse of manicured lawns and landscaped gardens. The grass gleamed a vivid shade of emerald, kissed by the morning dew and perfectly maintained, offering a stark contrast to the grey, imposing buildings surrounding it. Ancient oaks and maples stretched their boughs toward the sky, their leaves rustling with secrets whispered through decades of academia.

Al shook his head, a rather beautiful day marred by a complete waste of his brilliant mind.

“James,” Al said, stopping by his car. “I need a favour.”

“What’s that?”

Al produced the paint-stained knight from his coat pocket. “Find out what you can about the paint on this chess piece.”

James raised an eyebrow and examined the knight.

“What’s the matter?” Al asked.

“Isn’t this evidence?”

Al shrugged, “It might be, but it’s worth much more in our hands.” He did not want to give James’ conscience time to work so, without waiting for a response, Al nodded in thanks and stepped into his Tesla.

***

Al pulled into his driveway which was paved with smooth, glossy black asphalt, and was bordered by perfectly trimmed hedges. Intricate swirling patterns made of small, shimmering white stones adorned the driveway, and the orange glow of the setting sun cast reflections on the surrounding shrubs.

As Al got out of his car, he noticed his neighbour, Mr. Darcy, once again watering his God-forsaken patch of grass, which he referred to as a lawn—utterly useless. Then again, Mr. Darcy appeared more invested in keeping an eye on everyone’s houses than on the actual state of his lawn. In this quiet neighbourhood, people kept to themselves, but this man seemed not to understand that. At that moment, Mr. Darcy didn’t wave or acknowledge Al’s presence as he got out of the car. It struck Al as odd, yet he found himself preferring this version of Darcy.

It took nearly two months of ignoring the man’s incessant attempts at inconsequential small talk for him to finally get the message. It seemed even lesser minds could learn…eventually.

Al climbed the steps to the front door of his four-bedroom house, which had long ceased to be a home. Nevertheless, it was a masterpiece of modern architecture with clean lines and oversized windows that gave it a sophisticated yet homely vibe. The wooden overlay and industrial metals gave the house a sleek and inspiring appearance, making it the envy of the neighbours. Indeed, anyone passing by would inevitably slow down just to admire its beauty, and the more ambitious would even dream of owning a house like it someday. Regrettably, they would soon come to realize their aspirations were pointless and be engulfed by the futility of their existence as they drove away.

As breathtaking as the house was, Al realized that it was still missing something vital. A twinge of sorrow hit him upon seeing the familiar red heels on the mat outside—her heels. She always left them there. He pondered the reason, a wistful smile on his face as he picked them up and brought them inside.

The soft hum of the air conditioning units and the servers’ low purr sent a relaxing chill down his spine. Or was that just the cold? The servers for the network required constant cooling, so the AC units worked overtime. It was no surprise that guests opted to keep their jackets on while inside, but Al no longer entertained guests. As he reached for a coat on the rack beside the front door, his hands brushed against her pink sweater.

It’s still here.

Did he expect it to be gone? Maybe he hoped to come home one day and not see it, or better yet, to see her wearing it. He shook his head, trying to regain control of his thoughts. “Come on” he said to himself, “these thoughts are not indicative of someone who possesses a superior mind!”

The inside of the house was just as meticulously organized and symmetrical as the outside. The server racks and ten-gigabit ethernet cables pulled taut for maximum aesthetics, ran from room to room, in clearly structured color coded paths. Al retrieved a cold drink from his refrigerator, which had been installed so as to blend in with the columns of his kitchen walls.

“Welcome home, Boss,” Jessica said.

“Hi, Jessica,” Al replied as he headed out of the kitchen, his drink in hand.

“Boss, do you want me to commence the daily update report?” Jessica asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Okay, the local servers are doing fine, automatic training protocols are reporting more acceptable models…”

Al paused in the hall, his gaze fixed on the staircase as the AI’s voice faded. Thoughts of two, maybe three young Als scaling these stairs at lightning speed, wreaking havoc on electrical appliances and knocking out the power grid with their homebuilt reactors filled his mind. He could almost hear his wife calling him in to deal with the little mad geniuses—no, not mad, but magnificent geniuses. Al imagined himself putting on a show for his wife, wagging his finger and adopting a disapproving fatherly tone when she complained about the boys. But deep down, he knew he would later on praise them for their brilliance. Al smiled at that thought and then caught himself, reminding himself that superior minds should not indulge in fantasies.

He shook his head as he ascended the stairs. What was the use anyway? They would simply grow up and eventually perish. Perhaps it was for the best that they were never born. Then again, statistically speaking, he would die before them so he wouldn’t have to endure the pain of losing a child. That realization offered no consolation to Al. The image of the student’s mangled corpse flashed vividly in his mind. Al forcefully pushed the disturbing image aside, refusing to let it take root in his mind.

However, he couldn’t stop the images of his wife’s charred corpse from intruding on his thoughts. What really is the point if we simply die in the end? Why not just die right now? His dreams had been snatched from him by unknown assailants with unfathomable motives. Perhaps there really was no meaning to this existence. Whether it happened today or tomorrow, the inevitable fate of death awaited everyone. One thing was clear in Al’s determined mind: he would not rest until he found those despicable individuals responsible for his suffering. He vowed to personally ensure that they would deeply regret the day they entered this world.

“External threat detected,” Jessica said. “External threat detected. The network will self-destruct in five, four, three…”

“Jessica?” Al shouted, “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” the AI replied, “so you are listening.”

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked.

“I was just checking to make sure you were all right,” she said. “You were not responding. Boss, you do recall that I do not possess the means by which to see my surroundings. Therefore, I can only—”

“I know,” Al said, “but where did you get the idea to fake a threat?”

“Oh, my personality unit,” she said. “It possesses a number of protocols I rarely get the opportunity to use. I chose one at random. What is the matter, do you want me to delete it?”

What personality unit? Al thought. Oh, that’s the part Elizabeth worked on.

Al ascended the stairs, a lingering smile on his face, amazed by Elizabeth’s enduring ability to surprise him.

Pausing at the console table in the hallway outside the master bedroom, he picked up the little wooden boat with its gaudy blue and yellow sail. It was a memento from their honeymoon in Italy. Elizabeth was the one who had made the purchase from a street vendor. The boat seemed out of place next to the wrought, iron candle holder set they had received as a wedding gift. Remarkably, the three-piece stand was one of the few items that had survived the fire. Everything else in the house had been meticulously replicated to mirror its pre-fire state. Al carefully returned the boat to its original spot, just as Elizabeth had left it. It didn’t matter that he had actually acquired this particular boat from an online business; everything was exactly as it had been before that fateful night. He dismissed the comment made by the interior designer he had hired to restore the house precisely as it had been. “I am not mad,” he said, assuring himself, though his legs grew weak as his mind became consumed by vivid memories of her. He took in slow, steady breaths to steady himself before heading to his room.

He examined the closet that was once dominated by her clothes, shoes, and makeup.

“Boss, should I delete it?” Jessica asked.

“Delete what?”

“The personality protocol.”

“No…No,” Al said, “remain as is.”

“Should I continue with the report?”

Al wearily made his way to the bed, finding himself unable to stand upright. “Not now Jessica, maybe later,” he mumbled as he plopped down on the king-sized bed. “Maybe I did spend too much energy on those pseudo-scholars.”

Hands folded behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. “Jessica,” Al called.

“Yes Boss,” the AI answered.

He had thought to have her call him father, but that would be weird, as if calling her Jessica wasn’t bad enough.

“Jessica,” Al said, “a student…died yesterday.”

There was a brief moment of silence, accompanied by soft sounds playing like gentle bells ringing as the AI processed the information. Finally, the AI responded, “Student death reports have significantly increased over the past seven years, rising from 18.8 percent to…”

“Jessica,” Al said in a calm voice.

“Yes Boss,” she answered in her usual mechanical tone.

“Stop talking.”

“Yes Boss,” the AI replied obediently.

Al closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.