We were all born as lesser men. That does not mean we must remain less.

— Al

The tinkling chimes of his phone’s ringtone gently reached his ears, disrupting his brief nap. The phone’s vibration was dampened by the pillow it was nestled under, but it was enough to rouse him from his slumber. Al groggily pushed himself up to a seated position, his hands instinctively reaching to rub his temples, attempting to dispel the fog of sleep from his mind.

“Hello,” Al answered, his voice groggy.

“Al?” James exclaimed in an urgent tone, his breathing heavy. In the background, the unmistakable hum of machinery from the vibrations of a centrifuge filled the air.

“Yes, James,” Al answered. “What is it?” He sat up, the memory foam mattress adjusting beneath him. “Are you still at the lab?”

“Yes,” James said. “And I checked the paint on the chess piece.” He spoke in between quick gasps, as if he’d been running.

“And?”

“It wasn’t painted, Al,” James said.

“Then what is it?” Al stood up from the bed, refusing to make assumptions without proper evidence. Such uncalculated assumptions were for those with lesser minds.

“Blood,” James replied, his voice filled with gravity. “Human blood.”

Al shook his head, “I am not that surprised. I had hoped it was painted, maybe then we—”

“Al,” James cut in softly, still sounding slightly out of breath. “That is not all,” he continued. “I know whose blood it is.”

Al stood in silence, his heart pounding against his chest, each beat reverberating in his ears like a detonating bomb. He gripped his chest, taking slow, deep breaths. His teeth were clenched and he tightly balled his freehand into a fist, the sharp edges of his nails digging into his palms. Al fought not to assume the worst, but the silence was agonizing. If this was the student’s blood, no doubt they would think I had something to do with her death. “Well, come on, James!” Al snapped finally. “What’s with the suspense?”

“It’s Elizabeth’s,” James said.

Al’s entire body went numb, a cold sensation creeping down his spine. Against his will, he felt paralyzed, unable to move or respond.

“Al,” James called again, “are you there?”

“Are you sure, James?” Al asked, trying to regain composure. He took a few restless steps across the room as his thoughts ran rampant.

“Al, I ran the sample more than once. I know what I am doing. It’s hers.”

“Run it again,” Al said firmly.

“I am running it right now,” James replied.

“That’s… impossible,” Al whispered, the word falling flat.

“Well, that’s what it says,” James responded. “You know the facilities at my lab are the best. If it were anywhere else I would have doubts about…”

Knocks on the door downstairs startled Al, causing him to jump. He shot a curious glance toward the stairs. None of his neighbours would be so audacious. He didn’t entertain visitors, and his family had no idea where he lived, nor did they care to know. Al chose to ignore the knocking.

“Al, you there?” 

“Yes,” Al said after a pause.

James sighed. “You’re not going to want to hear this but, I think we need to get the authorities—”

“No,” Al snapped. “The magnitude of their incompetence will prove detrimental to our progress.” Al cupped his forehead and resumed his pacing across the room.

Elizabeth’s blood? Al allowed the thought to echo in his mind. How was that possible?

“James!” Al shouted, his voice urgent.

“Yes.”

“Can a person’s blood be synthesized?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can someone create an exact replica of another person’s blood?”

“No,” James said, sounding incredulous. “That’s impossible. The physical properties of blood cannot be replicated. This is Elizabeth Green’s blood, Al. I know, it makes no sense. I almost began to question my abilities….”

“But how?” Al asked. “That would mean—”

The knocking on the door started again, a loud incessant pounding.

“James,” Al hesitated. “I’ll call you back,” he said, ending the call.

Al moved toward the front door, armed with his powerful AI. “Jessica,” Al whispered into his watch. She couldn’t see but she could “feel” if the person at the door had any electronic devices.

“Yes Boss,” the AI responded.

“There is someone at the door, do they have any device on them?”

“Yes, a phone,” Jessica replied. “Do you want me to peruse its contents?”

“No,” Al said. “Call it.”

The blue light on his watch pulsed and a circular ring appeared, rippling to the beat of the ringer. The knocking ceased.

“Hello,” a high-pitched voice said through Al’s watch.

“What do you want?” Al demanded, addressing the unidentified female.

“Uhm...you called my phone, Weirdo! If Dalmain put you up to this tell him—”

“You’re at my front door!”

“What?”

“Why are you knocking on my door?” Al asked, his irritation evident in his tone.

“Oh...” the woman seemed taken aback, letting out an embarrassed giggle before stumbling over her words. “I was in the neighbourhood and got turned around. I just want—”

“Go next door for directions,” Al said impatiently.

“Oh, come on, Sir, these heels were not meant for walking. Though they are made for dancing—”

Al disconnected the call.

He inched closer to the door and checked the integrated digital display that provided a live feed from the door’s external camera. A slender brunette stood outside, wearing a green dress that seemed to be a size too small, even for her slender frame.

“Hello?” the woman called in a slightly whiny voice.

He pressed a finger to his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

“Listen,” Al said, opening the door, “I don’t have time for your childish antics. If you are lost, go somewhere else.” He gave her a quick once-over, “I am sure the bachelor that lives in his mother’s basement next door would be more than happy to assist any damsel in distress.”

Before he could close the door, two men emerged from behind the columns, while the woman quickly produced a microphone from only God knows where.

“Professor Alphonso,” the woman said as the cameramen shoved their oversized lenses in his face. “I am Rebecca from Channel Ten news. A student died recently as a direct result of your—”

“Leave!” Al shouted.

“I just have some questions, if—”

“Leave! Or I am calling the cops!”

But the woman simply smiled. “Professor,” she continued as if he had just paid her a compliment. “Do you believe your words drove the student to her death? Do you regret what you said?”

The woman’s face widened with a satisfied grin before continuing her baseless accusations.

“Some students think you are unstable. Mentally unstable!” Rebecca shouted, with the cameraman to Al's left only inches away from his face.

Unlike lesser minds, Al typically contemplated things through to the end before taking action. However, this time an impulse nearly overcame him. His initial thought was to snatch the cameraman’s camera and forcefully lodge it down his throat, but he decided not to follow through on that thought.

“Jessica,” Al said.

“Yes Boss,” the AI replied.

“Commandeer their devices.”

“Are you getting this?” Rebecca asked the cameramen. The two fools nodded vigorously like obedient lapdogs.

“Done!” Jessica replied. The cameramen and Rebecca shared a look. “They are now a part of the network, Boss.”

“Now,” Al said, “you undereducated freeloaders will leave my residence this very moment. And if you come within one kilometre of this house again, your devices will be rendered useless indefinitely.”

With that ultimatum, the cameras abruptly shut off.

“What’s he doing?” Rebecca asked.

“I dunno,” one of the men said. “It’s just not turning on.”

Al shook his head. These numbskulls are worse than undergrads. “Jessica, encrypt all their files and set a time for them to be released.”

“How long, Boss?”

“Hey, that’s not legal!” Rebecca cried.

Al locked eyes with her and spoke with deliberate words, “One month.”

“What?” Rebecka exclaimed.

“Another thing,” Al continued, “delete anything captured in the last hour.”

He slammed the door with such force that his ears rang. Realizing none of their equipment worked, the intruders banged at his door and yelled at him. Losing the use of their devices for a month was hardly enough punishment for their insolence, but Al decided it would have to suffice. The commotion died down in a few moments, and Al realized they had finally left. He sighed, feeling the weight of the situation, and cupped his forehead while leaning against the door.

Best get back to the real issue. How could someone gain access to Elizabeth’s blood? His wife had been dead for nearly five years now. He grimaced at the memory of her charred figure.

Another knock on the door made Al jolt, his breath catching in his throat. He quickly spun around and opened the door, ready to give Jessica instructions to obliterate every electronic device belonging to the so-called journalist and her crew. But instead, he was greeted by Wilfred, who thrust a stack of papers into his hands.

“What are these?” Al asked, though he knew exactly what they were.

Wilfred regarded him for a moment. “You are suspended, not on vacation,” he retorted. “You still have papers to mark.”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“You’re welcome! ”Wilfred said and turned to leave. He paused at the end of the steps, then glanced over his shoulders. “This Sunday will be—”

“No—” Al interrupted.

Wilfred shook his head and left in his blue civic.

Al watched the man leave, a mix of confusion lingering from the unexpected visit. He then closed the door and went upstairs. His study had been relocated to a corner of his room, with his garage now taken up by a different project. As he set the papers on his desk, his thoughts drifted back to the blood. Marking those papers seemed trivial now, with so much else demanding his attention. Who left the knight? Where did they get his wife’s blood? And why were they—

The sound of rapid knocking on the door echoed through the house again. Al hoped it wasn’t Wilfred inviting him to church again, or was it that reporter? He wouldn’t be surprised if it was those reporters returning, this time with more persistent tactics. He let out a sigh before stomping down the stairs, muttering to himself about the stubbornness of lesser minds.

Grasping the door handle tightly, Al yanked it open to empty air. The setting sun stretched shadows across the empty space before him. There was no one there, but something grabbed his attention. On the doormat, in plain view, stood a chess piece—a bloodstained knight.