From his 3rd story office window looming over the 2nd largest sports field on campus, the Professor frowned.

This behavior was nothing new, of course. The sight of Professor Charles Morgan in his ratty lab coat glaring down at the field used mainly by the college lacrosse team was familiar to most of the student body, especially to the lacrosse team that had to withstand his unnerving gaze nearly every practice session. In fact, at some point during the 10 years since he had taken the position of Head Research Officer and, naturally, the office that came with it, a rumor had spread that he hated lacrosse with a passion. A hatred that was born when he supposedly lost his right pinky to a rogue lacrosse stick whose wielder had swung too close and too hard.

A complete fiction, all of it. Morgan hated the ancient North American sport as much as he hated any other non-combat sport. Which was none at all. The truth was far more straightforward. The 77-year-old Scientist simply grew up and lived his entire life in New England and, like so many others, had an incurable case of RBF. Known to the rest of the world as resting-bitch-face, a condition chronic to individuals often lost to thought. Admittedly, the effect was magnified several fold as his irises were two different colors, the left an earthy brown and the other pale blue, and thus gave Morgan an unnerving glare. It was nothing personal; the lacrosse players were simply in the way. Not that he would be bothering any athlete at present. Despite the inviting June morning, there weren't any students outside today. The field was as empty as it's been for the last few weeks.

The history behind his missing digit was far more interesting. A damn shame no one else alive today knew of the story, which was to be expected, as a tale like that would only be shared with a close friend. A similar mystery clung to the coat, but in his experience, few ever question the lab coat.

Regardless, this frown was different from all the others before it. The expression on the Professor's face wasn't an unintentional combination of cultural influence and absent pondering like normal. No, this frown was intentional. It was an open display of irritation for the feeling that churned his gut. The sense of being…conflicted.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" He asked himself in an emotionless monotone that portrayed nothing of his soul's turmoil. "I got what I wanted. So why don't I just—" But the question died before it could even be finished.

Behind him on the dark mahogany desk sat the three typed reports he requested yesterday, delivered only an hour ago. It only took 15 minutes to read and re-read them, and Morgan spent the remaining time frowning out the window while feeling… conflicted. Those reports were from his colleagues, each belonging to a different department that Morgan had some power over. While all three contained different conclusions, all three irrefutably proved one thing: Charles Morgan was not crazy; the world was.

The Professor leaned back in his comfortable, yet overpriced, padded chair. There was a time when he did most of his thinking standing up, but that was a young man's game. Morgan sighed, and his dark, bony fingers twisted, twirled, and tugged at one of the many gray dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders. His hair made an excellent fidget toy, but it did nothing to relieve his stress today.

Nothing could because the old coot was being ridiculous. His sanity was intact. Despite all common sense, Morgan hasn't lost a single marble, his deck was full, and every screw upstairs was perfectly tight. Since he wasn't a raving lunatic, he had a duty to perform. Wishing that wasn't the case would be like expecting a cat wouldn't scream outside its owner's door for breakfast. A foolish hope.

"Screw it." He snorted. "Time to get to work."

He spun the chair back around, lifted his legs off the ground, and did the hip thrust shuffle until he was close enough to his desk to grab the Holo-projector remote—a remote that was nowhere to be seen. The Professor eyed the four drawers suspiciously as he tried to recall if he'd opened any of them today. He had.

He started with the top right and excavated the rest in clockwise order. The first held dried-up pens, scrap paper, and documents he couldn't throw out for reasons that escaped him. The next drawer had a couple of unopened water bottles and his lunch for the day. But sitting on top of that meal was his Geiger counter. He tucked the consolation prize in his inner coat pocket as he would need it later. The third drawer contained nothing but trash. The final drawer did not hold the remote. Instead, he found his cell phone. The cell phone he could have sworn to be in his pants pocket.

With a dry chuckle, he reached into his faded green cargo pants, which management had kept telling him not to wear, and fished out the prize. He pressed the power button.

*VroOMMM* The fan inside the Holo-projector mounted to the ceiling hummed as it whirled to life. Dozens of green LEDs flashed on and off all over the white metal surface surrounding the glass lens.

"Holo-Projector, connect me to the Student Assist Desk," Morgan said after half a minute had passed.

"VOICE RECOGNITION CONFIRMED." Growled the deep robotic voice of the Holo-projector. "HELLO PROFESSOR MORGAN. PLEASE CONFIRM THAT THE DESK SURFACE IS CLEAR OF ANY OBSTACLES BY WAVING AT THE CAPTURE CAMERA."

The Scientist, curious to know how the AI would respond, flipped the bird at the tiny camera mounted at the far left counter of his desk.

"MOTION CAPTURED SUCCESSFULLY BY CAPTURE CAMERA." Declared the unnecessarily expensive device. "CALLING NOW."

A translucent pillar of green-white light descended onto the desk surface. The center of the basketball-wide pillar flicked chaotically before a slowly rotating white sign materialized at the center. On each side were the words' please hold' in bold red letters.

Overpriced this glorified laptop maybe; the Professor had to admit the technology was cutting edge. Even in broad daylight, the holographic sign at the center looked solid enough to touch. When Morgan took this office in the early 2040s, he'd have never imagined having something like this. Voice commands and eye-tracking software rendered the mouse, keyboard, and monitor obsolete.

The benefits didn't justify its installation last year, which forced him to work out of a staff room for a third school year. But Morgan strategically chose not to complain too much about the injustice. The active construction in his office almost exposed his little secret across the hall to management.

The edges of the holographic sign became a blinking green, and the words changed to 'Connected.' The sign disappeared, in its place a perfect miniature hologram of a Japanese man in his twenties seated at a desk and slouched on his chair. The youth had shaggy black hair that hung down to his ears and wore a standard lab coat over his blue-white wave-patterned shirt. The Holo-projector only displayed the top half of a subject, but Morgan knew he was wearing white cargo shorts and flip-flops all the same.

"Hey man, this is like, intern Namiko Stone from the Student Assist Desk." The student greeted him with a laid-back drawl, not even bothering to look up from his phone. "How can I help you today?"

The Professor had become exceptionally acquainted with this student in the last two years. Morgan had substituted for Namiko's marine biology class for most of a semester after the original teacher suddenly disappeared during an expedition to find the nearly extinct Wahoo off the coasts of Hawaii. The authorities never found the crew or the bodies. The rest of the class suspected an accident at sea. Namiko, though, pointed out that the area of search would have brought the expedition team very close to the New French Empire's borders. That unexpected tactical thinking and Namiko's obsession with all things saltwater caught his attention. So, he gave the promising kid an internship.

"Is that a phone I see in your hand, Intern?" Asked Morgan, tilting his head to show interest. "I thought those went out of style a couple of years ago. Everyone under the age of 40 started using those AR glasses."

"Hey-ey Professor Dude!" Namiko's head shot up, and a smile split his face. The hologram was so accurate in detail that Morgan could see the individual strands of hair move and facial muscles flex perfectly. "Yeah man, but people stopped using Empire-made stuff because some pretty heinous spyware was found on them. So smartphones are back in the Nations."

"It's good to know I'm no longer behind the curve." Morgan nodded, his curiosity satisfied. "Can you please contact Professors Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar for me? They're not going to answer any of my calls, and I need them all to meet me in my office."

Morgan watched with amusement as the Intern's tiny eyeballs bulged from their sockets. That amusement, though it never showed on Morgan's expression, dissipated as he looked closely at the student's face. Namiko had bags under his eyes and a paleness that wasn't there last week. His eyes shifted to the hand gripping the phone; the nails were choppy and uneven, as if they had been chewed on. All the classic signs of stress. The Scientist wasn't surprised; every animal had their coping mechanism, and humans were no exception.

It's always challenging to live through a historic event. Morgan would know after having experienced many himself.

"You want a… uhh." Stammered Namiko. "I can definitely like, let them know that you want to see them. Could you tell me why? You know, in case they ask or something."

"Of course." he shrugged. "I want a meeting to review and record the findings of the latest project I pulled them on." To emphasize the point, Morgan waved the reports in view of the capture camera.

"Look, Professor Dude. I gotta be honest here and tell you that all three teachers requested not to be disturbed today… like at all."

"Uh-huh. Tell me, did they ask for no one to bother them or for me specifically to stay away."

"Both, my dude." It was Namiko's turn to shrug. "Yeah, they were not happy campers when they stopped by my desk this morning." The Intern suddenly looked side to side as if to make sure he wasn't being spied on. "Hey, it's none of my business… but what-"

"I forced them to spend all day yesterday on a personal project and to hand-type their findings in a report so I could physically read it," Morgan interrupted, answering the question before it could be asked. He paused and added, "The word 'forced' might be too strong. I told them that if they helped me, I'd let them stay home for a month with full pay after today."

"Damn Dude!" laughed Namiko, his arms hugging around his side to keep them from bursting, though the lack of stability nearly caused him to fall off the chair. He asked between laughter fits, "Do you, like, even have the authority to do that?"

"If the Dean has a problem with how I run my departments, he can come find me." Morgan chuckled dryly. "Last I checked, he was hiding in southern Brazil. Something about it being a target of low interest. I wasn't really paying attention."

"The Dean left, too?" Namiko's laughter stopped cold. "Can he even do that?"

"He'll find out. Or he won't have to. Now contact the others and tell them to yell at me in person if they have any complaints."

"Wait… But isn't going to your office exactly what you want them to do?"

"That's why I like you kid." The Professor pointed a finger at his promising former student. "You catch on quick. You deserve a shot at a prize, too. Get them to meet you at the help desk in 15 minutes and take them to my office. I'll make it worth your while. See you soon."

He pressed the power button on the remote, setting the projector to standby mode. The unconventional shutdown caused both Namiko and the pillar of light to disappear. Morgan didn't stand up immediately. He sat there momentarily, partially to reflect on his feelings and partially to procrastinate standing up. Such a task was challenging at his age.

The Professor felt lighter after talking with the Intern. Most of the student body avoided him like the plague, thinking of him as a strange old man in a torn and stitched lab coat. Not that Morgan could blame them. Most classes he taught these days were substitution roles as he was fluent in nearly all scientific disciplines. It's difficult for students to become attached to a teacher with no official classes. Morgan used to teach courses related to his true passion for Ecology. But his old age, on top of responsibilities as Head Research Officer of Boston Prime University, robbed him of that simple pleasure. Still, at least he had plenty of time for personal projects.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The Scientist inhaled deeply from his nose, then exhaled through the mouth. Prep-work for the trial to come. He pushed himself away from the desk until the chair hit the window to give himself plenty of clearance to stand up safely. With an embarrassingly loud grunt, he shot to his feet, all his joints popping and aching from sitting down for nearly three hours. Morgan had to grab hold of the desk as his knees trembled dangerously, and a part of him felt ridiculous in needing the extra support. He might be an old man now, but he wasn't feeble. He walked without a cane, cooked, cleaned, and was utterly independent… Still, a fall at his age could be lethal.

Morgan looked around the office, genuinely looking for the first time in years. How the times have changed. In his hay day, the man was a fit son of a bitch. He had to be, as he spent the first 40 years of the last 50 years constantly in the field. The items covering the walls around him were proof of his life's accomplishments. Hanging everywhere were martial arts medals and scholastic diplomas he collected like trading cards. Shelves upon shelves of knick-knacks from all the places he visited. Shiva and Shakti masks from India, the claw of a golden eagle that gave him his first scar, and a set of higonokami knives he took off that abalone poacher in Nagoya. Those were only a few pieces of memorabilia cluttering the dusty office. But his favorite by far was the memory cabinet.

Hundreds of Polaroid pictures covered every centimeter of wood, glass, and mirror within the cabinet. Every photo was taken at the end of a thrilling expedition and held two figures within them. One was always an animal, and no two photos had the same species. The other figure was the same young man of African descent. His square jaw was set tight, his lips slightly pursed as if he were forcing them shut to keep them from acting independently. The mismatched eyes glowered at the cameraman, and the jagged pale scar running horizontally across his nose only added to the intensity. His black hair was bound in thick dreadlocks that only went to the shoulders.

Looking at the upper cabinet section, where the older pictures stayed, depicted the young man after his first successful capture. It showed a gold eagle mid screech, its wings pinned by the man and blood running down his face. Continue down only one more picture, and one will notice that the man lost a pinky sometime before the photo of the giant, angry, snapping turtle. The further down the timeline he went, the greyer and more wrinkled the ecologist became. The final image showed the man, now old and gray, standing in front of an airport, a tiny oblong egg pinched gingerly between finger and thumb.

Notably, he was the only human in the memory cabinet, save for two crumpled and worn polaroids tucked away at the far back. These were the two oldest pictures by far. One was of Morgan in an oversized cobalt blue graduation robe, his newly earned high school diploma tucked under an arm. That baby-faced graduate had his face distorted in pretend disgust as a girl with a thick afro and nose, much like his own, kissed his younger self's cheek. It was his younger sister. The other picture he wouldn't look at… Not right then, and maybe never again.

The Professor let out a low chuckle as his little trip down memory lane went on for a stop too long. Yes, he's lived a long life and accomplished much. But perhaps his greatest adventure awaited him just across the hall. With a last hurrah like that, he couldn't afford to die just yet. Not when there was research to be done and a mystery to solve. He twisted his torso side to side, and the vertebrae in his back went,

*Snap*

*Crackle*

*Pop*

The sounds were more bark than bite, but as he walked to the door with a pep in his step, they reminded him of a cereal brand from his childhood—his sister Cynthia's favorite treat. Morgan hadn't had the stomach to try them since he was 16 and made the mistake of finishing off a box meant for her. That gut punch he received ensured he'd never make the same mistake twice.

Morgan poked his head into the hallway to see if the coast was clear. Naturally, the large university hallway would be empty, as nearly 85% of the students stopped showing up in the last week. Hell, even the teachers had a daily absent rate of half that. But even in times of crisis, keeping up practical habitswas essential. The coast cleared. He walked over to his personal storage unit, known to everyone else as the out-of-order janitorial closet. Taped off with black and yellow caution tape.

The lore behind the room was far more profound than the first appearance suggests. Over seven years ago, the janitorial staff suddenly deemed the closet unfit for keeping cleaning supplies and locked it off for everyone's safety. Coincidentally, not even five days later, Morgan successfully negotiated a 20% pay increase for the janitorial staff. Then, the very next day, the only keycard for the closet appeared on his desk. That entire week was full of odd happenings. It was a shame the janitors couldn't use the spacious, temperature-controlled closet. Still, at least the Scientist found it to be a perfect place to keep his more important research subjects away from the eye of management. Lucky him.

With a swipe of the keycard, he entered cautiously, unsure what had happened since the last visit. Thankfully, everything within was precisely as he set it up last night. A large blue decontamination tent, reported missing from inventory, stood erected in the middle of the room. The back half of a motion camera on a tripod poked out of the tent's entrance. Morgan tapped his phone on it, and all the recorded footage was transferred instantly. He placed the camera the university unknowingly lent him off to the side. Morgan pulled open the tent flaps, and his eyes twinkled with excitement not felt in so long. Placed on a stack of milk crates was a clear plastic tub. A large cricket-keeper that anyone in the pet hobby would know on sight. But inside was no cricket. It was something far more interesting. The Scientist designated it as Subject 28-284. A reference only people who once owned prehistoric flip phones would understand.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Morgan hoisted up the keeper with both hands and power-walked into his office. The Subject's container was gently placed on his desk in clear view of the capture camera. In comparison, Morgan nearly threw himself into his seat as the previous feeling of inner conflict was wholly forgotten. With zeal, he went over the footage captured last night and, in a spark of brilliance, looked up his house on satellite maps. Nearly everything had fallen into place by the time he heard it.

*Knock, Knock, Knock*

He glanced at the time on his phone. It read 8:35 a.m. That was good; Namiko was only two minutes late.

"Door's unlocked!" Yelled Morgan and slipped the phone in his lab coat. The Intern, now in the flesh, entered first. It was the student's first time in the enigmatic Professor's office, and he gawked at everything like a tourist while holding the door.

*Slam*

At the sight of Morgan staring at him, Namiko closed the door with more force than necessary. The Intern looked back with a nervous smile. He opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to find the words to explain the obvious.

"Damn." Snorted the Professor and gestured for the student to take the chair before the desk. "Those bastards left already, didn't they?"

"You got it in one man." Namiko sighed before taking the offered seat. "They didn't even leave a note or anything. They just bailed. Sorry, Professor Dude. I would have come up earlier, but it took time to make sure they were all gone."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Morgan waved the apology away. "It's my fault for believing those young punks would keep their word. I should have known the only trustworthy people employed in this damned school are me and the janitors."

"How do you know that the janitors are trustworthy?"

"Do you know about my secret deal with them?"

"...No?"

"My point exactly Intern. But that's not important at the moment. Right now, we have to talk about your reward." Said the Professor, and from those words, Namiko sat up straighter in his seat. "Technically, I said you needed to bring my colleagues to get it. That being said, them leaving really isn't your fault. So I'm fine with giving you another chance to get the same deal I had with them. Only with college credit since you aren't actually being paid."

"Hell yeah, dude!" Namiko fist-pumped like he just won the championship match. "How can I help?"

"Don't worry, it's nothing difficult. In fact, I could do this entire step of my project by myself. However, as a scientist, I like to involve others in my work whenever possible. However, as we find ourselves on the brink of possible nuclear armageddon, I find myself short on help. That's where you step in." Morgan waited for Namiko to stop bobbing his head in agreement before speaking. "All I want you to do is read the conclusions in the reports out loud while I record everything."

"Deal dude."

The Scientist quickly highlighted all the essential sections and left Namiko to skim them over. At the same time, he set up the Holo-projector to record everything. The ambient sound was a little high, with the summer winds blowing through the windows, but that should be automatically filtered out. When the Intern gave a thumbs-up, he started recording.

"I am Charles Morgan, Head Research Officer for Boston Prime University and lead on the project focused on Subject 28-284. Current date: June 19th, 2074. The following summaries are of the findings made by my colleagues on Subject 28-284. Student intern Namiko Stone will read their findings. The first to be read are the findings of Professor Celmira Caspar, the resident geologist. Mr. Stone, you may begin."

The youth cleared his throat and began to read. To Morgan's surprise and, perhaps, slight disappointment, he read everything verbatim.

"As stated in my report, the sample shavings Professor Morgan supplied from Subject 28-284 were analyzed, and chemical test results confirm his initial hypothesis. 28-284 is composed completely of 24k gold with no other trace elements found. It should be noted that I observed the sample shavings dissolve into the surrounding atmosphere several hours after being removed from the Subject. Disregarding that minor detail, the gold atoms are identical to every other gold atom ever examined. Obviously."

"The next summary findings are from the report of nuclear engineer Vincent Melchior. Start when ready."

"I can confirm after personal testing that the Subject, despite not being made of any material that should emit radiation, does so anyway. Subject 28-284 releases bursts of Alpha particles, too weak to penetrate clothes, in a tight beam originating from its front. Continued observations have also shown that the radiation bursts always come in a nonsensical but clearly repeating pattern."

"Professor Abby Balthasar, who specializes in entomology, wrote the last report summary. Go ahead, Mr. Stone."

"In conclusion, 28-284's appearance resembles that of Chremistica Ochracea. A species commonly referred to as the Peaceful Cicada in China, where it is normally found. Other than a few mildly unique characteristics, the Subject is indistinguishable from any other member of its species."

Namiko shuffled through the documents to ensure his part in this was over. When nothing was found and believing his part in this was over, the mistaken Intern carefully laid the paperwork on the desk. He took out his phone and began to type rapidly, perhaps to reach out to friends or family now that he had suddenly come across some free time.

That was fine. The Professor was willing to let him celebrate while he wrapped things up.

"For clarity, I, Professor Morgan, will provide the final analysis and history. After testing and observation from four different scientists, myself included, it is evident that Subject 28-284 is a living radioactive cicada made of solid gold. The specimen was discovered on my desk yesterday, June 18th, 2074, when I entered the office at 8 a.m. While there is no security footage for total confirmation, it is believed that the Subject entered via an open window, of which there were few. The true origins of 28-284 might forever remain a mystery." A thrill of anticipation shot up his spine as he said, "Mr. Stone."

"S'up," the Intern answered without looking up. "I'm just checking the status of the peace talks, and things look all good. Did you need something, Professor Dude?"

Peace talks? Why on Earth would either side have those? Neither side wanted peace; they wanted to win.

"I do. I've noticed that you haven't had the chance to personally state anything on the record yet. So, I want to give you that opportunity by having you answer a simple question. Are you ready?" Morgan almost chuckled at Namiko's confused nod. "Excellent. Subject 28-284, the creature sitting within the cricket keeper between us, is the first and only non-carbon-based life form ever discovered. Could you say one thing about it that you find odd or even mildly interesting?"

Namiko's face twisted in panic as he shifted his gaze between him and the golden cicada. Back and forth, back and forth, his head turned like an oscillating fan in the struggle to come up with an answer. It took all of the Professor's will not to say or do anything, as outside influence could ruin everything. Even armed with that knowledge, the effort nearly broke him.

Suddenly, Namiko's focus snapped solely onto Morgan. The kid's eyes were different now; they radiated the certainty of a predator coming across a cornered prey. He's caught onto the scent of something; that much was certain. Has the spell been broken? Would Namiko finally acknowledge the golden elephant in the room? Or was he chasing the trail of some wild goose?

"Oh, I got something good." The Intern said, grinning confidently from ear to ear. "Call me crazy, but I think the little critter likes you. I mean, the whole time we've been sitting here, reading reports and junk, I've noticed that it's never stopped staring at you. It's like, locked-in. That's got to be a little weird, am I right?"

Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt at that exact moment. The wind stopped blowing in, the projector fan faded to nothing, and both men held their breaths. Silence reigned supreme within the room as Morgan heard a goose's honking echoing in the background. The work of his imagination, he hoped.

"You know what?" Morgan asked, standing up to offer a hand, "I couldn't agree more." The two scholars shook on it before he ordered the hoho-projector to pause the recording.

With Namiko's part now over, the two exchanged thank-yous and goodbyes. The Professor even promised a letter of recommendation the next time they saw each other—assuming, of course, there weren't any apocalyptic events between now and then. Halfway out the door, the Intern wished his former teacher good luck before swiftly exiting, ensuring the door wouldn't slam behind him.

Morgan sat back down. He waited patiently for the last of the footsteps to fade away…

*Step, Step, Step, Step*

Not yet.

*Step, Step, step, step*

Namiko just turned the corner. And...

*step, step, step…*

"BWAHAHAHA!!!" He roared, happy tears welling up and nearly blinded him. The Professor couldn't stop himself from cackling, wheezing, and slamming his bony fist onto his thigh until all the mirth exited his system.

"Haha… ha! That was amazing." He eventually choked out before directly addressing 28-284. "Thank you, my little golden mystery. It's been—Well, it's been a long time since anything has made me laugh that hard."

Morgan straightened up in his seat, whipped away the last few tears, and cleared his throat. "Holo-Projector, unpause recording."