The Janitor Solved The Universe's Greatest Mystery, But His Revenge Unleashed A Nightmare!

The Bell Tower Equation

The air in the ancient cathedral bell tower was thick with the scent of dust and ages. Massive brass gears, green with verdigris, turned with a deafening, rhythmic clank, their movements illuminated by diagonal shafts of golden-amber light piercing the gloom. Centuries-old dust motes danced in these ethereal beams. Amidst this mechanical symphony, a portable LED work-lamp cast a harsh glare on an oversized magnetic whiteboard. It was covered in a frantic, chaotic mess of relativistic trajectory tensors, many violently crossed out.

Dr. Brock Henderson, 34, stood before it, his angular face hollowed by stress. Disheveled dark hair clung to his sweat-beaded brow, and his wireframe tortoiseshell glasses were askew. He wore an expensive charcoal cashmere overcoat, unbuttoned over a rumpled white collar, revealing the tension in his neck. His knuckles were white as he gripped a red dry-erase marker, his hand trembling. He was a picture of arrogant panic.

Across from him stood Mateo, 68. His olive skin was deeply creased and sun-weathered, his hair cropped salt-and-pepper. His hazel eyes, heavy-lidded and calm, held a quiet depth. He wore grease-smudged navy industrial coveralls and damp cotton work gloves. Beside him, a squeaking utility bucket sat on wheels, filled with soapy water, a worn wooden-handled floor mop resting against it.

Dr. Brock Henderson: