Mediocre
>The recording switch... Here, maybe? Oh, it's already on...
The man in the frame walks to the office chair and lowers himself into it. He tugs at his lab coat, tightening it around his gaunt frame like a shroud.
I'm Thomas Hell. From now on, I'll... ahem...
Realizing his voice is tight with excitement, he licks his lips, hesitates briefly, then grabs the glass of water from the desk and downs it in one gulp.
From now on, I'll be recording my experiment logs on video.
So...
Experiment log entry: [A-0001].
The man leans toward the camera, his face slightly warped by the wide-angle lens. His eyes burn with an unnatural intensity, their gleam cutting through the pixelated haze of the screen—bright, almost feverish.
Researcher: Thomas Hell.
I...
I don't even know how to describe what I'm feeling right now...
This is such a crucial opportunity. I will... no, I must succeed.
The man rises from his chair and slowly approaches a cylindrical chamber nearby.
Perched atop a pedestal within the chamber rests a shard, resembling nothing more than an ordinary stone one might find along any roadside.
But Thomas knows the infinite possibilities harbored within this shard, all because it comes from...
The Hetero Tower...
I will... reverse everything.
His voice is firm, devout as a prayer.
Recording begins. Experiment log entry.
He gives a slow spin in his office chair, letting his body settle naturally against the backrest.
Guess I should make future logs more formal. My mentor always stressed the importance of rigor... Ahem, back to the topic.
Experiment log entry: [A-0014].
Researcher: Thomas Hell.
The 14th experiment has concluded. Still no progress, as expected.
This is just the brief darkness before dawn. The situation will improve soon.
Experiment log entry: [B-5042].
Researcher: Thomas Hell.
No progress in the experiment.
...
He runs a hand over the rough stubble shadowing his chin, his voice low and grave.
No time to waste. I still have much to do.
Experiment log entry: [C-0251].
Researcher: Thomas Hell.
The man sits in silence for a long while. The quiet grows heavy, thickening the air until it feels as though he might drown in it.
Another failed experiment...
I was prepared for this, but...
...
He throws himself back into the stagnant waters of silence.
Thomas picks up the stack of experimental data from the table beside him, scanning the numbers once more, though he's already checked them countless times.
The Gibbs variables... power output... conversion results... the Zhang function...
I don't understand.
Why can't I get the expected outcome in practice when using the value obtained by reversing the formula?
Is the formula wrong?
No... The formula is correct...
But...
No... this is wrong... completely wrong!
He throws the papers violently to the ground, fingers raking through his unkempt hair in desperation.
The Hetero Tower defies everything we thought was possible. I was a fool to trust those old theories.
Those so-called wise predecessors were nothing but a bunch of mediocrities!
Dominik was nothing special after all!!!
I'm going to... derive a new formula.
Time will be mine to command.
After reaching this conclusion, Thomas silently rises and turns off the camera.
Experiment log entry: [C-1564].
Researcher: Thomas Hell.
Failed again.
The camera flickers on for a moment, then off again.
Experiment log entry: [C-1677].
Failed.
Experiment log entry: [C-1754].
Failed.
Experiment log entry: [C-2065].
Failed.
Experiment log entry: [C-2480].
Failed.
<size=35>Failed...</size>
<size=40>Failed, failed...</size>
<size=50>Failed, failed, failed...</size>
<size=60>FAILED, FAILED, FAILED, FAILED...</size>
Experiment log entry: [E-0032].
Researcher... hah. Who else but a lunatic like me would do these experiments?
He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.
I have an idea...
It's risky, but... I want to give it a try.
If my mentor knew what I was thinking, she'd be furious.
But in the end, someone mediocre like me can only resort to this kind of method...
His words gradually fade away, yet his bloodshot eyes glimmer with the ghost of a smile.
His thoughts drift back to long ago, when he wore not the white coat of an experienced researcher, but the humble garb of a still-green student.
During a tranquil afternoon in the academic building, Thomas clutches his papers and eases open an office door with cautious hands.
He isn't sure if the occupant is resting—or even wants to be disturbed—so he holds his breath and steps inside on light feet.
There, behind the broad expanse of her desk sits his mentor, Ms. Valentina. She seems in a trance, her gaze lost in the depths of a photograph.
Thomas' gaze unconsciously follows his mentor's, landing on that group photo of four people. He recognizes only two—his mentor herself and Ms. Schwartz.
Of the remaining two, one is a kind-faced middle-aged man, and the other a young person from Kowloong.
Something about the scene holds Thomas transfixed. An indescribable tension hangs between them like an invisible wall, making him hesitate to interrupt Valentina and pull her back to reality.
But Valentina notices him anyway.
Curious?
Sorry?
Thomas doesn't respond right away, taking a moment to realize Valentina is talking about the people in the photo.
Who are those people?
They are the people who changed this world.
Compared to them, most people in this world are just mediocre, myself included.
You're being too modest, Ms. Valentina. The director of the Science Council could never be considered mediocre.
Valentina chuckls at his words and waves her hand at the young man, her voice tinged with melancholy.
How am I not mediocre?
Thomas shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge the memories. His gaze falls to the papers strewn across the floor, and he squeezes his eyes shut in anguish.
You're right, Ms. Valentina... How am I not mediocre?
Only now does he understand what his mentor meant by "mediocre," and...
The torment of being "mediocre."
Crimson alarms shriek throughout the laboratory, wrenching Thomas awake from unconsciousness, who finds his body sprawled on the floor.
As he fights to piece together the last moments, a knife-sharp headache splits his skull, scattering his thoughts.
In his daze, he only recalls a few blurry fragments.
Space splintering like glass. A deafening explosion. And laughter—cold, mocking, cruel...
Heh, humans...
What is... happening?
Wind screams past his ears as the man suddenly understands—he's falling from the sky.
With no time to question why he's here, the man reacts on instinct.
Crimson energy crackles around him, surging from his body as swirling red particles engulf his form.
In an instant, his figure twists and expands until a red demon looms in the air, his massive wings beating to steady the descent.
BOOM—
The ground trembles as he lands, dust billowing around him. Then, just as quickly, the red demon shifts back to his human form.
The white-haired man in a red coat surveys his surroundings, only to be met with the bleak expanse of desolated ruins.
What the hell is this place?
At some ruins on the surface.
A white-haired man in a dark blue coat with green patterns also turns his gaze toward the ruins, where red-glowing mechanoids approach ominously.
The commotion of the landing has attracted the attention of these Corrupted.
Hmm... Interesting...
