A number generator. A random number generator. That sends out a random number. A number. From one. To infinity. But that description wouldn't be correct, as this utter mockery of the universe's laws can only spit out finite numbers. How many finite numbers? All of them. This monstrosity of a metal box can only be used once. It has never been used.
The sheer idea of this horrifying beast completely and utterly baffles me. The year is 2088. We have solved the Riemann Hypothesis. We have three odd perfect numbers. There are three numbers that don't succumb to the "unavoidable" 4-2-1 chain when faced with the Collatz Conjecture. They were the same. Three. Numbers. All of these monumental discoveries, few of many. Discovered by the most intelligent mathematician that ever lived. Me.
And despite my mental prowess, the sheer idea of this. Thing. Eludes me. This kind of machine shouldn't even be possible. Not only does it break the laws of mathematics, it breaks the laws of physics. And yet it sits in my hands. My feeble, significantly intelligent, yet mortal hands. I am holding the heart of a god. The skull of the devil. The core of the universe. The Big Bang. The Theory of Everything. And it feels. Like a dense, rusty metal cube.
What would the number spit out even be? The chance of any number at all would be that number out of. Infinity? So all and every single number would have an absolute zero chance to be chosen. Yet a number must be chosen. A number will be chosen by this unfathomable entity. Despite every singular rule from every singular law of the universe screaming and begging at the top of its brobdingnagian unfathomable ethereal cosmic lungs.
I take what is likely the most quenching breath of all of humanity. I slowly position my index finger on the obnoxious rectangular shaped button. "GENERATE". It's red. The warning signal of nature. Not the warning signal of the universe, as the universe heeds no warning, the universe is what's heeded. I squeeze my eyes shut as tight as possible, hope for the best, and press down. I slowly, but surely, open my eyes. Would the feeble, unworthy human eye even be able to comprehend the sheer scale and impossibility of the outcome?
The number is four.
