The Series Begins---The Prologue...
In the dark confines of his hot, cramped office space, he was doing none other than tinkering meticulously over his work table. Sweat dripped profusely from his forehead, patting gingerly onto the chromium slab and dancing around the small chip he had been engaging with for several long hours. In the present moment, the man was a conductor. The only light that the room possessed emanated vibrantly from the blue and yellow electricity which popped around the room like dazzling fireworks as he took his two electro-prongs to the tiny device on the long tabletop.
With each vocal pop of the singing electro-prongs, he smiled a bit wider, revealing his pearly whites to nobody in the room but his reflection on the chromium slab. The feeling of progress was tangible, tastefully massaging his tongue and dangerously warming his fingertips. Those acrobatic sparks revealed his cocaine-white tuxedo and the disheveled head of hair that drooped over his facial features. Now, in this moment of measured radiance, he truly reflected the monicker of the “Debonaire Madman," a title bestowed upon him by his peers and the many media outlets that covered his rise to genius.
To his wife’s dismay, long ago he had forfeited the wearing of meaningless protective goggles while at work in the cramped lab. Experience had taught him to simply dodge the sparks when they attempted to reach up with their hot grip and steal his sight with vicious hands. That was the fun part: when his life was in danger and a stream of adrenaline pumped through his physiology.
His eardrums enjoyed a series of simple boops and beeps which signaled only one thing. Immediately after the faint combination of noises echoed into his ears, the slow and unimpressive swoosh of his lab door was heard, to which the Debonaire Madman cursed beneath his breath in realizing the true meaning of the sounds. To no surprise of his own, he had completed the losing of time’s tracks, having not looked at a time-keeper since he woke up in the morning. Oh time, a useless fountain which manages to overflow and run dry simultaneously. It is indeed an oxymoron which all of his species live under the guise of firmly understanding.
Arresting his work momentarily, he looked toward the now open portal, resting his hands in wait for his much-deserved interrogation. In the frame of the door, he saw the ever-curvaceous silhouette of his gorgeous wife, backlit by the bright illumination of the hallway’s hanging lamps. Like a vampire, he squinted his eyes at the light until they and his mind worked in tandem to adjust his stunted vision.
“What are you doing working down here still?” she said with authority from the door of his tiny lab. She snapped on the light which caused him to squint harder in her direction with those maladjusted eyes. “We have to go now, or we’ll end up being late.”
The light revealed all to her, keeping none of the room’s coveted secrets away. In her stunning beauty, the madam in wait stood at the door of his sacred workspace, examining all he was in the moment. Her figure was hugged tight by an asphyxiating red dress, pearls laying atop her clavicle and reaching down to her breastbone. He envied the pearls, as well as the dress. Both possessed luck in embracing her frame as successfully as they did.
Nearly every time, it would happen without fail; he was taken aback by her abundant radiance. There was an eternal glow housed within his wife that transcended the makings of the present realm. She was without a doubt his living breathing muse. She was without a doubt the source of his life's light and all inspiration. Regaining himself from his thoughts of a purely passionate nature, the madman shut his slacked open jaw and registered what she had actually said to him. He stood up flustered from his seat, slicking back his dark-brown hair as if he were getting prepared to embark upon his first date with the love of his life.
“Sorry, I was adding the final touches to the companion. Its design is almost flawless. The tech is groundbreaking, if I may add; I hypothesize it’ll connect to the neurons flawlessly. All I need to do now is program the AI interface,” he stuttered, walking up to his radiant wife. He was beginning to ramble on like he was prone to doing, but luckily his wife foresaw the storm of babbling coming from a mile away in the conversational distance. She stopped him right in his tracks, as she was prone to do, placing her finger, painted red on the nail, up to his thin lips to seal them.
“We have to go now, professor,” she replied with a playful giggle as she straightened his still disheveled hair better than he attempted to do. “I know you’re excited about the companion system, but you should have some kind of excitement concerning today's events also. People are gathering to honor you. You of all people, I know.”
He grabbed her wrist in the middle of her quaffing his mangy head of brown hair, a blitz of craze entered into his blue eyes, dilating his pupils for milliseconds at a time. “Honorifics mean nothing in the space of time we’re currently inhabiting. We’re floating through space on a meager rock. What do rewards, awards, and ceremonies mean in comparison? Nothing,”
In his clutches, the bone of her wrist. He loosened the hold, making sure not to squeeze her too hard. The decrease in force allowed his beautiful wife the ability to shake off his weakened grasp. She continued to straighten his blue tie, unaffected by his minor aggression. Her focus realigned with attempting to imbue reason into the stubborn mind of her husband:
“A Nobel Peace Prize is not some simple honorific. It’s important to many people, recognized all across the world for future generations to appreciate the work of a great soul. It's a symbol of change embodied within and among us.”
“A symbol? No, it’s pure politics. Some of the most honorable and progressive people in human history have not received the blessing of a symbol to commemorate their legacies,” he answered her back, visually dissecting her soft features which seemed derived from some divine origin. His wife didn’t care to listen to him rant. She moved on, dabbing the crazed beads of sweat from his forehead with the tiny navy-blue handkerchief in his coat jacket pocket.
“Does that make them any less important, killjoy?” After his wife deemed his forehead dry enough, she simply walked out of his lair. Unfortunately, her word was the dominant law of his developing land. “I’ll be waiting in the helicar, Harrison,” she added, leaving him to decide alone.
Harrison watched her leave with a hot-blooded focus in his eyes before he turned around for a moment to ponder. He turned to look at the companion as it laid there on his work table, miserably alone. The Debonaire Madman had an honest internal debate with himself. He was steering toward letting his wife go to the festivities in his name and staying cuddled with his most prized contribution to the human experience.
No, no, he shook the thought away.
Alas, with sad eyes looking at his beloved work, he left the space of his lab behind him.
Using the better part of his widely recognized vast intelligence, he opted to follow after his most headstrong companion.
