Leopold Broderick found himself in a hospital waiting room, contemplating the strange events of the day. A chance meeting with a stranger on the street had unexpectedly disrupted his routine after many years. He felt a mix of gratitude and anxiety, uncertain of how to express his feelings about saving the man's life.

When the clock struck nearly one-forty in the morning, a nurse called him, stating, “Mr. Singh is awake now. He has been asking for you,” although Leopold had initially only planned a brief visit to confirm the man's well-being.

Navigating through a maze of hospital corridors, they arrived at the recovery room where Adam lay in Bay 12. Monitors beeped rhythmically, and despite the wires connected to him, Adam was surprisingly alert.

“Thank you for saving my life, Professor Broderick. It's quite the coincidence,” Adam said, followed by a cough.

Leopold wondered how this stranger knew his name, but before he could ask, Adam volunteered the information.

“I was on my way to meet you when the incident occurred.”

“Why would you want to see me?” Leopold inquired.

“Please, sit down. What I'm about to say might be hard to believe.”

Leopold hesitated but ultimately took a seat.

“I'm a graduate student in Physics at Cambridge, and I believe you know my mentor, Michael Doyle.”

“Yes, I'm familiar with Professor Doyle,” Leopold replied, feeling slightly more at ease.

“About two weeks ago, a man approached me, asking me to join a group called Omega. My duty would be to protect you, even at the cost of my life. When I asked why, he informed me that your name was on a list of individuals marked for elimination in an upcoming purge and that your role is vital for the impending transformation. Before you dismiss this, he requested I give you this,” Adam explained, pulling out a blood-stained envelope with a bullet hole in the corner.

“Is this a joke?” Leopold asked, incredulous. “This defies logic.”

“I wish it were,” Adam replied. “But there’s more after you read the letter.”

Handing the envelope to Leopold, Adam added, “I don’t need to know its contents.”

“Do you know who shot you?” Leopold pressed.

“No, I didn’t see the shooter. I was heading to your office when I heard a gunshot. I felt a sudden pain in my chest and collapsed. How soon did you arrive?”

“Just a few minutes later.”

“I guess fate was on my side. I could have perished before my mission even began.”

“I have no reason to trust you. This sounds absurd,” Leopold replied.

“Check my wallet,” Adam urged. “It’s in my trousers. You’ll find my student ID and papers. You can verify my connection to Professor Doyle with Cambridge.”

“Who was the person who told you about Omega?” Leopold asked.

“I cannot divulge that. I promised to keep it confidential.”

Leopold opened the envelope and found a letter and a business card. The card displayed a large Omega symbol with a London phone number. As he unfolded the letter, he saw the same Omega symbol and the following words:

Professor Leopold Broderick,

Greetings.

This message is from our group, Omega. The individual who delivered this has sworn to protect you, as your survival is critical for humanity's upcoming transformation. Our adversaries are determined to thwart this change, but they will fail. It is crucial that you accept our protection. This commitment is taken seriously, and we will go to great lengths to ensure your safety. Do not discuss this letter with anyone, as trust is a luxury you cannot afford. The enemy is everywhere.

Your ally, OMEGA.

“This is utterly absurd. It must be a prank,” Leopold muttered, pausing to gather his thoughts. “I know Professor Doyle, and we have had our disagreements. Did he orchestrate this?”

“This isn’t about Professor Doyle. If you have inquiries, call that number, but use a disposable phone. Don’t use your personal cell.” Adam continued, “They anticipated you’d feel disoriented and skeptical, just as I did. They instructed me to share something that would highlight the seriousness of this situation. You would understand its significance.”

“In the plains of Scotland on a warm summer’s night. We pledge ourselves, though beaten, to never give up the fight…” Adam recited, struggling through the lines of a poem.

Leopold’s eyes widened. “My stepfather wrote that poem. Those were his last words to me twelve years ago, as he spoke of a war in heaven coming to earth. Although I am not religious, he was, and he told me I would one day be called to this conflict. How did you know about this poem? I was the only one who heard it!”

“Because someone was there who could hear it, as strange as it seems.”

Leopold sat at the edge of Adam’s bed, absorbing the gravity of the conversation, feeling both overwhelmed and invigorated. He recognized the deeper implications of the night’s events and recalled his friend David Bohm’s theories on the implicate order — the hidden connections binding events and people across the universe.

“Who is this person who sees such truths?” he asked.

“I posed the same question to my mentor. He described him as the most unremarkable person, someone the world would overlook. I also inquired about the size of Omega. He said it would be sufficient to effect change.”

“I’ve never been interested in secret societies, although someone once tried to recruit me. I dislike secrets,” Leopold remarked.

“Some secrets are worth preserving,” Adam countered.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Singh.”

“Just call me Adam. I was born in London; my parents are from Mumbai. I studied at Cambridge as an undergrad and am now a doctoral candidate under Professor Doyle.”

“What are your responsibilities?” Leopold asked.

“I’m nearing the completion of my studies and I’ll assist you if that’s feasible.”

“And what about the person who shot you?”

“I’m not afraid, Professor. For the first time, I feel unafraid.”

“I wish I could share that feeling,” Leopold admitted. “For the first time in my life, I fear the future.”

As he reflected, he recalled his father’s words about a heavenly war manifesting on earth — words he had dismissed as mere religious rhetoric. Yet now, they resonated deeply, prompting him to confront the unsettling notion of a transformation that lay ahead. This contemplation challenged everything he believed.

“Alright, Adam, come Monday. I’ll speak to the relevant authorities to arrange an interview. Perhaps we can devise a plan.”

“There’s one more thing my mentor asked me to convey. I nearly forgot.” Adam paused. “He said all your skills would be essential in solving a mystery soon.”

“You must recognize how insane this sounds from an outsider’s perspective.”

“Absolutely.”

Later, Leopold exited the hospital and began his walk back home.

By six o'clock that morning, he reached his flat near the University, exhausted yet exhilarated. Despite a packed schedule ahead, he felt an urge to return to the hospital after classes to further interrogate Adam about Omega. The unexpected intrigue had captivated him. Though he considered sharing the bizarre events with his wife, he opted for caution and only mentioned that Adam, a student of Michael Doyle, wished to collaborate with him.

Maxine was asleep when he arrived, and he chose not to wake her. Instead, he left a brief note on the breakfast table before showering and preparing for classes. In addition to his lab projects, he taught two graduate courses: one in Quantum Physics and another in Cosmology. He also organized a biennial seminar on superstring theory, a paradigm he found fascinating, despite not fully endorsing it. This morning, he had an interview scheduled with a science writer about current trends in Physics, but nothing captivated him more than Adam's revelations from the early hours.

As he was about to leave, Maxine surprised him.

“You should have woken me,” she said.

“I figured you needed your rest,” he replied.

“How is the young man?”

“He’s recovering well. It’s an odd coincidence that he’s a graduate student of Michael Doyle at Cambridge.”

“Do the police know who shot him?” she asked.

“I don’t believe so.”

“What a fortunate coincidence that you found him then.”

“Yes, it seems serendipitous for him,” Leopold acknowledged.

“Let’s hope it wasn’t personal; perhaps just a random act,” she suggested.

“I think it was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Did you manage to get any rest?” she inquired.

“Unfortunately, no. But I might catch a nap between classes.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“I intend to visit the young man again this evening. You’re welcome to join me.”

“I promised to visit Ingrid Richards tonight. I wouldn’t want to let her down,” she replied.

Their relationship had evolved into a routine of polite exchanges and unshared secrets, and although Leopold had no idea who Ingrid Richards was, he refrained from asking for details.

“Then I’ll see you later,” he said, stepping out for his three-block walk to the University — a path he had traversed over two thousand times in the past decade, though he rarely took note of it. As he walked, he unconsciously retraced the same steps he had taken countless times before. In his daily routine, numbers and their relationships governed his existence. Patterns danced before his eyes in a symphony of threes, fours, fives, and eights, defining the rhythm of his life.

“Good morning, Professor Broderick,” his assistant Maxwell greeted him upon entering the lab. “The journalist is here for your interview. I’ve asked him to wait in your office.”

Leopold glanced at his watch; it was fifteen minutes to nine.

“He’s a bit early.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Maxwell offered.

“Thank you.”

Stepping into his office, Leopold found the journalist seated awkwardly.

“Good morning, Professor Broderick,” the man said. “I apologize for arriving early; I was eager to begin. My name is Reginald Butler with Science Frontiers Magazine.”

He extended his hand, but Leopold chose not to shake it.

“What do you want to discuss?” Leopold asked directly.

“I appreciate your straightforwardness. I hope you don’t mind diving into a controversial topic. What’s your stance on holographic theory?”

“If you’re referring to David Bohm’s theory, I disagree. I don’t believe the universe is a hologram or that the physical world is an illusion, as the Hindus suggest. I maintain that the physical universe exists and adheres to fixed laws. While David didn’t subscribe to the idea of Maya, many of his followers seem willing to embrace magical thinking. I can’t conjure a rabbit out of thin air, although I do like rabbits.”

Leopold had little regard for journalists, having previously experienced misquotations. He resolved to be cautious in his responses, remaining polite but avoiding unnecessary conflict.

“I won’t take too much of your time. I have several questions. What do you consider the most significant breakthrough in the past year?”

Leopold disliked such inquiries, knowing that substantial advancements rarely translated well into sound bites for the public. After a moment of reflection, he responded, “I’d say the progress in understanding subatomic particles like positrons and gluons. These discoveries have radically changed our comprehension of the universe.”

“What’s your take on the various theories regarding a multiverse? Do you think alternate timelines are possible?” the journalist pressed.

“While the mathematics of superstring theory allows for multiple dimensions, they must be extremely small. I see no evidence to support the existence of such timelines.”

“One last question, Professor. Looking ahead ten years, what do you think will be the essential questions in science?”

“I believe the focus will shift to humanity’s relationship with the environment and whether technology can advance at its current pace, given our impact on the planet.”

“Thank you, Professor Broderick. As I mentioned when I called last week, I only needed about fifteen minutes of your time.”

“And what’s this for?” Leopold inquired.

“It’s for an article on the future of science. I plan to speak with Michael Doyle at Cambridge next. Thank you again.”

With that, Mr. Butler exited the office. Leopold felt relieved that the brief interview hadn’t been as daunting as he had anticipated and hoped his words wouldn’t be distorted.

Maxwell entered the room.

“I hope that wasn’t too painful, Professor. I know you dislike interviews.”

“If only these science writers had a better grasp of the subject matter,” Leopold lamented.

He had just about eight minutes to cross campus to his first class and was beginning to feel the toll of a sleepless night. Yet, a sense of excitement for the days ahead lingered in his mind.