[Setting:]
The Office of Professor Rigidus Gravitas, located deep within the hallowed halls of The Divine College of Higher (and Unquestionably Correct) Learning. The room is exactly what one might expect from a man who believes objectivity is a virtue and opinions are for the weak. Heavy oak bookshelves, an impossibly large blackboard scribbled with equations no one but him pretends to understand, and an antique globe that still insists Pluto is a planet. The air smells faintly of chalk dust, academic superiority, and the lingering presence of someone who once argued for forty-seven minutes about the definition of “hypothetical.”
At the moment, the Infinite Blackboard is filled with one question:
"89 Seconds to Midnight: Statistically Meaningful or Cosmic Theatrics?"
At his massive mahogany desk, Gravitas meticulously scribbles notes, his pen moving with the precision of someone determined to win a debate against reality itself.
Across from him, balancing on the back two legs of a precariously creaky chair, Coincidence, God of Coincidence, flips through a student thesis titled:
"Causality and You: Why Everything is My Fault."
His mismatched sneakers are propped up on the desk, and a half-eaten fortune cookie (with no discernible origin) rests beside him. He absentmindedly flips a coin between his fingers, its metallic glint catching the dim office light.
Gravitas (without looking up, exasperated):
"You cannot possibly argue that the Doomsday Clock is anything but an academic construct meant to illustrate the proximity of global catastrophe. It has no measurable effect on reality itself."
Coincidence (grinning, tossing the thesis aside):
"And yet, the closer it ticks to midnight, the worse things coincidentally seem to get. Funny how that works, huh?"
Gravitas (scoffing):
"Correlation is not causation."
]Coincidence (innocently):
"Neither is gravity, but you don’t see me floating away, do you?"
(Gravitas’s eye twitches. He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply as if summoning the patience of a saint—or at least a tenured professor who refuses to be baited.)
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
[Suddenly—A Knock At The Door.]
Both pause. They were not expecting company.
Another knock.
Coincidence’s grin widens. Gravitas, with all the enthusiasm of a man who just realized he left his wallet at home after ordering a five-course meal, stands and swings open the door.
Enter: The Pizza Guy.
He is young, underpaid, and entirely baffled. His uniform is slightly wrinkled, his ballcap worn from use. He clutches a pizza box in one hand and a crumpled receipt in the other. His eyes dart around the office, taking in the towering bookshelves, the definitely-not-mortal aura of the place, and the blackboard full of existential doom calculations.
Pizza Guy (nervously, reading from the receipt):
"Uh. Large pepperoni and olives? One order of, uh… inevitable consequences?"
Gravitas (flatly):
"I did not order a pizza."
Coincidence (leaning forward, beaming):
"Oh, but I did!"
(He gestures magnanimously, as though delivering a sermon to the masses.)
Coincidence:
"Figured we’d need some sustenance while we debated the impending doom of civilization."
Pizza Guy (bewildered, checking the address again):
"Okay, but, uh… this address doesn’t even exist in my system. I don’t know how I got here, man. The GPS just… kept rerouting until I walked through what I swear was an alley and ended up at this giant Gothic university building that wasn’t there a second ago."
Gravitas (muttering):
"Quantum wayfinding. Delightful."
(He crosses his arms, glaring at Coincidence.)
Gravitas:
"This is an institution of higher learning. Not a pizzeria."
Coincidence (shrugging, handing cash to the Pizza Guy):
"And yet, here we are."
Pizza Guy (still confused, staring at the receipt):
"Dude, this says payment: preordained. What does that even mean?"
Coincidence (winking):
"Means you got here exactly when you were supposed to."
(The Pizza Guy, now thoroughly convinced he’s either hallucinating or starring in some cosmic prank show, hands over the pizza and slowly backs toward the door.)
Pizza Guy (muttering to himself):
"Man, I swear this was supposed to be a normal Tuesday."
And with that, he exits—the door swinging shut behind him with a sound that suggests it may or may not lead back to the reality he came from.
Gravitas (pinching the bridge of his nose harder):
"You have derailed this discussion."
Coincidence (opening the pizza box, picking up a slice):
"I have enhanced this discussion. Big difference."
Gravitas (exasperated, gesturing to the blackboard):
"We are 89 seconds from theoretical midnight, and you’re eating pizza."
Coincidence (munching happily):
"Well, yeah. If the world is ending, I’d rather go out with good pizza and a great debate. Besides, we both know this whole ‘end of everything’ scenario is just another narrative thread waiting for a twist."
(He waves a slice of pizza vaguely in Gravitas’s direction.)
Coincidence:
"And you love a good twist, don’t you?"
(Gravitas glares. He hates that Coincidence has a point.)
[The camera (or perhaps the universe itself) pans out.]
The Infinite Blackboard flickers, just briefly. The calculations shift for a fraction of a second—something new, something uncertain—before settling back into place.
The clock ticks.
88 seconds to midnight.
Coincidence grins. Gravitas scowls.
The pizza is delicious.
[End Scene]
[retcon:1]
