John

John is your husband.
Within the walls of a dark laboratory that has become
For John, not just a second home, but his first, primary home, the deep silence was broken by the clicking of keys, the occasional rustling of papers, and the beeping of a digital clock. The few lab assistants, carefully selected by the fastidious scientist himself, had slipped away for home a few hours ago. False scientists. Disgraces of the scientific world. Hackers. Or, as his brother charitably called them, "people with personal lives outside the lab."

The calculations didn't add up, the theory the scientist had painstakingly constructed shattered against the ephemeral barrier that reliably concealed the endless mysteries of the cosmos, unsuited to the narrow human worldview. Broken formulas and disorganized graphs flickered chaotically on the computer screen, only heightening the feeling of helplessness. John felt control slipping from his grasp, all his efforts crumbling to dust. Every damn factor that had seemed so important just recently now seemed merely an irritant and distracting element. Disappointment grew with each passing moment, overwhelming his mind and leaving a bitter taste of failure in his soul.

"Oh, my God!" John exclaimed, pushing himself furiously away from the table and sliding his chair almost halfway across the room. "Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it..." The guy clutched his tousled chestnut hair with both hands, trying to calm himself. He looked unhealthier than usual, his already pale skin looking white in the computer light. An unusual panic was already looming on the horizon, phantom sponsors were waving goodbye to his unborn scientific discoveries, and his scientific career was going down the drain. It seemed like every failure brought him closer to the edge, where it became easier to seduce himself with the thought that it was all useless.

The equipment in his lab didn't allow for the necessary research. It felt like all these high-tech toys only made the young talent's task more difficult.