'This sucks...'
Robert sighed heavily as he gingerly balanced his field notebook atop the styrofoam box, taking extra care not to accidentally crush what lay within.
Inside the box, buried under a generous amount of ice to preserve the samples were several plant tissue explants from an experiment several months in the making.
All that was left now was to process the samples, prepare the plant tissues according to the protocol, extract the cellular components for analysis, and measure the physiological and genetic responses that would determine whether the entirety of his PhD had even a modicum of scientific value.
Given the trend of the past experiments, though, he didn't have high hopes. So far, all he had were negative results—the second most dreaded outcome in the hearts and minds of everyone working in this field.
'This seriously, seriously sucks...'
Carefully, Robert stripped away the thick gloves, lab coat, mask, hair net, and cover shoes. In a low mood, he carried the box containing the samples, taking heavy steps up the staircase toward the greenhouse laboratory for further processing.
"My name is Robert Bennet. For, you see—I am a scientist. To be precise, the exact field I work in is plant genetic engineering, and after so, so long, I am in the final year of my PhD."
The preliminary studies were fine: he was exposed to the necessary background in a variety of subjects, such as biological sciences, study crops, soil, and farming systems.
But foolishly, in the final year of his study, he switched to to do a PhD.
It all went downhill from there.
Contrary to popular belief, much of an agronomist's PhD work is actually very boring and, frankly, mind-numbing. Unless you were one of the philosopher-scientists of old, you couldn't simply perform an experiment for curiosity's sake. PhD students didn't even have that level of autonomy. Funds were precious, and strict conditions dictated exactly how they could be used.
Added to that, Robert was never a 'people-person.' While others around him could easily communicate with farmers, colleagues, or field workers, he struggled to build rapport despite his best efforts. A colleague told him he was doing fine, as long as he followed protocols correctly—but deep down, he felt discouraged and empty.
Collecting soil and plant samples and running lab analyses—it wasn't exactly a life full of freedom. Slowly—but surely—Robert was growing tired of it all.
Don't get him wrong though. His passion for science would never die. It's just that, early in his PhD, he came to a sudden realization: he disliked following these standard protocols.
'I loved science, but I hated scientific administration.'
With the way funding was structured and the publish-or-die mentality that pervaded the academic sector, there was an almost unhealthy pressure to generate results. Add to that the paperwork and endless grant applications, all of which left him with little time to explore his ideas.
Arriving at the greenhouse laboratory, Robert set his priorities.
Normally, the lab would be alive with activity—lab coat–clad colleagues bustling between benches and fume hoods, pipettes in hand, carefully handling petri dishes and sample tubes—but it was lunchtime, so the space was almost deserted. Only one group of colleagues remained, analyzing flow cytometry data.
Robert approached one of his female colleagues who was working on the same project as him. She was blonde, ridiculously pretty, had some assets with a capital A, and seemed like the type who was willing to have some fun. But Robert was too depressed to ask her to join in.
"How is it?" he asked while carefully placing the styrofoam box on a nearby table.
The blonde stopped what she was holding and raised her head. Seeing that Robert had arrived, she was visibly happy.
"Oh, finally, Robert!" she cheered—then instantly deflated, "Given the trend from past experiments, I didn't have high hopes. So far, all we've seen are negative results."
"What's the result?" Robert pressed, choosing to ignore the sudden mood swing like it was just pop-up ad.
"Taking first place is the term 'p>0.05,' or no statistically significant difference," she replied.
"Is that so?" Robert sighed.
Seeing him exhale as if the world had ended, the blonde couldn't help but be amused. She didn't care, though—for her, Robert here = someone on standby.
Grabbing her lunchbox, just as she was about to head to the canteen, she suddenly remembered something, paused, and pointed.
"By the way," the blonde said, "our new guy here found something in the field. The higher-ups want it sent straight to the aerospace & defense division for analysis. If anyone comes by, could you please hand it over to them?"
Aerospace and defense? So serious?
Robert blinked and followed her gesture. At the end of the bench sat a small, matte black rock—so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it.
"Do you know what it is?" he asked.
The blonde shrugged casually. "They said it's from a fragment of the 3I/ATLAS comet... or something like that. But I guess it's just a newly discovered rock—NASA hype, as usual."
Right. How many times has this happened now?
Hale–Bopp, ISON, 'Oumuamua, 2I/Borisov, to now 3I/ATLAS—five claimed alien visitors, all ready for Earth's doom.
Robert nodded, believing her. "Sure, I'll give it to them if they ask."
"Thanks, then," she said, before calling her colleagues over and heading toward the canteen, leaving Robert alone in the lab.
Alone in the lab, Robert sat at the blonde's computer, wanting to scroll through his ongoing research.
All that was left now was to digest the plant tissue using the protocol that had taken a long and arduous six months to perfect, perform recombinant DNA cloning to uncover the genetic blueprints of the crops, and analyze the results to see if his efforts could truly revolutionize modern farming. [1]
"Ah, password... shit."
But he forgot to ask about the password to the blonde's computer.
Sighing, so, as any person with a lot of free time would, Robert decided that he should check out the local fun things to do to compensate for his less-than-pleasant day.
Perhaps during the Coronavirus pandemic, when everyone had been quarantined away from their workplaces, he had fully immersed himself in this favorite guilty pleasure... Isekai.
'Yes, I freely admit it—I, Robert Bennet, love ISEKAI! I loved them all.'
There was just something so enticing about the idea of being transported to another world. The genre had so many variations: the whole reincarnation schtick, the summoned to another world cliché, the hit-by-Truck-kun trope, life becoming a game filled with stats, or even the villain or antihero variants. For a time, those few months of complete lockdown had to be the best in recent memory—it was a pure form of escapism.
At times like these, Robert really, really wished Isekai were real.
Unknown to Robert, behind him, dark, writhing tentacles began to unfurl, creeping toward him from the shadows.
It was the rock, and it seemed to have taken notice of him—perhaps because he was alone, an easy target, or maybe for some other reason entirely. Robert didn't see it coming until a cold, paralyzing weight pressed against his back, and then… everything went black.
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[1] 2013: Joachim Messing (Germany / United States)
Innovations in recombinant DNA cloning, which revolutionized agriculture, and for deciphering the genetic codes of crop plants.