Chapter 24 — When the Holy Light Goes on Strike
When Leonard pushed open the apartment door, Ethan was sprawled on the couch, half-dead, watching Sheldon fiddle with the fish tank.
"Hey," Leonard said, dropping his bag. "I ran into Penny. She seemed kinda upset."
"Probably her period," Sheldon replied without looking up. "I've been tracking it on the calendar for predictive modeling."
Ethan groaned from the couch.
"Sheldon, I've told you a thousand times—that's invasive and wildly rude."
He pointed lazily toward the kitchen.
"And take that 'Penny Emotional Forecast Chart' off the fridge. Every time I grab juice, I feel like I've walked into a serial killer's lab."
Sheldon turned. "Why? Are you suggesting the chart lacks scientific value?"
"I'm saying it lacks basic human decency," Ethan replied. "If Penny sees it, we die. Horribly."
He added, "Remember when you did that to Paige? You remember how that ended, right?"
Sheldon froze. Then he bolted to the fridge, ripped the chart down, and shredded it.
"You're correct," he said gravely. "There's no need for the research subject to know they're being studied."
Leonard stared at both of them, then chose survival and changed topics.
"…So. The fish?"
Sheldon returned to the tank, adjusting equipment. "New experiment."
"What happened to the egg research?"
"Dead end." Sheldon made a decisive slicing gesture. "Scrambled eggs have a theoretical ceiling of flavor optimization. I have reached it."
Leonard blinked. "So now… fish?"
"Yes. I read a paper about Japanese scientists inserting bioluminescent jellyfish DNA into other organisms. And I thought—ah. Glow-in-the-dark fish."
Leonard looked at Ethan. Ethan just lifted his shoulders.
Sheldon lowered his voice dramatically.
"This is a billion-dollar idea. Keep it quiet."
Leonard nodded fast. "I won't tell anyone."
Ethan, still horizontal, muttered, "Great. When the apocalypse comes, at least our fish tank will be visible from space."
Ethan let out a long sigh and told Leonard,
"His exact words were: 'If bioluminescence already exists in nature, why are we still paying electricity bills?'"
"I tried explaining cost efficiency," he continued, "but he's already planning glow-fish farms in Africa to solve lighting shortages."
"In Africa?" Leonard echoed.
"Regions with energy scarcity require innovation," Sheldon said calmly.
Leonard tried again. "Sheldon… are you sure you don't want to apologize to the department chair and go back to work?"
"Oh no, no, no. I have far too much to do."
"Such as… raising glow fish in Africa?"
"Shh, Leonard!" Sheldon hissed, finger up. "That's only phase one! I also have a large-scale mail-order women's hygiene company concept. And—"
"Sheldon!" Ethan cut in sharply. "Do not finish that sentence."
Too late.
"Glow-in-the-dark tampons!" Sheldon announced proudly.
Leonard froze, mouth open, brain clearly buffering.
"Sheldon," Ethan said, face already in his hands, "this is how you declare war on half the planet."
Sheldon waved him off. "Nonsense! Leonard, think about it. Visibility. Precision. A fusion of practicality and advanced technology!"
Ethan buried his face deeper into the couch cushion, voice muffled with despair. Leonard looked like he had briefly left his body.
After a long, painful intervention from both men, Sheldon reluctantly shelved his "revolutionary contribution to women's health."
Leonard turned to Ethan. "Hey… Penny's a little worried about you. She thinks you don't seem like yourself. You okay?"
"Thanks," Ethan said. "I'm just… figuring out where I'm headed next."
"Okay. If you need anything, you tell me."
---
Three Weeks Later
Outside, the sun was blazing. Inside, the apartment curtains were drawn like a bunker.
Ethan walked in with coffee and found Sheldon seated before three curved monitors, eyes closed in concentration.
Forest footage looped across the screens. A fan hummed. An aroma diffuser pumped out "pine + damp soil."
Ethan scanned the setup, silent for several seconds.
"…Sheldon. Are you watching the Weather Channel?"
"No. This is a controlled virtual environment. I have successfully recreated Yosemite's environmental parameters. Temperature: 22°C. Humidity: 47%. Gentle breeze simulation. Forest scent."
He gestured vaguely.
"I can now experience nature without UV radiation or strangers."
"You know," Ethan said, "normal people solve 'haven't left the house in three weeks' by… leaving the house."
"I have no physiological outdoor requirement," Sheldon replied. "I have food, internet, soap, and—most importantly—no human interaction."
"People need interaction to maintain mental health."
"False. That's a slogan psychologists use to sell books. The human brain can function in isolation for extended periods. My neural activity is actually more stable."
Ethan rubbed his forehead. "So you're really not going out."
Sheldon glanced at him. "I'm fine. At least I'm not the one staring at pigeons outside the window for two hours a day."
"That's meditation," Ethan said stiffly.
"Then why did you chase the pigeon when it stole your headphones?"
"…Reflex."
---
Later, the living room echoed with a soft tap–tap, tap–tap rhythm. Sheldon was weaving fabric.
Ethan sat on the couch, coffee in hand, staring at a pothos plant on the table.
Almost automatically, he raised his hands to cast the spell he knew best—Renew.
In the game, before he came to this world, it had been his favorite: instant, low cost, long duration.
Here, it had become second nature. A daily habit.
Usually the warm light flowed smoothly.
This time the glow flickered. After several seconds, only a faint shimmer formed. Instead of comfort, the energy jittered through his body, bringing a rush of dizziness and heart palpitations.
He frowned.
Since discovering the shadow energy couldn't be purged, his healing spells had grown unstable. At first he blamed low Holy Light reserves.
But weeks had passed. Nothing improved.
Ethan lowered his hands, confusion heavy in his eyes.
Even his most practiced spell was now erratic and uncontrollable.
"…Great," he muttered.
"The Holy Light just went on strike."