Chapter 8: The Degree Purchase
Our new plan was simple: use the System's "Degree Acquisition" function to get me a PhD. It was a logical next step. After all, if I was going to be a genius in the TBBT universe, I might as well have the degree to prove it. I mean, what's a genius without a fancy piece of paper to hang on the wall, right?
I opened the System's interface, the holographic screen shimmering with a blue light in front of me. I clicked on the "Degree Acquisition" button, and a new screen appeared. It was a list of all the degrees I could purchase, with their respective costs. A Master's degree was a minimum of $100,000, and a PhD was a minimum of $1,000,000. It was expensive, but I had a plan. A plan that involved a lot of research, a lot of late nights, and a lot of caffeine. And a system that could generate the money. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing.
But there was a catch. A big, ridiculous catch. A small, unassuming text box at the bottom of the screen read, "Prerequisites for Degree Acquisition." I clicked on it, and a new screen appeared. It was a list of the most ridiculous, most absurd tasks I had ever seen.
"I have to play a game of chess against a sentient toaster?" I asked, a look of utter shock on my face.
Paige, who was sitting next to me, took a sip of her coffee. "I think that's the one," she said, a small smile on her face. "And I think you have to win a game of 'rock, paper, scissors' against a hologram of a disgruntled quantum physicist. It's a test of both intellectual prowess and comedic timing. It's like the System is a sentient AI that's been watching bad sci-fi movies for a hundred years and decided this is the best way to get a degree."
I just stared at her, a look of profound disbelief on my face. "A sentient toaster? This is what I have to do to get a PhD? I could just go to college, you know. It would be a lot less weird. And a lot less likely to give me a migraine."
"And a lot less fun," she said, a wide, triumphant grin on her face. "Come on, Adam. Think of it as a challenge. A test of your new, super-charged brain. A test of your ability to maintain your sanity in the face of pure, unadulterated absurdity."
I sighed, a sense of resignation washing over me. "Fine. Let's do it. Let's play chess against a sentient toaster. I just hope it doesn't try to lecture me about the proper way to make a bagel."
The System, in its infinite wisdom, generated a small, holographic toaster on my kitchen counter. It was a beautiful, stainless steel toaster, with a small, holographic face and a pair of glowing red eyes. It looked like a cross between a toaster and a particularly grumpy robot from a 1980s sci-fi film.
"Greetings," the toaster said, its voice a perfect, condescending drone, like a cross between Sheldon and a particularly pompous GPS. "I am the Toaster of Destiny. I am here to challenge you to a game of chess. If you win, you get your PhD. If you lose, you have to spend the rest of your life eating burnt toast. It's a win-win, really. For me."
I just stared at it, a blank look on my face. "I'm not going to be able to get through this without laughing."
The game was a masterpiece of neurosis. The toaster, in a display of pure, unadulterated arrogance, made a move. "Knight to F3," it said, its voice a perfect, condescending drone. "I believe that's what you mortals call 'a gambit.' A futile, pointless gambit. I, on the other hand, am a master of the game. I have, in my infinite wisdom, calculated every possible move, every possible outcome, and every possible way that you will lose. It's a statistical certainty."
I just stared at the board, my mind, now a super-powered processor, running a hundred different calculations. I saw the toaster's strategy, its flaws, its strengths. I saw its every move, its every thought, its every plan. I saw the way it was trying to trap me, to corner me, to force me into a checkmate. But I also saw the way it was trying to show off, to prove its superiority. And that was its weakness.
I made a move. "Pawn to D4," I said, a small smile on my face. "I believe that's what we call 'a counter-gambit.' A beautiful, glorious counter-gambit."
The toaster, in a display of pure, unadulterated fury, made a move. "You… you can't do that!" it sputtered. "That's a violation of the laws of chess! It's illogical! It's… it's chaos! You're a… a toaster-trator!"
I just chuckled and shook my head. This was going to be fun. And a lot less painful than I thought.