Sheldon Cooper, PhD, MS, and, as he called himself, "future Nobel laureate," sat at his laptop checking his email. As usual, he sorted his emails with maniacal precision: spam, requests for article reviews, invitations to conferences that he considered "unworthy of his time." Some emails he deleted without even reading the subject line. This method saved him a lot of time, as if he spent hours reading every message. Which was unacceptable to him.
He was about to finish checking when he noticed a strange email with no sender address. No name, no domain, not even a standard digital footprint. Just:
Sender: [UNDEFINED]
Subject: Invitation to the "Ω" program
"Ha!" Sheldon snorted, adjusting his imaginary glasses. "Another phishing attempt. These hackers clearly don't know who they're dealing with." My computer is protected by an algorithm I developed based on knot theory and quantum cryptography. Hack it? Pff, that's as likely as Leonard learning to pronounce 'quark-gluon plasma' correctly!
He should have deleted the message. But he didn't. The mouse cursor hovered over the letter. Sheldon leaned a little closer, not too much, so as not to exceed the acceptable limits of the recommended distance from the screen — as he once said, "even at the moment of a possible intrusion by an unknown entity into the security system, it is necessary to observe ophthalmological discipline."
He narrowed his eyes as he studied the subject line: "Invitation to the Ω program."
Hmm... a Greek letter. Mystery level: three out of ten. Probably another attempt to get the user to click on a tempting link and infect their computer with something like a Trojan horse. Silly. If they really wanted to hack me, they would start by replacing DNS records, not with banal spam.
He thought for a second, then leaned back in his chair, folding his arms:
"Although, on the other hand... when was the last time someone really tried to challenge me intellectually? Leonard? Ha! He still confuses "processor bit width" with "RAM capacity."
Nevertheless, curiosity—or, as he called it, "pure scientific interest"—got the better of him. And if someone really managed to hack into his computer, Sheldon would have to reluctantly admit that his security system was not as perfect as he thought, and in the worst case, he would have to buy a new computer and upgrade his security system to fix the flaw, which might even be useful for him. Even defeat, if it hypothetically happened, would be another step toward perfecting his methodology. Besides, Sheldon couldn't allow anyone — whether a hacker, artificial intelligence, or, God forbid, Howard Wolowitz with another stupid joke — to question his genius. If this letter was indeed a challenge, he, Sheldon Cooper, was obliged to respond to it with his characteristic impeccable logic and scientific meticulousness.
"If it's a virus," he muttered, addressing his reflection in the screen, "I'll break it down into bytes and make hackers regret ever learning about the internet." With that, he opened the email.
Subject: Invitation to the Ω Program.
Dr. Sheldon Cooper.
Your intellect and analytical abilities have been recorded as exceeding human standards.
Based on a statistical assessment of your cognitive patterns and behavior within the local universe, the Council of Equilibrium offers you the position of Curator of Interuniversal Observation, Level Ω-1.
Your task is to monitor the stability of local and parallel worlds, prevent anomalies from intersecting, and assist field agents.
We are aware that you will consider this message to be a prank or a viral hacking attempt. We have anticipated this.
The attachment to this letter does not contain any code, vulnerabilities, or malicious elements. You can verify this yourself by running an antivirus scan.
Once activated, the application will initiate a consciousness synchronization contract. The process is reversible only in theory.
By confirming your participation, you agree to observe, analyze, and control events that should never become public knowledge.
A response is required within 1 hour.
If consent is not received, the invitation will be canceled and the memory of it will be recursively deleted.
To activate, click: [ACCEPT OFFER]. And what you call an "installer" will be downloaded to your computer.
To decline, click: [DECLINE] — although this action is not recommended in terms of losing a potential curator who could be useful to us.
— Council of Balance
"Everything must remain in balance."
Sheldon read the letter twice. This was unusual; normally, one reading was sufficient.
"The Balance Council?" Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Sounds like the name of the club Raj tried to start for his astrological fantasies."
Sheldon leaned back in his chair, clasped his fingers, and stared at the screen as if it were a blackboard for his next equation. His eyebrows twitched slightly, betraying an internal struggle between skepticism and curiosity.
"Curator of interuniversal observation, level Ω-1," he said aloud, drawing out the words with a hint of sarcasm. "What's next? Supreme coordinator of the space-time continuum? Or maybe CEO of strings in space?" He snorted, but his voice betrayed not only irritation but also genuine intrigue.
For a moment, Sheldon imagined sharing this letter with Leonard, Raj, and Howard. He immediately grimaced.
"Absolutely pointless," he muttered. "Leonard will call it a virus with a claim to originality and suggest I reboot the router. Raj will start spouting nonsense about cosmic karma and Vishnu. And Howard..." Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Howard will joke about whether this app can be used to 'communicate with alien beauties.'" No, I have to figure it out myself. As always.
His lips curved into a barely noticeable smug smile.
"Although I must admit, the attempt to flatter me is quite elegant. 'Your intelligence is beyond human standards' — yes, that's me, thank you for noticing. He lifted his chin as if posing for an imaginary portrait in the Hall of Fame. "They almost succeeded in buttering me up, almost."
However, Sheldon wouldn't be himself if he immediately succumbed to flattery. He clicked accept, and the installer quickly loaded. He activated Cooper Scan 3000, his antivirus program, which, in his own words, "could detect even a hypothetical virus." At the same time, he ran his own diagnostic script, written based on node topology and quantum cryptography.
"No one can get past Sheldon Cooper," he muttered, watching the scan progress bar crawl across the screen. "If it's a Trojan, I'll break it down into bits and send my own Trojan to the developers for moral damages. Let them suffer. If it's real..." He fell silent, his eyes narrowing.
To believe that someone had actually written to Sheldon Cooper with an offer to "oversee" the multiverse was absurd, to say the least. Deep down, he didn't believe a single word of the letter. "The Council of Equilibrium"? "Interuniversal Monitoring"? It sounded like a plot Raj might come up with after watching another episode of Doctor Who with an extra cup of tea. And yet, the lack of any digital trace of the sender — no domain, no IP, not even a hint of code — was... impressive. It was too inventive to be a prank.
"If this is a joke," he muttered, addressing his reflection in the screen, "it deserves applause. Almost. But if I, Sheldon Cooper, find this hacker—or, more likely, group of hackers—I will send them a reply letter in which I generously acknowledge their skills. And then," he narrowed his eyes, already anticipating his triumph, "I will eat ice cream. Vanilla, with just the right ratio of syrup and nuts. A well-deserved reward for solving this mystery.
He imagined presenting an imaginary certificate for "Outstanding Attempt to Fool Sheldon Cooper" and opening the ice cream container with relish. But first, business.
"Leonard," he said over his shoulder, without looking up from the screen, "if this is your work, I'll take you off the cleaning schedule for two months. And don't try to blame Howard, I know he's not capable of such technical finesse."
Leonard, buried in a comic book on the couch, sighed. "Sheldon, I don't know what you're talking about. If it's spam, delete it and go eat your cereal. You have a schedule to keep, remember?"
"It's not spam, Leonard," Sheldon snapped, turning to face him, his voice trembling with irritation. "This is either a brilliant prank, or I've finally met a programming genius." He lowered his voice. "And I don't eat cereal at 12:13 on Tuesdays. It's oat bar day!"
Sheldon turned back to the screen.
"No one challenges Sheldon Cooper and gets away with it," he muttered, watching the scanner's progress bar crawl across the screen. "If this is a Trojan, I will find it and write an article for Cybersecurity magazine."
A few minutes later, the screen displayed the result: "No threats detected. System is clean."
"Not a trace?" Sheldon leaned toward the screen as if he could see the code in the flickering pixels. "It's either a new type of virus or they used some sophisticated cloaking technique..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "technology that got past the scanner I personally developed."
Sheldon froze. His face reflected a mixture of awe and irritation—a state in which his brain desperately resisted acknowledging that someone could know more than he did.
"Impossible," he finally said. "Absolutely impossible. Any system, even a hypothetical one, must leave a digital trace. Protocols, logs, timestamps — everything! Even quantum data transmission requires a reference point!"
He began typing rapidly, opening several terminal windows at once, scripts flashing one after another, reflected in his glassy eyes.
"No, I must have missed something... maybe it's a new type of distributed code? Or," he paused, "an adaptive structure capable of existing outside standard communication channels?"
Leonard put down his comic book and asked cautiously,
"Sheldon, are you talking to yourself again?"
"Yes, Leonard," he replied dryly, without looking up from the screen, "I am talking to myself. And kindly don't interrupt."
Leonard rolled his eyes quietly.
"Listen, if it's an installer, why don't you just uninstall it? Maybe you should take a break? Eat some ice cream like normal people do."
"Leonard," Sheldon said, without looking at him, "your advice is as useful as trying to explain quantum mechanics with Spider-Man comics. This isn't spam, and I don't eat ice cream outside of my schedule! Although..." He paused. "If I expose these hackers, I might make an exception. Vanilla, with the exact ratio of syrup to nuts.
Leonard made the decision he usually made, which was to leave Sheldon in his intellectual solitude and go to the kitchen. Sheldon, meanwhile, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His hand held the mouse. Refusal would mean that he, Sheldon Cooper, had chickened out of a challenge, and that was unthinkable. Even if it was a prank, he would find the culprit, send them a letter with sarcastic praise for their ingenuity, and perhaps add a couple of comments on how to improve their code. And then — ice cream. A well-deserved reward for the triumph of genius.
"All right, Balance Council," he said with the look of a chess player making a decisive move. "You think you can outsmart Dr. Sheldon Cooper? I accept your challenge, but be warned: I will compile a list of 47 reasons why your interface needs improvement!"
With that, he clicked decisively on the installer. The download began immediately. No settings, no choice of folder location. Sheldon held his breath as he watched the download bar fill rapidly without prompting him to select a folder or configure settings. It was outrageous — no self-respecting installer should ignore the basic principles of user control! His fingers tightened around the mouse, and the first item on his list of comments formed in his head: "Unacceptable lack of option to select installation directory."
The screen flashed, and an interface resembling a Star Trek set with a NASA-sized budget unfolded before him. Symbols — Greek letters, hieroglyphs, flickering geometric shapes, and operators from category theory in 3D — swirled chaotically. Panels moved on their own, icons with symbols like Ω and inverted integrals flashed and disappeared.
"This is either the worst user interface ever, or I'm connected to a quantum supercomputer from the fifth dimension!" Sheldon exclaimed. "Where's the user manual? Where's the Help button? This violates all ISO standards!"
He clicked on the icon. The screen emitted a buzzing sound, and the symbols spun faster, making Sheldon's head spin so badly that he staggered back, nearly knocking over the table.
"This is unacceptable!" he declared.
Suddenly, the interface froze. The symbols rearranged themselves, and the screen transformed: neat panels, tabs labeled "World Database," "Agents," "Anomalies," "Settings." An inscription appeared in the center:
[Welcome, Dr. Sheldon Cooper. You have been appointed curator of sector 47-B of the multiverse. Your agent: Tanjiro Kamado. Task: neutralize the Beta-class anomaly. Begin training?]
"This is..." He paused, trying to comprehend what was happening. "This is either the greatest prank in history, or I've just become the main character in a science fiction epic. And I haven't decided which is worse yet."
His plan to find the hacker and celebrate with ice cream was just falling apart before his eyes.