Arthur Penwright stared at his wall-sized monitor, his teacup frozen halfway to his lips. His face, usually a mask of calm, academic curiosity, was twisted into an expression of profound bewilderment.
His paper, his meticulously researched, peer-reviewed, and properly cited paper, had a grand total of twenty-three official views.
Meanwhile, "Exhibit A," ripped from its scholarly context, had been remixed into a chart-topping dance track by a DJ with a chrome skull. Someone was selling T-shirts with Leo's face on them under the words "Keep Calm and Dodge the Plasma." A new viral challenge, the "Noodle Sidestep," was causing minor injuries in schools across ten star systems.
His research had become a meme. He felt a deep, shuddering sigh escape him. The unscientific, populist vulgarity of it all was horrifying.
Then, a news feed from Port Zenith popped up on his screen. The headline read: "Economic Miracle or Mass Hysteria? The Rise of the 'Noodle Cult' of Sector 9." The report showed a crowd of thousands gathered around what was once a grimy noodle stall. It was now a brightly lit, well-funded shrine, with dozens of screens playing his "Exhibit A" on a loop. A beaming man, identified as Manny, the Head Prophet, was preaching about the virtues of "serene detachment."
Arthur leaned closer, his horror giving way to an electric jolt of fascination. This… this was an unforeseen externality. A spontaneous, real-world manifestation of the belief-phenomenon. His experiment was no longer passive. It was interactive. He immediately opened a new file, his fingers flying across the holographic keyboard.
Research Log Addendum: Observation of a Spontaneous Proto-Religion. Subject: The 'Noodle Cult'.
He may have lost control of the narrative, but the data stream was simply too valuable to ignore.
On Port Zenith, the "Noodle Shrine of the Unbothered One" was the biggest party in town. Manny, using his ever-growing fortune, had bought the leases for the five businesses on either side of his stall, creating a sprawling "Campus of Contemplation."
The new converts were a strange and diverse bunch. There was a squad of ex-soldiers who now spent their days in silent, meditative stakeouts, "protecting" the stall from imaginary threats. There was a group of alien tourists with gelatinous bodies who had decided the Unbothered One was a god of interpretive dance, and they wobbled rhythmically to the looping video.
A former data-clerk named Clarice had used her newfound wealth to set up a "charity." She would walk up to stressed-looking shoppers, transfer them a thousand credits, and simply say, "The Unbothered One wants you to take the rest of the day off." Her random acts of financial kindness were causing utter chaos for the station's commerce guilds.
The core of the faith remained simple. The followers would watch the Noodle Incident, try to emulate Leo's profound lack of concern, and find themselves both wealthier and happier for it. It was the most effective, and most disruptive, self-help movement in the history of the galaxy.
In the stark, gray offices of Port Zenith Security, Chief Inspector Valerius slammed her fist on her desk.
"What do you mean, another ten officers quit?" she roared at a nervous-looking subordinate.
"They submitted their resignations this morning, ma'am," the officer stammered. "Cited 'spiritual fulfillment.' Their severance packages were… self-funded. To the tune of a million credits each."
Valerius pinched the bridge of her nose, a vein throbbing in her temple. The Noodle Cult was a nightmare. It wasn't violent. It wasn't illegal. It was just… dissolving the social order. The local economy was in a tailspin because dozens of key personnel, from cargo loaders to financial analysts, were quitting their jobs to go hang out at a noodle stall.
She couldn't arrest them. They were peaceful. She couldn't shut them down. They owned the entire block now, all legally purchased. Her department was bleeding staff, and the ones who remained were distracted, constantly checking their bank accounts with a hopeful look in their eyes.
She was losing control of her station, not to a crime wave, but to a wave of blissful apathy.
"If we can't stop the followers," Valerius said, her voice dangerously quiet, "then we find their leader."
She pulled up the Noodle Incident clip on her main console, freezing it on Leo's calm, tired face.
"This man is the source," she declared. "He is causing mass economic destabilization across this station. I want a Federation-wide bulletin. Put every law enforcement agency from here to the core worlds on alert."
She began to dictate, her words appearing on the screen.
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING: Regarding Incitement of Mass Public Resignation and Economic Destabilization. SUBJECT: Unidentified Male. ALIASES: 'The Unbothered One.'
The bulletin, with Leo's face attached, was broadcast across all official channels.
The hunt had begun. On his private planet, Leo, the most wanted man in the galaxy, rolled over in his sleep, dreaming of absolutely nothing at all.