Obi sat comfortably on the driver's seat as the wind blew through his open car windows. He meticulously tuned up the radio stations searching for his favorite radio band.

Sitting next to him on the passenger seat was his only son Martin – 21 years old, and awkwardly dressed in an old-school attire. They drove north toward Nsukka on the busy Obollo road, but they were held at a slow pace by the heavy traffic – a chance for Obi to judiciously listen to the radio station more attentively. Obi was also aware of the spaces that may appear on the road to help him navigate through the gridlock although he was tremendously calm when other cars occupied most of the spaces.

The hostess on the talk show had two guests: one a human rights activist, and the other an academic doctor. They harangued about a few things: one in particular – the 6G technology. They discussed the great negligence – why the populace heavily despised it; yet conspiracies suggest it was faster than the speed of light.

They raised some points and threw some punches, but the show failed to live up to expectations for Obi. It grew older with the same issues lingering, and an all-out row that left the guests with bruised egos.

Obi listened carefully. He rarely made his thoughts known to his son, who sat steady and boringly quiet. Finally, they arrived at the university gate, and Martin alighted from the BMW.

For so long the Obis had prayed for a child long before Martin was conceived. Therefore, Martin was regarded as the miracle child, and consequently, Obi had become overprotective of him beyond his teenage years. At that time he had only one friend called Joel Etebo – a tall or lanky fella with a flair for hedonistic feasting. They've known each other for so many years. More like brothers now – pushing each other to the highest limits. Joel would force Martin to take more bottles of alcohol, and they would talk, laugh, and then sloshed to the gills. He knew that Martin had to be pushed somehow to forget the hefty expectations that hung upon his shoulders. The expectations from his parents that it was forbidden for him to score below an 'A' result because it was derided as lazy and simply not good enough for the Obis.

Obi wouldn't want anything less for his most precious jewel. He had already enrolled Martin on an extra tutorial for the rest of the semester and beyond the holidays. The tutors were on heavy paychecks, and they were all fully satisfied and eager to perform their duties to the fullest.

So laboriously, Martin climbed the stairs of the science building. The portraits of past researchers hung accordingly on the staircase wall. Their achievements and successes written in gold, and the students took pictures and talked in small groups about their great achieves. The building was buzzing! Martin walked hurriedly through the hallway and ignored the social talks – a full display of his melancholic attitude. He scuttled away towards the lecture hall, so he could sit on the front-row seat of a large classroom.

Professor Nwafor was the teacher for biology. He was well over his sixties, staunch, and hairy. He had white beards around his oval-shaped face, and he spoke fluently – his oratory capabilities were undeniably satisfying.

"Good Morning class," he said, and his voice echoed around the hall.

The students replied, "Good morning sir."

Then long was his lecture that quickly ensued. The long boring lecture was well over an hour now. A few of the students were already sleeping on their desks. Not Martin though because he loved biology.

"But this young man here is such an exception," said professor Nwafor loudly, as he pointed out Martin for praise in front of his jealous classmates. "I don't care how much you sleeping twats winge in your minds about his dedication. I see greatness in you, Martin. Therefore, I'm inviting you now to be part of something great. I want you to be part of the upcoming science exhibition as one of my five laboratory assistants. How do you feel about that?"

"Exciting," Martin replied. "Thank you so much, professor, for such fine opportunity. I won't let you down."

"You better not."

The exhibition was going to be shown on national television. It was going to be monitored by international institutions. Martin had never been on a live television broadcast, and so he was truly excited. Perhaps it was a chance for him to make his father proud of him more than ever. It was an intense feeling of approbation that so excited him. And he walked down the streets on his way home, bouncing like a lucky cool jack that had won a jackpot.

Once he got home, he head straight to the kitchen to greet his mother.

"Good evening mama," he said, and he was welcomed by the pleasant aroma of his mother's spaghetti.

"Good evening, my son. How was your day in school today?"

"Hectic as usual. Not so bad, anyway. Do you remember that science show I told you about?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I was selected as one of the assistants on the show. This is so huge, mum."

His eyes dilated with excitement as he spoke those words.

"Am so happy for you, Martin," his mother replied. "Am sure your father will be extremely proud of you."

Obi was not in the house at that moment. He was busy with some maintenance work at the backyard. Their house was a bungalow with a large compound, and in a neighborhood of mostly middle-class families. Suddenly, from the back door, Obi entered the dining room. He had grease and oil stain on his mechanic coat. Regardless of that, he plunged his fork into the spaghetti.

"Boy, I am starving," he said, and he munched the curly spaghetti into his esophagus.

Then a period of silence ensued, and only the scraping noise of cutlery against their teeth was heard. At least until Martin broke the silence unapologetically.

"Dad, I am among the laboratory assistants for the school's science exhibition," he said.

Obi was still devouring the spaghetti. He had to stop for a while for some drinking water, but he gave Martin a straightforward answer afterwards.

"No," he said. "It will be a dead end – another dead end. You will not be part of it."

Martin was exasperated, but his father started nagging.

"It leads to nowhere. You'll see them in their white lab coats – all white, all cozy. Not only that, but you'll think they are working so hard for humanity, but they all itch for their bloody self-interest. You are going to concentrate on your grades now more than anything else."

Martin was surprised and upset. He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. He held himself together enough to utter some words.

"Dad, I want this," he stammered. "I want…"

His father quickly interrupted.

"Son, let's not bring this up again. I really want to know how far you've prepared for your future. Remember, you'll still have to go to the United States to further your education. You have a lot ahead of you, my little soldier."

"Am not a kid," Martin grunted.

"Can you allow me now to eat this food peacefully? You'll go to school tomorrow, and the first thing you do is to pull yourself out of that science whatever, or else I'll do that for you. Do you understand that?"

The next day, Obi was in professor Nwafor's office.

"I love your son; he's a brilliant young man," professor Nwafor said. "Yes, I want him to be part of the science exhibition – it is a faculty-facilitated science exhibition. There's nothing to worry about Mr. Obi. Or perhaps there's something else that displeases you. You know we can…"

"So what exactly is his role in the so called science exhibition?" Obi snapped.

"Just a few things every science kid will love to do. To get the laboratory ready, then take a few notes, and then record some digits. Something normal for every science student."

"Well, you should take his name off your team now. I don't approve of it," said Obi blatantly.

He gazed at the professor implacably, and he was determined not to fight him, or to struggle with him. He had his eyes fixed on him until their eyes met. Professor Nwafor started to struggle in his mind about where he had seen those eyes before.

"Your face looks familiar, Mr. Obi," he said.

Obi kept quiet. He also maintained his implacable glare. He had that prolonged gaze on every movement the professor made. From the moment the professor took out his ballpoint pen, until the moment he drew a straight line on Martin Obi's name.

"And there goes something," professor Nwafor said. "Your son is officially out of my list."

"Alright then, we are done here," Obi replied. "Guess you want to run it all over again like you did the last time, eh? You are never satisfied; aren't you? When the time comes for you to unleash your chaos upon us all, kindly stay away from my family – you understand?"

Obi stood up from the cushion chair in utter contempt. He walked away from the professor's office and shut the door behind him. The professor's face looked sad. He mulled over Obi's critical words with a glass of wine untasted, and his eyes fixed to a corner of the floor.

Twenty years ago, it was all gloom and pity for the professor. The thoughts came rushing into his mind like a stream of water. He remembered those years, and how he became an alcoholic; cold and forbidding in his manners. He pushed away his friends, ignored most of his colleagues, and made many enemies for himself. And this was after a bitter divorce had awarded a sole legal custody to his wife. He lost everything, including his right to take care of his only daughter. He was heartbroken, mentally devastated, and it hindered his career progress for many years.

All those years as just a teacher in the University, he was barely recognized. His lack of innovation had kept him in the dark – even among his colleagues. Some of his colleagues then became leaders in higher positions, others explored the world and embarked on regular, fun, and informative expeditions, but Nwafor remained a teacher who kept publishing papers without an innovation. Just repeating other people's work with numerous articles. And the result of that was that none became the feather in his cap.

Not until recently, he was pitied by the University council and was awarded the "Professor" title. His longevity and his high number of publications was what earned him the title. And this infuriated most of his numerous enemies, who criticized the council for awarding a prestigious title to a man who was unable to create something new. They said it was a show of pity rather than a true academic merit award for innovation. They mocked the professor, and this chastening became the match stick that ignited the fire of revenge in him. He stopped at nothing but to prove them all wrong. And consequently, the professor became increasingly engrossed into all sorts of research. So much so, he relocated from the University's staff quarter and settled in a secluded area outside the city.Professor Nwafor would drive a country mile to the university – early in the morning, and then he would drive back to his lonely abode in the evening.

Two months later, after his relocation, an object flew from the sky and landed in the woods not too far away from his backyard. It was around 2am in the morning. The impact was loud, and the kinetic energy had an apocalyptic tendency. It wiped away every living organisms within its compass, but mysteriously, it would spare men.

The sound awoke professor Nwafor from his slumber. He walked down the stairs on his way to the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator. As he opened the refrigerator, he noticed wood ash littered all over the kitchen sink and table.

"This is strange," he whispered. "Am sure I left this place all cleaned up."

He looked around him and then outside through the window. He couldn't believe his eyes. A once colorful environment had turned to an ocean of wood ashes. The flowers had lost their beauty, crops and trees reduced to carbonated powder, and carcasses need no invitation to their funeral – they were buried within the ashes.

Professor Nwafor was perplexed. He wondered how this raven darkness had suddenly swallowed everything up while he was asleep. He rushed to the back door and opened the door. There he saw ashes floating on top of his swimming pool.

"This is madness!" He said, and his eyes dilated with fear.

His curiosity was piqued.

"This must have been a terrible bush fire," he assumed. "Or perhaps, it's nothing but a dream. Come on, old man, wake up, wake up."

He removed his eyeglasses, and he methodologically cleaned each lens with a silken blue handkerchief. Then, he replaced it back on his face.

"It is real," he whispered.

He flicked his head from side to side – searching for his dog.

"Hey! Kippo! Kippo! Are you there?"

He paused for effect and called out again into the darkness, but no dog heeled behind him.

"Perhaps he ran away frightened by the fire," he said. "Don't worry, buddy, I'll find you."

The professor's house which was previously covered with green leaves was then naked and could be seen from far away in the dark. He wasn't fazed by this sudden glare of his house, but he was more concerned about his dog and only friend, Kippo. He walked into the darkness with a flashlight beaming into the night.

"This can't be a bush fire," he envisaged. "If it was a bush fire, why was my house not burnt?"

He kept asking himself all sorts of questions while the crows flew over his head seeking for where they could rest their wings. Deep into the darkness, professor Nwafor walked alone. Suddenly, he felt a sudden surge of heat. He pointed the flashlight towards a direction, and he saw a trail of smoke ascending into the clouds. Apprehensively, he walked towards the trail of smoke. When he arrived there, he was amazed by what he saw.

"It's a bloody meteorite!" he shouted, and he watched the object closely through his spectacles.

A black object, shaped like a sugar cube, solid like a piece of stone, and resting on the hole that was dug by descending impact.

"Wow, could this really be a meteorite?" The professor asked himself.

He moved slowly towards object, and then he touched it with his fingers. Immediately, the heat started eating up his skin, so he dropped it quickly. Out from his pocket were gloves, and he used the gloves to pick up the object once again.

"Soft as a boob," he said, and it felt soft on his fingers while he squeezed. "This is crazy. How can something this small trigger such a massive impact? What can this truly be? Can it fetch me money? Or perhaps this can make me super famous; so famous."

He grinned sheepishly to himself as he said those words.

Suddenly, professor Nwafor heard car engines roaring from somewhere not far away. It was a military convoy heading his way. He took the object, and wrapped it with the gloves. Then he tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans, and then he waited patiently until the convoy arrived.

"Yay, You found it!" One of the soldiers said as he approached professor Nwafor. The professor stood courageously beside the epicenter and waited for the soldier to come closer to him.

"How stupid of you old man," the soldier said as he approached the professor. "You don't know how dangerous this place is, and yet you stand here gazing at me as if you don't give a single damn."

Professor Nwafor stretched out his left hand for a handshake.

"The name's professor Nwafor, and you're right I shouldn't be here. We're not sure what we are looking at here. What really happened here."

The soldier grasped his left hand, and shook.

"Lieutenant Abba. It's a pleasure to meet you, professor."

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, lieutenant. Do you like a cup of tea? My house is not far away."

"Sure!" The lieutenant replied, and they walked together towards professor Nwafor's house.

Inside the house, the soldier saw the wood ashes all over the living room.

"Such a mess," he said.

"Yeah, a big one," replied professor Nwafor. "I spent three hours cleaning the house before all this happened. Now I feel it was all a waste of effort."

Professor Nwafor placed a kettle on top of the fire to boil water for tea. He took two chairs outside; one for the lieutenant, and the other for himself. As they waited for the water to boil, professor Nwafor hurriedly hid the mysterious object in his kitchen pantry. Guilefully, he took down the kettle from the cooking gas and poured water into two cups to make tea. When the tea was ready, he took a cup to the lieutenant, and then he sipped from the other cup while they commenced their confabulation. It was a quarter past four in the morning, and the other soldiers were sleeping in the vehicles.

"You will have to clean up your house again, professor." the lieutenant said.

"Yes, lieutenant. Will take a little nap first, and then I'll clean it up later. Besides, It's a Saturday!"

"Ah! Come on, I was just joking. You don't need to clean the house again; we are taking over. The government is sealing up this area for proper investigation, and we want you to vacate the premises as soon as possible. Let's say as early as Monday."

"You can't seal off my house like that!" Professor Nwafor yelled.

"Yes, we can," the Lieutenant replied.

"This is my house. My house is my right and my property. It is not the epicenter of all this. Where do you want me to go?"

"We understand that there is a place for teachers within the university premises," the lieutenant said. "We suggest you move immediately, as early as Monday. Again, we are deeply sorry for whatever discomfort we are pushing you into. We are determined to protect and safeguard the lives and properties of the people in this country. The government has designated this as a terror attack. Moreover, we want absolute secrecy on all our activities during this investigation."

The next day, professor Nwafor relocated back to his former house in the university's staff quarters. His neighbors despised his return; they felt he shouldn't have returned to his vomit.

His closest neighbor was Dr. Mustafa – a teacher in the faculty of science. He was inside his apartment when professor Nwafor arrived. Closely, he watched the professor unpack the boxes from the trunk. Then, he relived the memories of ugly escapades between the professor and residents of the staff quarters.

There was one vivid memory of when residents were protesting over a certain tree. The tree was the biggest in the neighborhood, and it was a nuisance to the entire community. The tree was the home of snakes and other dangerous animals, and the community want the tree to be chopped off. This was against the professor's love for wild life. He doesn't care if it was a problem to the entire community. His decision was to protect the tree, so he sued an entire neighborhood for finally cutting the tree down, and this made him a public enemy.

Some residents said, "Now he has return, and trouble has return with him."

But after four months, and nothing troubling was reported against the professor, the community started thinking that perhaps he has turned a new leaf. Every day, he went about his business just like everyone else in the community. He would drive his car to his office as early as possible, and then he would drive back to the staff quarters very late at night.

During the weekend, he took out the trash, trimmed the grass, and cultivates flowers in his compound. However, some neighbors still believed he was a lunatic, or a super freaky old man that had nothing tangible to offer. He, however, appeared to be less concerned.

One afternoon, his house had a break in. The burglar had gone with almost all of his valuable properties. But as soon as he knew his house was burgled, he rushed down the stairs to the basement. The basement was his private laboratory – a place sacrosanct for him alone. It had advanced biological technologies, boxes of newly acquired tech, and samples of both biological and non-biological specimens. He had invested heavily towards acquiring those facilities, so when he saw the basement door locked, and the room not burgled, he released a massive sigh of relief.

Day after day, he became increasingly engrossed into the mysteries of the fallen object he had acquired. He spent time, savings, salaries, and loans from different financial institutions – just for a successful project to be actualized. But his past failures yet again tormented him. Remnants of those bad memories hovered within his head. Another failure this time would derail his confidence like never before. He remained optimistic, however, and he strongly believed his fame wouldn't be so far away if he could snatch a breakthrough. For months, he had minimal sleep. He worked his socks off; left no stone unturned. Alone in the secrecy of his laboratory, he yearned for answers. Severally, he failed, but somehow, he refused to give up this time. He had a strong belief in the object that fell from the sky, but he needed a clue to trigger his exploitation.

"Aha! This is a biological building block!" he shrieked.

Quickly, he took out a note and a pen, and he started writing down his ideas.

"So far, it looks dead and unreactive. Molecules, unique and unknown to man. How did you find yourself in our word, eh? Nah! This can't be a meteorite; that's out of the question now. The question now is this: how sure am I that this biologically compact organism is not a component of a living system? I guess there's only one way to find out."

He paced around the laboratory with a big book of encyclopedia. His mind wandered in deep thoughts. Then he ran further tests, and it showed elusive genetic makeup results. The findings made him feel more excited. And all of a sudden, he felt the need for a more secluded environment. His decision driven by greed – to prevent information from leaking out into the neighborhood.

The next day, he drove all the way to a beautiful island – the Bukumbusa Island located at the south of Port Harcourt. Port Harcourt was a coastal city in the southern part of the country. He had a hotel booked online and was going to spend at least two weeks there. When he arrived at the hotel, he left most of his laboratory equipments in the trunk of his car. Then he carried a few of his bags – the ones with clothes inside, and he walked towards the receptionist's table.

"Your room is on the seventh floor," the receptionist said. "Please kindly use the elevator to the top, and do enjoy your time here."

She handed the room's key over to professor Nwafor, who then proceeded towards the elevator. The elevator took him to the third floor and had a quick stop. The door clanked open, and a man hopped on. The man recognized professor Nwafor as one of his son's teachers.

"Wow, I can't believe this," the man said. "I am in the same room with my son's favorite teacher – although it's just an elevator."

Professor Nwafor grinned and offered him a handshake.

"Hello, I guess we've met somewhere before; perhaps in Nsukka,"

He shook the man's hand.

"No," the man replied. "Not personally, but my son speaks highly of you. Last year, we saw you in one of the school's events. He was very fond of you."

"Oh! That's so nice to hear! Your son is in what department?"

"He's in the department of infection biology; in his third year now."

"Nice! He's almost there for the graduation."

The elevator stopped, and the door opened.

"Am here on an official trip. Send my greetings to your son."

They exchanged pleasantries before they parted ways. Professor Nwafor entered "room 241" and quickly rested his head on a pillow. It was a long journey from Nsukka to Port Harcourt; he could feel his backache. He turned around, and his face was looking at the ceiling. Then, his thoughts wandered in excitement about the mystery object – the thoughts of its hidden potentials, and this made him smile to himself.

Bukumbusa Island, known as an island for tourists and loners alike, provided a perfect environment – as reticent as ever. It was a small island, beautiful with numerous palm trees, flowers, and a perfect ocean view. The government made it a natural reserve and perfect for picnics and touring activities. However, entrance was expensive, and few people allowed inside. Each day, for six days, professor Nwafor spent time and money on the island – working tirelessly.

"I don't give a damn," he smirked. "These reagents must do the damn job."

One after another, the professor meticulously tested enzymes' impact on the mysterious object under varying conditions. But one after another, the enzymes failed to trigger any sorts of reactions. His anxiety was piqued. Again, he consulted a big book and kept watch for unknown errors. He came back with another variety of reagents and enzymes, and somehow, he arrived at the last throw of the dice. Failure this time would be more devastating than the others. It would force him back to the drawing board, and more frustrations for the professor. The final enzyme to be tested is called thrombin - an enzyme highly specific to human metabolism. He sucked in the enzyme with a syringe and ejected a single drop.

Boom! The result became devastating. Everything happened so fast – within seconds. A loud bang with a massive surge of kinetic energy like how it happened in the woods. This time, it swept an entire island. It swept part of the surrounding ocean, too. The palm trees, the ocean lives, the flowers, fruits – ripe and unripe; they all collapsed into ashes.

The impact threw professor Nwafor off his feet, and his spectacles thrown further away from his face. Everything became numb, and the only sound he heard was something like a crack on a wall. He sprawled there on the floor until he regained enough strength to stoop. Everything looked blurry without his pair of glasses. He searched for it until he found it, and then he replaced it back upon his face. His limbs started shivering with fear when he saw what happened to the beautiful Island. He looked around him and saw the mysterious object resting on the floor – the beaker holding it had shattered to pieces. Then he realized it was a mistake from the start, and his failure was once again staring at him in the face.

The professor saw the mysterious object in a new shape after the blast. The object became a gel, and clumpy substance like a clotted human blood. He knew at that point that he was at his wits' end. His daughter was unsurprisingly at the center of all the emotions he felt at that moment. The agony of failure was slowly driving him insane. He immediately procured the object back again into his right thigh pocket, and he acted like everything was normal.

Eerily, he made a quick gaze around to see if anybody was watching. A man was watching from not far away; the same man he spoke with at the hotel's elevator. Professor Nwafor struggled to get a clearer view of the man's identity, but the man ran away quickly and was hidden by a pall of black smoke that covered the area.

"Are you alright Sir?" said a voice behind him with a tap on his shoulder.

He turned around to see a lady dressed in a security uniform.

"I am fine," he replied.

"What a horrible explosion that was; any idea what really happened here?" the officer asked.

"No," replied professor Nwafor.

The professor was setting out to use his guile to hide from the muddle he found himself.

"Are you sure you are okay?" The young lady asked again.

"Look, I am fine. I am just trying to recover from the impact of that loud noise. In fact, I think I will need to go now and get some sleep. I'm going home."

He made his way to the exit, and the young lady followed behind.

"I guess there are no casualties from the blast after all," she said, and she felt rather relieved. "But look at this place. After many years of hard work to create a perfect environment, and on a single day, we lost it all."