Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Intellectual BASE Jumping

The One was a mysterious entity known only to and discussed only among the very small and freakishly smart population of geniuses to which Eugene had genetic membership. The One was said to be a tutor. Not a mentor. Not a friend. A trial by fire in human form. Yoda was a cuddly Muppet trainer for mediocre farmboys but “The One” was merciless. He would beat your mind like a blacksmith at the forge.

The One was supposedly able to coax the peak ability from a true genius. Geniuses scoured the world looking for just such a lifeline. Mired in a hedge fund and seeing little else on the horizon, “The One” was a beacon and a life raft to a man like Eugene. He needed a genuine Plato; someone with sufficient horsepower to shepherd his Aristotelian mind from the mud of Idiocracy.

The One was said to provide (or perhaps the word is inflict) a mental workout the likes of which only exceptional people could handle. The One did not deal with normal beings, or as Eugene’s mental equals called them, “Muggles”. There were rumors that The One’s methods were unconventional, possibly even dangerous. It was assumed that a “Muggle” under The One’s tutelage would be dead or mad in a matter of hours.

The One was exceptionally secretive. Eugene personally interviewed anyone who had or claimed to have seen The One. He was fairly confident “The One” existed but the rest was inconclusive. The One’s training regime could be experienced, but not explained. Anyone who’d met “The One” clammed up and never discussed the event’s specifics. It was Fight Club of the mind.

Nor did anyone share information on how to find “The One”. Presumably, if you were ready, the universe would put you in contact. Finally, just as he approached his wit’s end, Eugene unearthed a dark web entity that proposed a contract with The One.

The entity was as mysterious as the whole idea. From it, he received a secretive and somewhat threatening contract. The contract was not even remotely legally binding. It was ominous and invasive. It was also written in Sanskrit; as if to say “if you’re the kind of person who can’t translate Sanskrit, you’re too dumb to help. Go watch TV with the other chimps.” At least that’s how Eugene interpreted it. He could afford to hire a translator but elected to learn Sanskrit just to read the document. Take that!

Before pulling the trigger, Eugene contacted one of the firm’s lawyers. He asked for a meeting and carefully explained that he had a document that needed reviewing. He insisted that if even one word of it got leaked, Eugene would use all his resources, mental and financial, to make sure said lawyer never worked again. Then he handed over a heavily redacted English translation of the contract.

The lawyer scanned it and practically threw it across the room. It was disgusting! A mess! It sounded more like a deal with Satan than an educational opportunity. Anyone who’d associate with lunatics who’d write such a thing deserved whatever they got. He counseled Eugene to quit hanging out with freaks on the dark web and find other interests. Take up golf. Get laid. Do some heroin. Anything but pursue such madness! (Frankly Eugene made the lawyer nervous under the best of conditions. Showing him a contract that sounded like heavy metal lyrics made it so much worse. The document was proof the man was going to wind up, sooner or later, in a padded room.)

That sold Eugene on the enterprise. Anything that makes sense at three standard deviations will royally piss off a “normie”. Now he was sure.

That night, he completed the contract on a darkweb interface. It was an unforgiving multi-phase affair. It started with specific instructions about banking transfers, all of which sounded sketchy.

He scribbled the details on a notepad. He noticed the ultimate fee was not specified. If you have to ask, you can’t afford it?

Then he was faced with several buttons. He clicked “yes” them all. He affirmed that he’d read the contract (no mention of Sanskrit), he agreed to it, he knew what he was doing, he had no reservations about the matter, he was single, and he didn’t have heart issues or physical maladies that would cause him to die under stress. This made him pause a bit before pressing the button, but he carried on. More buttons; he wasn’t currently high, he wasn’t psychotic, neurotic, dissociative, or a serial killer. Sheesh! The last button was the strangest. It literally said “I’m not just jerking around and I won’t pussy out”. He shrugged and clicked it too.

Then he had to provide health records. It took a half hour to find the right records but Eugene did as requested.

Finally, when he thought he was about done, an ad-hoc pirated version of the Reynolds Adaptable Intelligence Test launched onto his screen. Eugene was no stranger to IQ tests but this one was sprung on him with no warning! The interface merely prompted him with a question and a timer. The clock was already ticking! After a few normal questions, he was given 26 seconds to determine how many blocks were in a three-dimensional, multicolored, irregular, rotating shape. Then he was prompted to solve a mathematical formula that was constantly changing with time, as were the available answers. This one had a 73 second timer. It may have begun as a standard test but now it was entirely different; a loopy experimental questionnaire. But he didn’t have time to ponder the overall situation. As soon as he answered one question another would pop up… all with timers. He waded through hundreds of questions.

At the bottom of the screen a scrolling warning threatened that if he did poorly he’d never meet The One. It also warned that restarting, pausing, or retesting were all instant disqualifiers. There was no mention of cheating, but the timer was so fast that fiddling about with Wikipedia searches or whatnot would’ve been counterproductive. The warnings about restarting, pausing, and retesting were repeated in irregular patterns. Was it the Fibonacci Sequence? He couldn’t tell.

The test took hours but it was fun. He was a genius after all.

Immediately after the last question, the screen went blank. The location where he’d been working (on the dark web) vanished. Poof, gone! He couldn’t re-establish contact. There was no way to know he’d completed the application, no confirmation number, no receipt, nothing.

He was crestfallen. It was probably an elaborate phishing setup!

After a well-earned pee break, he took all the steps that had been outlined in the earlier stages. He established a private numbered Swiss bank account and wrote the number on a slip of paper. On the paper he added the passphrase he’d been given. He retrieved a Krugerrand from his safe and taped the paper to it. Then, sheepishly, he put the Krugerrand in his pocket.

He felt silly, like a kid trying to find the tooth fairy, but the instructions were clear. He was to carry the gold coin with him day and night for the next 30 days. Miss even one day, and he was disqualified.

Then he was done. The One would contact him. Or “The One” didn’t even exist.

It was an unsatisfying situation. Likely, he’d done nothing but set himself up for the mother of all muggings. Yet, he had hope. A desperate man will do desperate things and that’s far better than mere resignation.

Three days later his private cell phone received a text from an unidentified source. It was a dollar amount with no other information. The number was unreasonably large! There was no indication this was from The One. He’d never provided this phone number to anyone other than professional contacts. In fact, he was quite secretive with it. Yet the text was there. On a hunch, he deposited the amount in the numbered account. What’s the point of being filthy rich if you can’t piss it away on stupid ideas? Also, is getting hosed by an elaborate hoax any worse than marrying a gold digger and getting cleaned out in every few years? (Of the seven men that called themselves Eugene’s boss, there were a total of 16 divorces. Eugene estimated that his work supported no less than 16 ex-wives, 9 illegitimate children, and three legal “settlements”.)

Despite his willingness to part with a small fortune, he was worried. If this didn’t work out, he was done for.