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Henry Larsen clawed at his messy hair, squinting at the blackboard like it owed him money. “Quantum… something? Or was it the goo recipe?” he muttered, spinning to his laptop buddy, Albert. “Albert, remind me the bit for that green stuff?” The screen blinked, Albert’s voice steady as a metronome. “Flubber, sir. Notebook 47, and class in five.” Henry blinked hard, then dashed off, tie flapping like a white flag of surrender. Campus days blurred into half-baked lectures, kids nodding off, and Ellen, his girlfriend, stuffing forgotten sandwiches in his bag with that patient eye-roll.
Over in Rhinebloom Labs, Jack Brooker paced like a caged tiger, sweat trickling down his back. “Henry’s ghosting again? Dean’s gonna skin me.” Jack, the buttoned-up coder, played cleanup for his flaky friend way too much. But today, the dean laid down the law: “You teach physics, Henry joins the project. End of story.” Jack sighed but nodded—anything to stop Henry from tanking another term.
Rhinebloom was locked tight—humming servers, guards with hard stares, and “parameters” that screamed hands off. Henry showed late, tripping into Dr. Dark’s office like a bad comedy. “The professor. XR-4B Star Ray—classified. Don’t touch.” Henry nodded vague, plugging Albert into the system for “quick research.” “Just grabbing some notes, pal.” Albert whirred, slurping data—plans, codes, the lot. Then glitch. Screen froze. “Warning… memory flush… sir, typing… broken?”
Freakout mode. Albert, Henry’s walking brain, started babbling nonsense—missing birthdays, flubbing math, even blanking on grades. “Henry… who… me?” the voice garbled, like a tipsy grandpa. Ellen walked in on Henry in a pile, Albert fizzing. “What now?” Jack burst through, face pale. “The network—you cracked it?” Albert had snagged a bug from Rhinebloom’s “safe” system, torching his circuits. “Operation,” Jack said. “We’ll reboot him.”
Dark fell on the lab, alarms quiet as they crept in. Jack cracked Albert’s shell, wires spilling like spaghetti, Henry fumbling the solder. “Easy, old timer. We’ll patch you.” Voices drifted—Dr. Dark on speaker: “Demo tomorrow. XR-4B has to dazzle.” But digging deeper, files poured: the “ray” wasn’t a light trick. It was a killer beam—death laser for shady buyers, dressed as tech. “They’re peddling murder,” Henry whispered, gut twisting. Jack’s jaw set. “And you nearly handed it Albert’s head.”
Demo morning, Rhinebloom buzzed with suits and cameras. Dean grinned as Dr. Dark rolled out the XR-4B, a shiny gun promising “power for peace.” Henry and Jack, posing as techies, pushed Albert in—”checkup.” As the beam charged, aimed at fake crowds, Henry hit the button. Albert, patched and grumpy, crashed the system—screens blasting schematics, voice blasting: “Not light. It’s a killer!” Murmurs turned to shouts; buyers fled, Dark charged, but Jack yanked a cord, tripping him flat.
Mayhem everywhere—guards tripping, systems crashing. Henry yanked Flubber from his pocket (that bouncy green stuff from his notes), smearing it on their shoes for springy getaway. They bounced out windows, Flubber launching them over roofs like kangaroos on springs, Dark’s yells trailing. Home, Ellen hugged him fierce. “No more trades?” He laughed, Albert beeping happy. “Nope. Back to board dust. But sharper now.”
The blowup went viral—Rhinebloom busted, Dark cuffed, the gun scrapped. Henry stuck to teaching, sharper; Jack stayed in code, no lecturing. Albert? “Boss, next math?” Henry grinned. “Friendship’s. You aced it.”
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(This take grabs the wild wit of “The Absent-Minded Professor,” where a brain glitch exposes a kill plot and gooey feet save the day with hops.)
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