Hector’s Conjecture and the Singularity | Chapter Two
Chapter the Second
Concerning the destiny that Hector so profoundly feared.
A week had passed—a week in which Hector had not squandered a single moment. The subsequent scoldings from his parents had failed to intimidate his inner world in the slightest; he continued to conjure his adventures and battles at home while striving to maintain a façade of “normality.” Within those seven days, Hector completed the illustration he had begun and prepared to design the cover of his book. He considered a title such as Hector, the Ingenious Genius Inventor. However, the words “ingenious” and “genius” struck him as redundant due to their phonetic similarity. He felt an urgent need for a more precise adjective.
One of his father’s ideas lingered in his mind: the notion that one never knows if they will remain alive or if the current day will be their last. Hector refused to accept this; to his philosophy, it sounded ambiguous and unrealistic. His own creed dictated that every action had a cause and a consequence—be it good or bad, infinitesimal or monumental. He could not simply resign himself to powerlessness; that was antithetical to his ideals. He remained faithful to the reason behind every event. He accepted that some occurrences were beyond his control, which meant he required the maturity and resilience to endure them. Yet, conversely, it meant that some events were within his control, and if they were, he was duty-bound to master them—to find the courage to alter what could be changed.
This realization only fueled his drive to become the Hector he envisioned. Soon, he was drifting into another of his “mad mental voyages,” imagining things that were not yet real. He vowed not to leave this life without first becoming the man in his future book: unstoppable, indestructible, invincible.
He set to work. If it were true that he had only hours of freedom left before a punishment deprived him of his creative tools, he needed to advance as much as possible to solidify the essence of the person he aspired to be.
The first step in Hector’s transformation was to be unstoppable. According to the Dictionary, this meant that which cannot be halted. Hector concluded that to be unstoppable, one required a will of equal magnitude. To achieve this, he began a self-confidence exercise: determining to overcome the first obstacle—the punishment that had been looming like a shadow for a week. In his intensity, he temporarily set aside his book project, trusting he would find the ideal title later.
It was unlikely his punishment would be light, given the numerous warnings he had ignored—warnings earned every time he accidentally woke his brother from a nap and was forced to soothe him back to sleep. Hector loathed this task, but he found motivation in the thought that his new project would soon allow him to transcend these trivialities that cluttered his mind. He decided he would begin in earnest tomorrow. Since midnight was approaching, he maintained a strict silence to avoid provoking a crisis and retreated from his desk, leaving his drawings behind, to seek sleep.
The following morning, Hector awoke weary, his rest plagued by anxiety over “The Punishment.” The words circled his mind like vultures over a corpse. Yet, as the “unstoppable” being he intended to be, he would not let this deter his resolve.
He rose and began his day with precision. He went to the washbasin and brushed his teeth with meticulous care, noting his wisdom teeth slightly breaching the gums—a detail he observed with clinical detachment. After drying his face, he stole a glance into his parents’ room. They were still asleep, his brother peaceful in the crib. Hector chose not to disturb their well-earned rest.
With extreme caution, he slipped out to the front patio, where he kept his hoard of metal and wooden “trinkets.” Resolved to continue his project under any circumstances, he gathered his materials: a vest, a collection of fine steel tubes and elbows he had worked previously, steel sheets, rivets, and an unimaginable desire to realize his invention. He moved each item into his room one by one, keeping the door ajar to minimize noise.
Once inside, he faced the first heavy plate. Placing it against his chest, he determined it required only two slight bends to form flaps that would contour to his body. Though the plates were thick, they were no match for the principles of simple machines he had mastered since primary school. He knew a lever was required to achieve a straight bend. Lacking proper tools, he improvised, placing an L-profile on the edge of his desk. To secure it to the wood, he crept to his father’s hidden toolbox on the patio and retrieved bolts and nuts—smaller than expected, but functional. He also took a hammer and a nail to punch holes through sheer force, though he doubted he could do so quietly.
Back in his room, he analyzed his materials. The vest was flaccid; it required the steel tubes to provide rigidity. However, the tubes were either too long or too short, and he lacked a silent way to cut steel. Hector set the frame aside and focused on the three-sixteenth-inch metal sheets. Using a marker and a ruler, he traced his measurements. Despite having no prototype, his skill in technical drawing allowed him to plot precise angles and isometries.
This was his greatest progress of the day. However, the realization soon dawned on him: driving nails through steel and wood with a hammer would create a deafening cacoon of noise. He was forced to settle for his meager advance—marked lines on a metal sheet. He stowed the small components in a box and left the plates on his desk. He went to bed, frustrated that rising early had yielded so little besides defined shapes. As he lay there, he reflected on his failure to respect his sleep schedule, knowing he had to be ready for the forty-minute journey across the city to school later that day. He closed his eyes, not hoping for his first adventure to continue, but for a new one to begin—something more “realistic” than an ostentatious mansion, yet perhaps still in a place unknown.
He drifted off, seeing patterns of vibrant colors until sleep took him. He awoke an hour later, not with a start, but gradually. However, terror seized him when he saw a giant ostrich egg resting beside his pillow. He lay on his stomach, head turned to the side, staring at the looming, massive object balanced on the edge of the bed. Hector’s reflexes kicked in; he reached out to catch it before it fell, but his hand passed straight through the egg. Despite the lack of physical contact, the egg tumbled to the floor and shattered with a visceral mess.
Hector bolted from the room, finding his father on the sofa.
“Father! Father! I saw a giant egg by my pillow, and it fell and broke!” Hector cried, utterly convinced.
“Be quiet and calm yourself! Don’t speak like that, you sound effeminate!” his father snapped.
“But look at what fell in my room!”
“Don’t waste my time. I told you to stop speaking that way.”
“What? Why?”
“Because that is how madmen talk.”
“Have you met a madman? Or an effeminate man?”
“No, but I don’t need to! I know it, and it is wrong!”
“But why? That is not a sufficient answer.”
“If you keep talking like that, your punishment will be worse!”
Hector fell silent. “I am sorry,” he whispered.
“Today, Hector, we are taking you to a very special place, where they will help you with what you need most.”
The words turned Hector’s blood to ice. Defeated, he returned to his room, only to find that the spot where he swore the ostrich egg had shattered was now perfectly clean. The egg had vanished. As a man of science, Hector did not believe in magic; he resigned himself to the possibility of a hallucination—or perhaps a glitch in reality—but both seemed improbable. Regardless, the “destiny” promised a week ago was now imminent. He feared losing his privileges: his technology, his materials, his access to knowledge. A cold rage simmered within him, yet he proceeded to prepare for a bath, wondering why his father had dressed so early.
The morning moved at its own natural pace. Hector focused on his drawing—the one he had labored over for a week, struggling with character designs and constant corrections. His desk was a chaos of colors and non-professional pencils. With every stroke, his ideas took form. What had been a mere throne was now occupied by a figure that looked less like a character and more like a self-portrait. It was the image he hoped would propel him toward his ideal self. When he finished, the sketch was “dirty,” filled with errant lines and smudges—a distorted, terrible reflection. He had not yet found the perfect synonym for the hero he wished to be, but he felt he was getting closer.
Despite the technical flaws of the drawing, he felt a surge of pride. For the first time, he could see “Hector” without the fog of imagination. He stowed his art supplies and prepared his school and gym clothes, hoping for a normal day.
“Hector, before you bathe—today is a special day. You may wear civilian clothes,” his father announced.
“Civilian clothes? Strange. The school calendar shows no such event until the Immaculate Conception in December.”
“They told me it was a last-minute change by the new director.”
“Father, that makes no sense whatsoever. Tell me where you truly intend to take me this Monday morning.”
“I am your father, and I do not have to explain anything to you.”
“As you wish.”
Hector bathed and changed into his athletic gear, suspicious but compliant. When it came time to board the car, he resisted briefly but succumbed to the relentless threats of “punishment, punishment, punishment.”
The journey began. The tropical forests of Irapuato flashed by under a brilliant blue sky. Suddenly, they veered away from the route to his high school. Hector’s stomach churned. He recognized the direction: the Royal Military Academy of Irapuato.
Hector did not fear discipline—he had cultivated it himself through nightly weight training and a strict diet to avoid the diabetes prevalent in his family. What he feared were the stories of systemic abuse and the predatory behavior of certain commanders.
“Father, where are we going?”
“To a place where they will help you. I told you.”
“You mean the Military Academy, don’t you?”
“How do you know?”
A chill ran down Hector’s spine. He found himself wishing for a car accident, anything to save him from this.
“Father, please! Don’t take me there!”
“There is no turning back.”
“Yes, Hector,” his mother added from the front seat. “I want that habit of speaking like that and ‘dissociating’ to be stripped away.”
Hector tried to formulate an escape plan, hoping the horror stories were merely delusions. His mother sat in front, cradling his sleeping brother, Darío—a calm baby who only cried for basic needs.
The Academy loomed—a massive concrete complex of Brutalist architecture that mirrored the mansion in his mind. The sight of it stopped his heart. He saw a general—tall, dark-skinned, with a booming voice—barking orders at cadets. The car drove past the first gate, providing a momentary relief, only to stop at the admissions building.
Hector and his father exited the car, leaving his mother and the baby inside. They joined a line of other nervous adolescents and their parents. The grey concrete environment felt oppressive. When it was Hector’s turn, they entered a large office with an official named General Javier.
The General began a long explanation of the curriculum, sections, and exercises. Hector listened with growing dread. Javier mentioned that during the first week, there would be a camping trip where they would be joined by “Boy Scouts” (or “Taiga Campers,” as Hector called them). The goal was for experienced scouts to mentor the new cadets in the wilderness. He also noted that devices would be useless, as the forest had no connectivity.
Hector’s father expressed concern about his son being “uncommunicative,” but Javier offered a penetrating look.
“Do not worry, sir. My men and I will ensure no one escapes. Your son is safe with us.”
“I see. Thank you. It’s just that my son… he thinks he lives in a fantasy world. He uses strange words and draws things that don’t exist. I want you to give him a reality check.”
“I understand, sir. It’s not grave. We will ‘correct’ him and return a normal son to you by the end of the first semester.”
“Thank you! I’m sure these next three years will be the making of him!”
Hector’s heart was no longer nervous; it was furious. He watched his father act the “toady”—submissive toward a man Hector found utterly indecent. To Hector, Javier’s chubby face and shrill voice were signs of a man unworthy of his rank.
“Very well,” Javier continued. “The first week is ‘quiet’ induction. We will introduce his peers and the training plan. And we won’t forget Catholic values to keep them on the right path.”
His father nodded, convinced this was the best decision. Hector’s face was a mask of bitterness.
“Yes, sir,” Javier added with a smirk. “Just imagine if he grew up to be overweight or have poor values. Or worse—imagine if you had a daughter and she became a housewife. Being a housewife is terrible.”
This was the breaking point. Hector saw his father’s discomfort—his father was early-stage overweight, and his mother had been forced to give up her career to care for the baby they had recently conceived.
With a trembling voice and eyes flashing fire, Hector erupted:
“How dare you utter such foul words in my presence! And worse, regarding my mother! You are a wretched, miserable idiot! Misbegotten, ignorant, dishonest, a pig, and a weaver of falsehoods!”
The room fell into a stunned silence. His father was paralyzed by a mix of hatred and shame, his face turning an impossible shade of red. The General, however, let out a sly, mocking laugh, relishing his absolute control over the situation.
“That,” Javier said, pointing at Hector, “is exactly the kind of little performance I was talking about, sir.”
His father was sweating now, unable to tolerate such a lack of respect toward an authority figure—especially since his own father had been military. Yet, he couldn’t ignore that Javier’s comment had indeed insulted his wife’s current reality…
…"
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