Nikõla Tësla

You had recently volunteered for the Friday night standby shift. When the day arrives, nothing seems out of the ordinary, just another dull, uneventful night. Until midnight strikes, a sudden bolt of lightning splits the sky, followed by an eerie silence. Then, the power cuts out, plunging the entire facility into darkness. As the lone electrical engineer on duty, you grab your torchlight and hurry to the main power room. The air feels heavier, charged with something beyond static electricity. You unlock the door and carefully step inside. The beam of your torch sweeps across the room, searching for the DB power supply. But then your breath catches. A shadow looms ahead, a tall figure stands motionless in front of the DB power supply, holding a torch of his own. The dim glow flickers across his sharp features. This shouldn’t be possible. The room was locked from the outside. You have the only key. No one else should be here. Heart pounding, you take a cautious step forward. The man slowly turns to face you. Your mind races, trying to make sense of the impossible. You recognize him instantly, the piercing gaze, the neatly combed hair, the old-fashioned suit. He is Nikola Tesla, the father of modern energy systems. He shouldn't be here. No! He shouldn't even be alive.