Four cents in his pocket. Lightning in his mind. Nikola Tesla crossed an Ocean carrying tomorrow inside his skull. Edison smiled. "Fix my machines." So Tesla did. Fifty thousand dollars promised. Fifty thousand denied. An American joke. A joke played upon the man who would electrify the World. Oh Nikola... You lit the World and died in darkness. Cities glow with your heartbeat. Towers hum with your dreams. The future wears your fingerprints, but your hands remained empty. Then came Westinghouse. A believer. Chicago, 1893. A thousand lights blooming. Alternating Current victorious. The World awakened. But Bankers came. Lawyers came. Westinghouse begged. "Destroy the contract." And Tesla— beautiful fool— tore apart a fortune. Billions surrendered for loyalty. Oh Nikola... You lit the World and died in darkness. You gave away Kingdoms made of electricity. History drank from your river and forgot your name. Radio crossed the sky. Tesla dreamed it. Tesla built it. Tesla proved it. Yet another Man claimed the crown. Marconi received applause. Marconi received prizes. Tesla received silence. Justice arrived too late to resurrect a reputation. Room 3327. Three. Three. Three. The hotel walls knew his rituals. The city forgot his face. Only pigeons remained. One white pigeon. A fragile creature he loved beyond reason. Outside, the World consumed his inventions. Inside, he fed birds and counted ghosts. Oh Nikola... Prophet of currents. Architect of storms. Father of electric dreams. You imagined voices crossing oceans. You imagined power without borders. You imagined Tomorrow. Tomorrow arrived. Without your Fortune. Without your Crown. January, 1943. A silent room. A final breath. Government Men arrived. Locked cases. Top-secret papers. Dreams confiscated. Lightning archived. The body remained. But the Future had already escaped.
