The empty grey walls of the complex weighed down on the dreary workers within. The rooms were suffocated by disordered tangles of paper drafts and scattered metal strewn across the halls and cubicles like forgotten rivers of clutter. The only grace to the office''s traffic was the reduced number of occupants who had to navigate it. The entire building had been buried in an all-encompassing haze of despondency as though the very structure had absorbed the exhaustion and indifference of its inhabitants.


    An exhausted man hunched over his desk, folding his white lab coat into a makeshift pillow beneath his head. He tried to quiet the grating swarm of thoughts stinging at his conscience, but they refused to be subdued. Desperate for even a few minutes of rest, his body begged for reprieve, but his mind held him captive.


    His brain had been shackled to the problem; each turn of his mind tangled with the formula. It seemed perfect, so elegant. The way the formula naturally unfolded upon itself was nothing short of beautiful.


    "Now''s not the time for sleep, Mason." A young blonde woman tapped a warm cup of liquid against Mason''s cheek, jarring him out of his stupor.


    Mason gave her a grateful smile as he took the drink. "Thanks, Starlet. Though, it''s not like I''d be able to sleep even if I tried." He raised the cup in a half-hearted toast before taking a long sip.


    Starlet''s gaze drifted down the hallway as she spoke, her tone playful. "Another meeting''s starting…" She paused, glancing back at him with a smirk. "And you can''t skip this one."


    Mason groaned in protest, the sound making Starlet chuckle. He weakly pushed himself out of his cubicle, wiping drool from his chin before donning his lab coat.


    Mason had to break into a short jog to catch up to Starlet, who had already started walking away. Mason could not look more dissonant next to Starlet; his slouched posture, wrinkled clothes, and downcast eyes contrasted starkly against the confident, well-kept woman.


    He always felt uncomfortable around her; her presence was simply too overbearing for him, although he admittedly thought that of almost everyone. The awkward silence that permeated between the two was the usual comfort that Mason happily resided in. But Starlet, never one to tolerate the quiet for long, had to fill it. "Have you been to the new bar just down the street?"


    Mason managed to reply in a low whisper "No."


    Starlet shrugged nonchalantly. "Neither have I. We should go sometime; we can''t always be in the office."


    Mason faltered for a brief moment, his steps stuttering before he quickly regained his pace. He hoped Starlet hadn''t noticed. He didn''t know how to respond; he wasn''t even sure in which regard the question was asked.


    Mason refused to make eye contact, keeping his eyes firmly planted on his feet. "…okay." Mason hadn''t noticed since he was so adamant about averting his gaze, but Starlet smiled at his response.


    The two finally arrived at a large, open room with a single circular table at its center. The rest of the employees had already gathered, their presence filling the space with a quiet murmur. A well-built older man, his hair streaked with grey and hidden beneath a tall velvet hat, greeted them with a smile. "Ah, now everyone''s here. Glad you could finally make it, Mason."


    Mason kept his head low, the weight of the room pressing down on him. He didn''t dare look up to gauge how many eyes were on him, silently judging, questioning his every move. Without a word, he stepped away from Starlet, seeking the refuge of a chair tucked deep into the corners of the room, far from the crowd''s gaze.


    The man in the velvet hat barely glanced at Mason before turning back to the group. "Alright, now that everyone''s here, let''s get started. Or more importantly—" he paused, his tone becoming more urgent, "and I''m going to preface this with a please—get things finished. I''ll be blunt. We need results, and we need them soon. Or, to put it plainly, this department is getting shut down. For real this time."


    An older woman leaning on an intricate, clearly expensive cane interjected, her voice calm but cutting, "So basically, you''re saying the department is getting shut down."


    A younger man, one Mason recognized as the recent hire, hesitated before speaking up. "Wait—if the department''s getting shut down, then what happens to the rest of us? Are we getting reassigned or...?"


    The man in the velvet hat clearly had a prepared speech hovering on the tip of his tongue, but the hopeful looks from his colleagues made him discard it. Instead, he opted for the blunt truth. "I''m not going to sugarcoat things. If we shut down, only the more experienced members will likely be reassigned. The rest… well, not everyone can be moved."


    The room erupted instantly, a cacophony of voices rising in panic and disbelief. Whispers mixed with frantic questions as the air thickened with uncertainty.


    "How can this even happen!?"


    "Surely the board can''t pull something this big without the sponsor''s permission?"


    "Does this sponsor even exist? They haven''t shown themselves for two years!"


    "But still, the sponsor restarted this company specifically for our department."


    Mason hated meetings. He tucked himself deeper into his corner, carefully avoiding any invitation to join the conversation. It wasn''t that he was indifferent to the company''s shifting politics—far from it. Even though he was all but guaranteed a position elsewhere if the department failed, he wanted to avoid that outcome at all costs. Mason wasn''t here for the paycheck; he was here for the research, for what they could create. What this department could create.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The man in the velvet hat shouted, his voice cutting through the air. "HEY!" The room fell into an immediate, tense silence. He softened his expression, replacing the outburst with a practiced, gentle smile. "But it won''t come to that if we can just show some progress. So, can anyone here give me something? Anything?"


    No one spoke up. Heads turned and glances were thrown at hopeful candidates. Eventually, all the heads landed on Mason.


    The man in the velvet hat addressed him directly. "Mason? Please. You got to give us something."


    Mason slunk as low into his seat as possible, trying to disappear into the shadows. He loathed the focus, the way all eyes seemed to be on him. His answer came out barely above a whisper. "The formula."


    "What was that Mason? I couldn''t quite hear you."


    Mason lifted his head just enough to speak more clearly, though every word felt like it scraped against his skin. "The formula."


    A sharp breath escaped the man in the velvet hat. "You found a solution to the formula!?"


    The words hit Mason like a slap, grating against him as though the man were deliberately tormenting him. "No, we can use THE formula."


    The man with the velvet hat exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his voice. "We''ve talked about this, Mason."


    "But it''s right!"


    "No, Mason!"


    One of the other employees leaned forward, questioning, "Wait, what''s this formula about. If there is some vital information being withheld, I think we, especially now, have the right to know about it."


    A resounding hum of approval rippled through the room, voices murmuring in agreement.


    The man in the velvet hat quickly raised a hand, attempting to regain control. "There is nothing important being withheld from you—"


    Mason''s voice cut through the air, loud and unyielding. "That''s BS, and you know it!"


    The room fell into stunned silence. No one had ever heard Mason speak with such force, let alone interrupt the boss like that.


    For the first time in his life, Mason ignored the stares, his gaze locked firmly on the man in the velvet hat. "There is no way around it. If the formula is right, it''s right. You can''t just reject the answer and expect me to be able to find an answer that won''t just end up being the same thing. Anything I write would just be inferior to the point of not even being worth showcasing."


    Starlet finally stepped up. "Okay, what is going on here? Have we been sleeping on something this whole time?"


    The man in the velvet hat quickly tried to steer the conversation away. "No, no—"


    Mason didn''t let him finish. "The White Witch."


    The room fell into a stunned silence. That was enough to grab everyone''s attention.


    The man in the velvet hat stared at Mason, his expression one of absolute terror. The rest of the room waited in uneasy silence, their eyes flicking between Mason and the boss, desperate for an explanation as to why that name could ever be related to their work.


    Mason spoke again, his voice steady but heavy with frustration. "The White Witch visited us one night when it was just the boss, and I left in the office. She solved the formula for us. She completed the research just like that." Mason took a deep, steadying breath. "But we refused to use it. We couldn''t risk it. He told me to find a different solution, one that we could trust. But…”


    Mason turned to face the man with the velvet hat directly, "But you can''t rewrite what''s right! I''ve looked over the problem hundreds, even thousands of times, and it always comes back to the same thing. I can''t do it better."


    A quiet discord rippled through the room like a murmur that refused to quiet. Panicked whispers and wary questions slithered from ear to ear, thick with suspicion.


    One of the employees, more confused than anything else, finally broke the silence. "Why would she help us?"


    Another voice joined in, tinged with uncertainty. "What does she stand to gain from this?"


    A third person, hesitating, added, "Maybe her involvement is a sign that we shouldn''t pursue this... maybe the department should be shut down after all."


    The man in the velvet hat buried his face in his hands, his shoulders slumping with a defeated sigh. He shook his head slowly, speaking in a quiet, strained voice. "This is exactly why I didn''t want anyone to know."


    Starlet stood silently for a moment, watching the chaos unravel around her. Her gaze flicked to Mason, and the fear radiating from his eyes struck her deeply. She could tell he was mortified at finding his life''s work slip away from him because of a single meddlesome creature.


    With a sharp inhale, Starlet stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise with confidence and vigour that commanded the room. "Who cares if the White Witch wrote the formula?" she declared, her tone rising with conviction. "Like Mason said, it''s a matter of being right or wrong—and he says it''s right. Does it matter what her motivations are if, for this brief, minuscule moment, they just so happen to align with ours?"


    "For goodness'' sake, people, we''re researchers! This is what we do. We push boundaries, we take risks, and we make sacrifices—countless sacrifices—for the sake of progress. Let the politicians and nobles bicker over motives and alliances. Let them stifle progress with their fear and doubt. But we? We move forward. No matter the cost."


    The atmosphere in the room shifted, the chaos giving way to a more measured murmur of hushed debates and uncertain glances. Confusion and concern simmered down into deliberation, but tension still hung in the air like a storm refusing to break.


    The old woman leaning on her intricate cane broke the quiet with a scoff, her voice sharp and unyielding as she addressed Starlet. "Just because we''re scientists does not somehow exempt us from ethics. Progress without principle isn''t progress—it''s recklessness. There is a right and wrong that exists in this world, and if the White Witch wants something to happen, then you can be sure that it is on the wrong side of things."


    The crowd swayed back and forth, science or ethics? Whispers rose again, weaving through the room like threads of unease. Some nodded in agreement with the old woman, arguing that the pursuit of knowledge should never override morality. Others murmured harsh rebuttals, insisting that the advancement of science was a moral imperative in and of itself.


    Lines began to form, dividing the room into those who feared the implications of using the White Witch''s work and those who saw it as a necessary step forward, regardless of the cost. All the while, the volume and heat rapidly escalated.


    The man in the velvet hat slammed his palm against the center of the table, the sharp sound cutting through the rising voices. He smacked it again and again until the room fell into an uneasy silence.


    "When, exactly, did I become a judge for all this?" he muttered, his tone laced with exasperation. Straightening, he cast a stern look across the room. "Fine. Since it''s clear no one here can focus on anything else without settling this first, let''s put it to a vote. If you want to use the formula, raise your hand."