The room remained still, the silence heavy with unspoken tension. It was one thing to debate the rightness of an idea, but to transform that belief into action carried a far greater weight. No one wanted to be the first to move.


    Mason broke the stillness, his hand rising slowly, hesitantly. His action wasn''t born of doubt in his stance but from the fear of the judgment it would draw. Even as his hand hovered in the air, he kept his head low, bracing for the inevitable backlash.


    Starlet, as if she had been waiting for Mason to take the lead, immediately shot her hand up the second Mason''s did. Her hand did not waver and her steely gaze met any that tested her.


    Starlet followed instantly as if she''d been waiting for Mason to take the lead. Her hand shot up with unwavering confidence, her gaze steely and defiant as it swept across the room. She dared anyone to question her, her posture radiating a challenge that cut through the uncertainty hanging in the air.


    With Starlet''s call to action, more and more employees joined. Each new hand lifted seemed to embolden another, like a wave gathering momentum. Yet even as the hands multiplied, the divide remained stark. The room held a near-equal mix of raised and lowered hands, the balance so fine it demanded a careful count to determine the outcome. A tense lull filled the room as everyone tried counting the results in their head.


    A tense lull settled over the room, the kind that seemed to stretch time. Eyes darted between hands, silently tallying, each person arriving at their own uncertain result.


    It was almost absurd—a vote so reminiscent of a game their children might use to settle a playground dispute was now deciding the fate of their department. But none dared laugh. This single decision, taken in a dimly lit room full of weary minds, would shift the fates of the entire world. Even if the world would never know it.


    Once the room settled and no more hands wavered, the man with the velvet hat took a slow breath and began counting. All eyes followed him as his finger moved from one person to the next, the room hanging on each tally. When he finally pointed at the last head in the room, he straightened and announced, "Alright, that makes it nineteen to seventeen."


    He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, ensuring everyone was listening. "It has been decided—by democratic vote," he stressed the word ''democratic'' as if to shield himself from any backlash, "that we will move forward with this project without using the White Witch''s formula."


    Mason slumped in his seat, the weight of the vote pressing down on him. For a fleeting moment, he had allowed himself to believe they had a chance—to achieve something monumental, something that could redefine everything. But all because of their weak-willed stigmas, they allowed themselves blindness to the facts. Mason was irreplaceable in the company; no one else could quite innovate the way he could, which is why no one else understood as well as he did how denying the White Witch''s formula was denying the project.


    The rest of the meeting became a haze. Words blurred into noise, distant and unimportant. Mason sat in silence, his mind drifting to the piece of paper waiting for him on his desk. The formula he was supposed to create was already complete on the piece of paper taunting him on his desk. It just happened to be in somebody else''s handwriting.


    When the meeting finally adjourned, Mason rose mechanically. There wasn''t much left for him to do anymore.


    Mason could feel the stares boring into him, sharp and unrelenting. He kept his head low, avoiding their gaze, but he didn''t need to look to know what they thought. They were shunning him; he was now a monster in their den, a madness incarnate who would choose to complete his own research over the safety of all humanity. Maybe they were right. He didn''t care what the White Witch could gain from this; he only cared about what he could gain, and he could gain everything.


    The hours crawled by, each second stretching into an eternity until, eventually, the workday ended. Mason hadn''t even noticed when the others began to leave. Most of the staff had already gone home, but he remained at his desk, mesmerized. It lay in front of him, perfect and unyielding, pulling his focus like a black hole. He spent the entire day just staring at it, his thoughts spiralling deeper and deeper into its eloquent corollaries. He spent the entire day just staring at it.


    It wasn''t until Starlet shook him out of his trance that he finally snapped back to reality. Her firm grip on his shoulder startled him, and as he blinked, he realized how empty the office had become.


    Mason looked up to Starlet, and he noticed her beautiful brown eyes for the first time. He noted her eyes were almond-shaped, still filled with energy despite how depressive her surroundings were.


    Starlet gave Mason her best smile and spoke with a chipper tune. "Still up for the bar?"


    Mason hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the formula on his desk, the one that had consumed his every thought. The one that had destroyed any chances of achieving his dream. Slowly, he returned the smile—soft but genuine. "More than ever."You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Mason gathered his satchel and a few scattered belongings, including a second copy of the formula. As he did, he felt the weight of it—both physically and mentally—before following Starlet toward the exit. The office, now silent and empty, felt even more suffocating, but Starlet''s voice broke through the stillness, filling the air with her casual chatter.


    "So, if you could actually use that secret formula of yours," she said, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over his shoulder. He placed his hands over his satchel as if that could somehow protect his paper from her judgment. "how long do you think it would take to finish the project?"


    Mason kept his chin tucked low, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if trying to disappear into the fabric of his coat. He muttered, his voice quieter than usual, "Well, everyone else would have to redo what they were doing to integrate the new formula."


    Starlet ruptured into a fit of exhilarated giggles. "Oh, come off it, Mason. I know you better than that. You haven''t been sitting there blankly admiring that formula in your bag, have you? If I''m right, you''ve already tested every angle, every possibility. You''ve probably already worked it into everything on your own. Am I wrong?"


    It was very difficult interacting with Starlet. She was very forward and loud, constantly talking and prodding. Why did she know him so well exactly? He hadn''t remembered interacting with her enough to have any kind of personal understanding among them. Whatever her method was, it was perfect. Mason only had one answer he could give her. "You''re not wrong."


    That same dazzling smile crept back to Starlet''s face, bright and almost mischievous. "So, how long would it take to implement it all?"


    Mason let out a deep, frustrated groan. If she was going to give him space to vent, then vent, he would. "That''s the worst part of all of this. It would only take a few hours. If we started now, we could have it all done by the time work starts tomorrow. It''s ridiculous how easily the formula pulls everything together. And to just throw away such a perfect piece of math…" His voice trailed off as the weight of it all hit him. "It actually hurts."


    Starlet''s pace quickened as she neared the locked doors of the office, her steps breaking into a playful skip. Mason''s words seemed to hang in the air between them, but her smile only grew, and something about it felt more cheeky now. She interrupted his not-so-subtle admiration of the forbidden formula with a sing-song tone. "Your wording could not have been more perfect because—"


    With that, Starlet swung open the door, revealing half of the department''s staff awkwardly shuffling in place while they waited. Starlet resumed, "Plans have changed; we''re not going to the bar."


    <hr>


    The day star had barely breached the horizon, yet the office buzzed with the quiet urgency of an early morning rebellion. Starlet had managed to rally everyone who had supported the formula the previous day, convincing them to go rogue. Behind the boss''s back, they''d set up everything needed to make this insane project a reality.


    Thanks to Mason''s disturbingly thorough notebooks—plural—detailing the steps for integrating the formula, things moved with surprising speed. The group had left the cramped cubicles behind and now gathered in a large, purpose-built workshop room. In the center stood the project, mounted on a large slab of metal. The space around it was entirely clear, as though it had been carved from the rest of the room. Cautionary paint outlined a square, keeping the project cordoned off from the rest of the space, the only things that dared breach its boundaries being thick tubes and cables—strange, rope-like tendrils from the ancient civilization they still couldn''t quite understand. They hadn''t yet cracked the mystery of the incalescent fire that powered them, but at least they knew it could be harnessed to activate the project.


    The project itself was an unnerving sight—a vaguely human-shaped form, stripped of its skin and made entirely of cold metal. It was a starkly efficient contraption, assembled with only the essential components needed for its function. No oversized, lumbering head. Instead, the thing bore a small, unassuming cube packed with every sensor and function it required to interact with the world.


    This project, like all the others from the TOIL initiative, was an artifact left behind by the ancient civilization. Each of their projects followed the same pattern: reverse-engineer the construct, uncover its purpose, and, if possible, recreate it. Now, with the formula fully integrated into the machine''s systems, all Mason had to do was press the button, and everything would fall into place.


    Mason hesitated for just a second, his fingers hovering over the button. The eyes of the entire room were locked on him, pencils poised and paper ready to capture every detail. He could feel the weight of their expectations, the significance of this moment pressing down on his chest. With a slow breath, he placed his hand on the button, feeling the cold metal beneath his palm.


    He pressed it.


    The sound was immediate. A single, melodic chime of a bell echoed through the room, followed by the sharp whirring of mechanical locomotion. The project, which had lain dormant on the slab for so long, seemed to come to life slowly. Its limbs twitched, stretching as though testing its new form, the metal joints creaking in the silence. It was an unnerving sight, as if it were waking from a long slumber.


    Meanwhile, in front of the project, a small pink rhombus grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other forms. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. The arm was outstretched towards the project, holding a glowing parchment.


    The project and the pink rhombus stared blankly at each other, either one waiting for the other to act. One of the employees let out an amazed gasp. "Is that the Chauffer?"


    "Who?"


    "The Chauffer, it''s the thing that hands out the invitations for The Tournament. I think it''s trying to invite the artifact."


    Starlet laughed out as she approached the Chauffer and took the piece of paper. The pink rhombus shifted and morphed, mirroring its entrance in reverse as it eventually shrunk out of existence. "Well, what better way to test out the greatest weapon of the ancient civilization than on the greatest of our civilization. Now, what does this say?


    You have been invited to


    The Tournament


    You are The Toil"