"...the video feed is closing, there's no time to-" the laptop slammed shut as a new deafening silence filled the room.

"You see? It's even in YouTube shorts now!" the head of the research team exclaimed, bristling with fury as the other men listened in fear. "Imagine the reporters storming our office. We should've done something ages ago!"

The same silence followed for some time, the slammed-shut computer still buzzing in sleep mode and the sunlight, despite it being only 6 am, streamed copiously through the half-open windows. The sounds of the construction nearby were the only ones daring to break the silence. From the men, no phrases followed.

"What will people think of us? Conspiracy theories spiralling out of control. All because of our idiocy!" the woman continued, pointing to the blackboard filled with formulas. The rage was even more evident in her voice, though it mingled with uncertainty.

"Does anyone have a single suggestion as to how we can settle this madness?"

No one answered. Only Meddles tampered with a Professor's cube (a 5x5 version of a Rubik's cube), but that was what he did all day. The head of the research team looked insipidly at the sheepish ginger-head.

"You, Meddles! What are your ideas for the research project?" she demanded, her old pince-nez falling to the crook of her nose. It always fell over whenever she was angry, but that didn't stop her from wearing it.

"I d-don't know, Miss Chaisson," the man said, "I-I don't know anything about it-"

"Of course you know something about it!" Miss Chaisson cut him off. "It was your idea to do the Atlantic in the first place. Now a million dollars are promised to anyone, even a shopkeeper, who first solves the case. Mr Mills, do you have anything to say about that?"

Mr Mills tried his best not to cower under her astute stare.

"I apologize I don't, Miss Chaisson," Mills said politely, his arms rigidly by his sides so as not to crease the sleeves of his business suit in agitation. "We've tried so many things, even the transverse Doppler effect, but no SR could predict this strangeness of structure. We have no evidence to account for Mössbauer, too," he carefully shrugged his shoulders. His eyes darted to his chest and he carefully smoothed out his tie.

"But, Jo, you see, even if the camera may have been attached to the sub," a man who was standing all this time by the blackboard intervened, "it doesn't mean that the sub-"

"We've no evidence it was in motion, Will," Mills replied, cutting him off. "It wasn't spinning. The game ain't worth the candle."

"Then what game is?" Miss Chaisson said, dejectedly averting her eyes from all of them. "I'm giving up on this. We've tried to do things science can explain. Without them, people will think we've officially abandoned the case, that it's some mythological crap no maths can solve," she slowly walked to her desk and sat down with a sigh. "I mean what can we do about it? We can't create a new theory, close our eyes to the public, pretend we don't know and that it's just fake news. No one will believe us. They're far more interested in myths. But not in something that will put an end to them."

"People will be eager," Mills spoke, "Eager to go down. And explore it all by themselves. That will create strong mistrust in the government. If we don't solve this now, we will lose our jobs and the public will hate us."

"Scientists have been lying to us this whole time, Wi-fi is at the mercy of aliens in an underwater castle, I can imagine the names of the articles," the man by the blackboard added, mimicking the imaginary authors of the titles mentioned. He quickly shied away, much to the indifference of everyone else.

Miss Chaisson only cast him a half-glance. It seemed that no more solutions could be extracted from that day, just as from the past three.

"I have an idea," a voice interrupted from the left row.

The woman perked up. A young man, about 25 at most, stood up from his desk and picked up some folders with a good deal of data. His dark hair fell beneath his eyes, despite that it had clearly been gelled. He wore a clean white shirt and black trousers, the standard work attire, and a little silver watch. The others stared at him, while the nearby construction comprised the silence.

"Perhaps we could give it a chance, seen as there's no more," he paused, grey eyes warily skimming over the scientists to see anything other on their faces except surprise.

There was nothing.

"...Miss Chaisson, Mills, Meddles, Smith," he mentioned the names of everyone present including the man at the blackboard. "This theory, though short, may disprove mythology once and for all. Most of it is still in progress, but one has to choose," he watched them all again, wearing an unreadable expression and not giving anything away. Tension built up.

He squeezed the folder with his hands.

"It has to do with another dimension."

(839 words).