Pale artificial lighting dimly illuminated the room, and the scent of the bed given to him upon arrival was his only source of consolation. He imagined a Marilyn Monroe vanity in place of the worn-out cupboard which was blessed with the hues of austerity, and a half-filled coffee mug instead of the edgeless glass of water on the shabby nightstand. He had been stuck in this hellhole for many long hours. And imagining such things in its walls was nothing compared to what went on amidst its fiercer flames.

They didn't even let him bring his whiteboard! Besides all that they did to him, this act he considered to be the most cruel and barbaric. How could they have stripped him of this simple pleasure, when they already stripped him of everything else? He felt preposterous; frankly speaking, completely violated, for how couldn't one violate another one's privacy while taking from them all their clothes and personal belongings for a "crime" they didn't commit? The fact that the UN themselves made Led receive a prestigious but burdening prize, and accept responsibility for false claims in his theory that he didn't make!

He was rotting in an asylum just for those reasons. The millionaire Sergio Donatelli widespread his personal information with the Crevice Awards, and the UN president Enrique Winchesto - let him be damned - made it look like he was the one who published it, he was the one who speculated about his theory published by himself and that he was the one to blame for half the world's population of scientists believing that the world was going to end, and that he was insane! How atrocious must he be! How much audacity Enrique Winchesto must have had if he accused him of such unjustified actions?

The main issue was that he was still unsure of why he had been wrongly accused. He didn't think of himself as an enemy of the government; he didn't think of himself as anyone significant to the higher forces at all. He viewed himself as a poor young adult who had just recently transitioned from a broke student who had just paid all of his college fees (but not the whole of them though, physics tuition was expensive). Yet one way or the other they had still found his work, analysed and criticized it, and for the cherry on top confined him to a mental institution to, uh... - restrain him from any further work? It all seemed downright ridiculous.

After all, he had been the one who had helped the mission. Moved it forward. From down in the dumps they had been given hope, by first relooking at the submarine-city film, and then acquiring their only chance, as it possibly was, of computing an Einstein-Rosen bridge that could save the world. He had been determined to help, he would've done all that was expected of him and more in the submarine mission while getting away from the fame and popularity that had hawk-like encircled him. Now with him confined he could try to warn people of the inconsistency of the government, and its confusing actions. But, at any rate, there was no place better for someone to listen to his warnings than a well-populated mental asylum.

***

"Ok, we'll have about a thousand pounds of baggage capacity, and a 50-pound weight average per person, is that correct?" Smith clarified, his messy hair constantly getting into his eyes due to the ferocious gale present that afternoon. It was a chilly day, and the night had already set in, despite it being only 11 pm. The submarine was getting ready for submersion, and there weren't many passers-by because of the night and the cold. The jetty, which all passengers would board first, was thankfully too far away from major cities, and the Atlantic Ocean was obviously also distant from the Columnium's borders. It started heavily raining, just as it had earlier in the day.

In general, the past few days bore quite radical weather changes with strong winds and storm clouds prevailing most of the time. The passengers were struggling to get onboard the jetty, and Smith and a few officers were helping them to do so. A leek physicist from Columbia SU staggered towards the trapdoor, and a plump male technician was carefully lowered into the sub. Some officers, IT specialists and medical staff members later the aides finally had some time to themselves.

"So, Mr Meddles, do you think they'll succeed?" Smith asked, resuming the conversation once he returned to the little canopy fort that had been temporarily installed. He felt anxious and somewhat unnerved once after saying his goodbyes to his family. It made his sacrifice feel real.

"When you say "they'll", you mean "we'll", right? We're in this together, Will, and we will be 'till the very end," Meddles said, loudly and reassuringly, for the rain made it hearing something quite strenuous.

"Thanks, then. I just feel uneasy since it seems like the others will be doing all the work, there's only the technical part that needs solving."

"Now, now, the technical part requires some of our intellect as well. They might have all the technology needed to determine the energy amount, but without your direct observation, it would be harder to come to any results. And somebody has to utilize Led's theory, in case we solve the mystery of the lost city," Meddles said.

"Isn't Led also on the mission? Then what's the point of us being there, the research team and Columbia?" Smith asked.

"Well somebody must have to help him in his calculations, for example, a programmer with the knowledge of physics if it were to come to that. If you discover something unexpected, there's always the chance of miracle, a.k.a. a link-cut off with our monitors. Considering you'll go that deep in the Atlantic, I'm afraid there's a chance of that happening."

"We'll have to use all our power. Especially if Led's theory comes in useful. I'm still not amazed at the way they treated him at the Crevice Awards. Still don't understand Miss Chaisson."

"That's right, Will," Meddles only said.

"By the way, Led's still not coming by, have you seen him?" Mills entered the discussion, prompting them both to turn around. His hair was slightly wet from the rain, and his posture gave off a bit of exhaustion. The man also wasn't in his usual business attire; that was exemplarily unusual for him.

"I haven't seen during the day; quite surprising, to be honest," Miss Chaisson butted in, leaving their common shelter. It was a room with thin walls and only a few main essentials. "He always goes to work early, and works very hard until it's time, if not even more."

"Then why isn't he here?"There was a pause.

"Come to think of it, there's somebody else missing too," Meddles remembered. "Arlene Winner, how she was called."

Another pause. The rain kept on at the same pace, and the heavier it pounded the greater became the scientists' fear of the water seeping through the fine roofing. The conversation had been going well, yet nobody wished to resume it, as if frozen in contemplation. They were all feeling that, no matter the possible absence of two team members on the submarine, the expedition ought to begin anyway. They only hoped that regret wouldn't burden them upon finding out they had missed it.

"I may have heard something," Miss Chaisson suddenly spoke, as if voicing an unimportant thought. "Someone's calling."

An interlude of blues played from some pocket in her raincoat; she took out her phone and stepped away from the group so as not to distract them with trivialities.

"Miss Winner wasn't exactly close to anyone in her time on the mission," Mills continued, with an absent-minded air. "Though she joined it quite recently, there doesn't seem to be any sympathy between them."

"There doesn't seem to be any understanding between her and Miss Chaisson, also," Smith added. "It always seems like Miss Winner has some authority over her every single meeting. And I've never seen Miss Chaisson intimidated."

"Well, although this is sad, we still have to focus on the mission and forget the rivalries for now. I and Miss Chaisson will be supervising you all from the lab, we'll keep an eye on you and support you in all ways."

"Miss Chaisson will be there, too?" Mills asked. "Well, then, that makes us all except Led and Arlene. A bit sad we'll be saying our goodbyes soon."

"Hope we'll be back soon. I don't really like how this business is turning out. The end of the world seems too surreal."

"In any case, we'll have to try it. Miss Chaisson had gotten the information and we've to break it down. We're a team, after all?" Meddles inquired, his last sentence earning him a sad smile from Smith and a sympathetic eyebrow raise from Mills. They were all too young for this world...

"Are Led and Arlene?" Mills said. His question remained unanswered. The rain pounded. But not only because of the rest colleagues' unwillingness to elaborate on the matter; there happened something no one had ever expected to see. Miss Chaisson walked towards them. Her face was paper white. They almost thought she wasn't feeling okay.

"Miss Dianne-" Meddles began. Miss Chaisson interrupted.

"The UN's orders. Led has been placed into an asylum."

And then, in a quieter tone:

"We have to get him back."

(1553 words)