Oh, lord. The new arrival had made his way up the stairs, and stood there awkwardly. Atlas decided to ignore him. He will be acknowledged when he speaks, or acts, or whatever he does. Atlas mainly used the company bulletins as fuel for fires. Reaching into one of his coat pockets, he pulled out an odd looking device. It resembled something between a perfume bottle, a syringe, and a faucet. He injected the baked good with the needle. He pressed a button on the machine, and the doughnut disappeared instantly. A small yellow light began flashing on the machine, and Atlas took out a small vial, and attached it to the faucet end. The light turned green, and colorless liquid filled the vial. Atlas shut down the machine, sealed the vial, and stuck both items back into his pocket.

	Faking a cough, as one does, Atlas panicked. He had no idea what do here. He didn’t want to appear inept in front of all these...idiots. Atlas sorted his thoughts, trying to think of a more appropriate phrase. Bumbling hooligans. Yes. Atlas was satisfied with this, and decided to move on the conversation whilst waiting for the new kid to talk.

	“Well, I hope it’s been going….well? Yes. Well.”. Panicking yet again, he struggled to think to what people talk about. “How about…”, he glanced at the now frosted over windows.”Wow. The weather sure did deteriorate quite quickly. You would think it would get...warmer. This reminds me of my days in Siberia. I was lurking around the outskirts of a peasant village, around July. You’d think the weather would be slightly better, but it was all the more dangerous. I knew magic when I smelt it, and decided to investigate. I knew there were some ruins of some fort where Peter the Great once stayed or something. I ventured to the ruins, and who did I see but a cryomancer, attempting to hold the village hostage. I waited for when he slept, and collapsed the entire building. I never did care for getting my hands dirty.” With the last sentence, he seemed to grimace. He had been ranting for quite some time, oblivious to the rest of his coworkers. They had gone off to great the new employee or something, and realized he had been talking to the empty kitchenette for quite some time.

	He glanced at the thick layers of clouds outside. Appreciating the lack of sunlight, Atlas took his hat off. He quickly darted down to the lab, mixed the vial in with the mandrake smoothie, and went on to examine the vat of blood. This blood was being pumped with various fungi extracts and some powerful ether. He took a beaker, filled it to the top, and poured the blood in. He set the blender to maximum power. Even at this level, it would take an hour for the potion to be finished. He promptly ran back upstairs, nobody noticing his absence due to speed, agility, and the distraction of Charcoal or whatever his name was. He realized he did have an office space. He only used it for research. It was in the very corner of the floor. A desktop computer was seated on a simple metal table. There was a swerving office chair. Another, slightly less long table was placed, creating the image of an uncompleted square. This second table was covered in successful potions, along with cleaned up versions of his notes. It was impeccably clean. Atlas sighed, walked over, and began to type on the computer.