A small flow of foam erupted from one of the beakers. The small table was bursting with activity from all sorts of chemical reactions, but three objects stood out from the rest. One was a small vat of blood, with two lines feeding green and blue liquid into it. This stood in the center of the table and seemed to garner the most importance. On the right, there was a medium sized device, which resembled a washing machine. Inside was a turmoil of normal and magical substances. And in the back there was a small blender, a cutting board, some sharp knives, and an almost baby-like, shrivelled up plant. The plant was inside a soundproof box, and seemed to be screaming. A man stand behind it, preparing to chop. The room smells of chlorine, with a hint of cinnamon. 

	“God forbid these things comply with me for the greater good.”, muttered Atlas. He knew that if the box was opened in the slightest, the entire W&R building would go to sleep. Normally, Atlas would not mind, but he was also affected by the shriek. “Guess I have no choice.”, he muttered. His hands seemed to be glowing, and seemed to emanate a tangible cold. He gripped the box, and as it frosted over he saw the mandrake’s mouth close, along with it’s eyes. He promptly stuck the box above a bunsen burner, and waited for it to thaw. It was extremely slight, but this action seemed to drain him. He knew he could easily surpass anyone in the building when it came to spells, give him another 100 years. But he had been turning his back on the art for quite some time, and so only knew a single spell. 

	He heard footsteps from above. The rest of the employees would be filing in.  As he waited for the now deceased mandrake to thaw, he shuffled about, checking on the various experiments he had been running. The building was slowly coming to life. He smelled baked goods enter, along with coffee. He stops the mixer, checking on the contents. He scribbles something in his notes, and closes the machine. “This lab may have less available materials, but a reliable power supply is quite useful”, he remarks. He checks on the vat, dipping his finger in and tasting what had stuck.  He gagged, and went into the far corner to wash his hands. As he began to dry them, his stomach lurched. “Max.”, he stated. The scholar surrounded himself with so many holy objects it somewhat pained Atlas to be in the same building. But they were coworkers. So he handled it.

	He rushes over to the bunsen burner. The mandrake died in the cold, and the heat made it usable for alchemy. He took the root over to the chopping table, and diced it into hundreds of unrecognizable pieces. He walked over the the right wall, pressing the button on the com and waiting for Markiel to pick up. After a few rings, he answers.

 “Hey, Atlas here...Right, who else could it be. Listen, could you...Yes, I am aware that you are a very busy individual, but...Listen, it’s what, 10 am? I don’t know and don’t care. The sun is still up so I can’t enter the upper floors. I need somebody, you or the handyman or whoever is available, to bring me a powdered donut...You know i can’t eat them without the...you know...the blood...Anyways, I need the sugar for this brew and I need it before this mandrake spoils. Thank you and good day...Yeah, well you can tell your owl tha-”, he is cut off.

Markiel having hung up, Atlas began to pile the mandrake into the blender. He walked to retrieve the contents of the mixer, and poured it into the blender. It smelled of rotting wood and sulfur. All that was left was to wait for the sugar delivery.