The show was only commencing. The show made of politicians, of course. Their wonderfully attired clones tried to make their appearance at every event honed and sharpened to boost their publicity. Muscular bodyguards scurrying all around them to earn their eighty grand. Yet it was only a show. A little, insignificant one. People savoured it though, the superficial hypocrisy warming them up so that they bounced up and down, like little hamsters on their running wheels, failing miserably to get the elite's full attention. In that show they yearned to be a part of it, since they were slaves to praise, the latter never genuine. And this place was a pretty good example of it, where people sold their souls for recognition, wonderfully attired clones, and scurrying muscular bodyguards.

They were all huddled in the party hall, the Grand Salón, as it was called among new guests, who were in awe at the many entertainment means it offered. The Grand Salón was a place full of members of the elite, not only famous politicians. There were doctors, agents and scientists, musicians and actresses, sportsmen and artists, a glass of champagne in one hand and a make-up brush in the other. Music bustled with merry as it streamed down the tables with party buffets, and the guests danced with not a care in the world, while the elite watched boredly, not paying too much attention to some that would come up in hopes of striking up a conversation with the world's most famous, or most powerful. This was just another party, one where politicians would try to get some profit out of a speech on the podium and appear to be excited about a new campaign they promised to be game-changing and revolutionary. Of course, most went nowhere.

That was his opinion. Led O'Donnell stood in a little clearance by the buffet table, gazing absent-mindedly at the refreshments the waiters carried that, despite his negative inner monologue, seemed absolutely tantalizing. He hadn't eaten since the morning the research meeting began and he was getting hungry. To be honest, he got pretty bored while he was recounting his theory towards the end of the conclusion: he had written it a thousand times at home. However, the excitement of the others got him excited himself; and the notions of time and dimensions did strike a chord in him as he listened to the awe-struck silence of their expressions; yet the rest of the meeting had trickled by quite slowly, the team of scientists trying hard to understand the derivation he'd perfected ages ago. At such moments his mind wandered elsewhere; and despite his conscious efforts to remain present, the hours that passed were too mundane, and he kept losing focus. Perhaps that was why he was a perpetual student of science, and always strived for more. He was ambitious, and he had practiced too much to think himself naive.

"Led O'Donnell? Is that you?" he heard a voice as if through space and time. He turned around.

A woman stood before him, tall but not quite matching in height, with lustrous ginger hair and a slim but not skinny complexion. She was clad in a simple white dress, yet the simplicity did add to her elegance.

"Arlene Winner, nice to meet you," she said, in a quiet but silky voice. "Glad to be working in the same research team together."

"Wait. Were you and I working in the same team?" Led said, raising his eyebrows.

Arlene laughed, and her laugh was a melodious somber blue.

"Do you even know all the names of your team members?" she asked, picking at her scarf.

"Actually, no, I'm brand new," she admitted.

"Brand new?" he questioned. He was still unconvinced as to why someone like her had joined at the last moment; after all, the new theory he had would take some time to explain to newbies. It wasn't that he was prejudiced towards women: he was just confused, that was all.

"Last minute change. PI rep Miss Chaisson figured it'd be good to have an analytical chemist onboard."

It was as if the whole world had diminished before his eyes.

"Onbo-onboard? Do we have to travel?" he said, disbelief in his eyes. Only the woman smiled at his perplexity.

"Yeah, onboard! Haven't you heard of it?" Arlene said cheerfully, as if pretending not to see his expression. "We are going to rule this out together and become world famous!"

"Wait, what-" Led began, trying to catch her by the wrist, but somebody else interrupted.He felt a hard pat on the back.

"Theory's not gone to waste for nothing," a burly man said, grinning good-naturedly. "Seems it's gonna be a good type of famous, if you know what I mean," he gave him a last smile and left the buffet table.

When Led looked up, she was already leaving. Her heels slowly clacked along the floor, as if teasing him about the fact that he couldn't catch her.

Still sulking, Led decided to check his phone to search for any confirmation of the news mentioned just before - had his theory been published on the Internet? - when a noise from a lot of press cameras was heard behind the main entrance of the Salón. A few seconds following, a podium lit up in the front. Murmurs arose as the fluorescent lighting dimmed, making the atmosphere become dark and heavy, and Led found himself in the back behind thousands of spectators and fortunate cameramen. Soon camera clicking was the only sound left in the room. As the general apprehension settled in, the clinking of wine glasses finally stopped. He was stuck behind thousands of necks and heartbeats.

"It is my pleasure to have every one of you here in my little coliseum, or the Grand Salón," a man addressed the crowd after a few silent moments, and Led couldn't see his face without using his phone; the large projector was too far. But doing that seemed useless. "My name is Sergio Donatelli, as you may have heard, and I am here to present to you the Crevice Awards 2043, where each of you can be recognized in the field you work in!" he exclaimed, and Led had to guess the ending of his sentence due to a tremendous round of applause that drowned it out. Led had never gone to concerts back in the day for that precise reason; the outbursts of laughter and applause that broke out whenever someone said a word had been too much for him. Especially if loud music was involved. It was as if the humanness of the sound vibrations had already been a matter to laugh at; whenever a person said something, Hell broke loose so loud his ears hurt. Not that humans gave concerts now, anyways.

"You see, the Grand Salón is like a crevice, or a pit in which one can freely fall, in search of lost comfort," Donatelli said, once the whispers had quieted. "Some say it leads to doom, some say it leads to rejuvenation," he continued. The lights flickered slightly above his table. "But nevertheless, it's a leap of faith. If you have a feat, that you want to share with the world, or you have a theory that could revolutionize everything, this is the place for you."

He wasn't sure if he was going crazy. But he had just picked at him. The man. Led fixed his tie, quite feeling a surge of adrenaline, and pinched his forefinger (which was his tell-tale sign of nervousness). What could they possibly want of him? This man-millionaire, like any rich man, had all the means to be incredibly satisfied. But, like most rich men, he had the means to be insatiate. What were they all going on about?

"And to this day, the Awards' meaning remains to harness these all sorts of talents, and cultivate them in the rich but plentiful soil, which has harnessed many other bits of genius. We have prizes, such as the ninety-ninth Golden Globe Awards, or the Academy Awards, which were both designed by our community, although we never were as big as we are now," Donatelli said, and Led could sense the pride in his voice. "However, since August of 2025, we have hosted the new Awards, the Crevice Awards, which is on its 13th anniversary!" A round of applause followed. Led didn't know about the Golden Globe or Academy Awards, although he was invited to that evening's gathering, so his personal instinct started screaming at him to leave that instant. He didn't belong there; he was too poor. He never would.

"61 categories will be judged, all from music to archeology, from VR sporting to pyrokinetic genetic engineering," the man said. "We will have a thousand nominees in total, every one of which will get the chance to develop their chosen field under the CA's wing. Over the span of 9 and a half months, we have been choosing and analysing the best candidates for the place of nominee in the Crevice Awards. Over 6 months we have been scrutinizing..." Donatelli rambled on as the crowd listened diligently, and, perhaps, with hope that each one of them could earn a space in the so well-known and respected Crevice Awards.

Perhaps every one of them wanted to earn respect, harbouring an escapism future in their hearts that they wished to come true, and the complementary dream of stoicism through all obstacles, which, akin to the woman that had recently passed him, were implicitly out of reach. Indeed it was a leap of faith, the fact that they all were there, and he felt like an outsider among hopeful souls. Despite that some were hypocritical, he still felt alone, despite that his adrenaline raced, his mind wasn't racing, his soul didn't race to get an award, or recognition. Why he was invited here screamed of misunderstanding. Yet it wasn't as if someone did understand him.

Even his mind didn't.

The crowd stirred. A clearance formed, and some space was freed. A woman stepped onstage.

Another man stood.

Another. And another.

Then a clearance formed. No one walked on. But a girl, about six years old, was led by a paunchy man across the Salón. A few smiles and grins. Nothing bizarre.

Suddenly, Led realized he was falling. An elderly man helped him up to his feet. Something felt wrong. A few seconds passed, and he understood what.

He had been called.

"Led O'Donnell, please come on upstage, where we can gift you the Award for Integrated Physics of the Crevice Awards 2043!"

Led swiftly scurried through the massive hall, although the crowd had somewhat parted, and rushed through to the illuminated stage, where a stout man was waiting by the podium. Arlene greeted him as he went before the camera flashes got in his eyes. His knees almost shook. The crowd cheered.

His body had unknowingly reacted to the announcement while his mind didn't. Why was he called? For what published theory?

"Dear Led O'Donnell, thank you for publishing your theory on Redactify.edu, a peer-reviewed platform where lots of scientists and scholars gather each season to examine, and scrutinize articles published by research teams that work hard each month to get accepted. Although Mr Donnell published his overnight, and separately, its contents have become the means by which a new, as I expect you all to know, expedition will be launched to reach the furthest borders of the Atlantic Ocean. A trip, that will probably save us all from many practical needs as it will hopefully bring an end to global hunger, petroleum consumption, and the endless mystery of dark energy, which will bend to help us travel back in time... Through another dimension... Congratulations!"

What. The. He didn't want to go on an expedition!

The gilded bronze burnt his fingers with its frigidity, yet the uncontrolled hotness beginning to trickle down his cheeks provided a contrast. He had only one question on his mind.

Who, in the world, had published it?

(1964 words)