Follow him out, assistant. Five benches. Four reagents. One way to settle it.
Professor Quibble vanished mid-experiment and the door latched behind you. Read the chalked maxim, mix the four-reagent formula — but the obvious reading is a trap.
Quibble vanished mid-experiment and the door latched behind you. On the master bench his compound is going critical — settle it before morning, or you're locked in here with the hiss all night.
He didn’t just bolt: he left a deliberate trail through his own benches. Each station holds one reagent he distilled and set aside. Gather the four, carry them to the reactor, and they’ll settle the runaway.
Reagents, shapes and colour — no chemistry, no jargon. Quibble reads his own benches his own way, and the obvious read is usually the trap. Everything you need is in the room.
The last experiment · stabilise it
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