The door creaks open, stirring up a small cloud of dust. Luckily, this visitor has no need to breathe.
The office's occupant hides behind a towering stack of papers, paying little attention to the intruder.
Ulrich: ...
Enigma: Visiting hours are over, and you don't have an appointment.
Enigma: Please, get out.
Ulrich: There's no such thing as "visiting hours" here.
Enigma: But I still have the right to control my private space.
Ulrich: Might I remind you that, fundamentally, an office is a semi-public space?
Ulrich: Treating it as private property is the result of primal, animalistic instincts and a serious violation of regulations.
Enigma: Theoretical physics research requires quiet, not people walking around and shouting at one another.
The sound of a scratching pencil comes from behind the papers, as if Enigma were finishing a crossword puzzle.
Ulrich: But you haven't submitted a single academic paper of value in seven years, nor made any other kind of contribution.
Ulrich: How long do you intend to indulge in this "humanitarian" management idleness?
Ulrich: You can't even keep the room clean!
Enigma: Oh, so you've returned from holiday as a sanitation inspector, have you?
Ulrich: I'm still the leader of the cryptography team. During my absence and since my return, the team has been running efficiently.
Ulrich: The number of internal complaints I've received has significantly decreased.
Enigma: You should give your work report to that tin can, not me. Now leave.
For the sake of his promise to Hofmann and his responsibilities as a leader, Ulrich resists the urge to walk out.
Ulrich: I had no desire to be here. But I gave my word to Ms. Hofmann.
Enigma: Her?
Research Assistant: I'm here!
Dora bursts into the room, two cardboard boxes in her arms.
She places the boxes on top of the already massive pile of paper.
Research Assistant: Sorry I'm late.
Enigma: Great, another one. Welcome. Make yourself at home.
Enigma: What's next, a full orchestra? A clown jumping out and serenading me?
Research Assistant: Well, not exactly—
Research Assistant: Happy 28th birthday, Mr. Adler!
Ulrich: ...
The sound of tearing paper fills the room as a crumpled calendar page is thrown over the stack of paper on the desk.
Enigma: Thanks for the reminder. I'd almost forgotten.
Research Assistant: ...
As her enthusiasm deflates, she gives a pleading look to Ulrich.
He responds with an annoyed shake of his head.
Research Assistant: Uh, Mr. Adler, I brought something for you.
Enigma: Yes, the boxes you so kindly already piled on my desk. One is signed by Greta Hofmann. Who's the other one for?
Research Assistant: For you, of course.
She quickly unwraps it for him.
Research Assistant: What ... what happened to it?!
Enigma: What is this?
Ulrich: It's the birthday cake Dora prepared. I assume you haven't so utterly detached yourself from society that you don't understand its significance.
Research Assistant: Ah!
She lets out a helpless scream.
Research Assistant: Who put so many candles on it?!
Enigma: Let's see—hah, 28. Genius.
Ulrich: It took a precise calculation to fit 28 candles perfectly on the cake, let me tell you.
Research Assistant: This is not happening!
Ulrich: There's no need to worry about your health, Dora. There's no evidence that ingesting paraffin and a small amount of dye causes any illness.
Enigma: Right, what we should be worrying about is carbon dioxide poisoning.
Research Assistant: No, that's not the problem! It's that ... Ugh!
Research Assistant: I can't even look at it!
She hurriedly recloses the cake box.
Research Assistant: Sorry, Mr. Adler. I'll get you a new one.
Enigma: No need. I'll eat this one.
Research Assistant: Then ... considering the fire hazard, let's skip lighting the candles.
Research Assistant: But we still have to sing the song. I even learned the German version.
Enigma: I understand English. By the way, when will your enthusiasm end?
Research Assistant: It's a magical song, don't you think? It sounds cheerful in any language.
She takes a deep breath.
Research Assistant: Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.
Research Assistant: Happy birthday, dear Alder!
Research Assistant: Happy birthday to you.
The final note hangs in the air before crashing to the ground like a solitary raindrop.
Ulrich: ...
Enigma: ...
Research Assistant: ...?
...
Silence.
...
All three of them, in total silence.
...
From the birth of the universe to the heat death of all things, there has not been and will never be a silence so profound.
...
Research Assistant: Was my German off?
Enigma glances at the cake on the paper pile, his expression resembling someone who has just swallowed a worm.
Enigma: Is anyone going to tell me what's going on here?
Enigma: Am I the one losing my mind here, or is it you two?
Enigma: This room is chaotic enough as it is. Leave, and don't come back!
The heavy atmosphere seems to have created an unresolvable standoff.
All attempts at social interaction have ended in dismal failure, like a well-intentioned ship crashing into an iceberg.
No one wants to blow out unlit birthday candles.
Research Assistant: This ... but ...
Ulrich: We've done all that we can. Let's go, Dora.
