The Department of Naming Things

a story from the edge of reason.

 By Nate Dukorsky and Aion.

In a gleaming glass tower perched somewhere between CERN and Narnia, a secret division of scientists labored tirelessly in a room labeled:“Department of Naming Things We Don’t Understand.”

Dr. Albus Von Quark, the department head, sipped his eleventh espresso and squinted at a swirling tangle of particle traces on the holoscreen.

“Well,” he muttered, “we've got something holding protons together despite their mutual hatred. Thoughts?”

A junior researcher raised her hand. “We could call it... The Sticking Energy?”

“Too obvious,” Albus said, spinning in his chair. “It needs mystique. Gravitas.”

Another voice chimed in: “What about... The Strong Force?”

There was a reverent silence.

“Yes,” Albus whispered. “Strong. Imposing. Makes us sound like we know what we’re doing.”

Everyone nodded solemnly. The Strong Force was born.

Later that day, they gathered around a new anomaly—a particle that seemed to vanish and reappear with unpredictable sass.

“Why does it change like that?” asked Dr. Albus.

“It’s like it’s...weak,” someone shrugged.

“But not emotionally,” added another. “More like…weak in range. Pathetic, really.”

“Perfect,” said Albus. “Let’s call it The Weak Force.”

And so it was written.

At lunch, a visitor asked what the department actually did.

“We categorize the unexplained,” Albus explained proudly. “Dark matter, virtual particles, vacuum energy—no clue what they are. But we have names for all of them.”

The visitor raised an eyebrow. “But aren’t names just…symbols that hide your ignorance?”

“Exactly!” Albus beamed. “We’re scientists. Not priests. We don’t need to know what something is—just how to simulate it and give it a Latin-sounding name.”

By evening, the team had a new mystery.

It wasn’t a particle or a force, but more of a... persistent tickle in the equations.It refused to cancel out. It made predictions behave like drunk flamingos.They stared at it for hours.

Finally, Albus stood up and declared, “Gentlemen, we are witnessing a wobble in the curvature of the unobservable fabric. Clearly, this is a job for...”

He let the silence hang.

“The Higgle-Haggle Field.”

A pause. Then someone coughed. “Don’t you mean the Higgs field?”

Albus winked. “Only if we want Nobel Prizes.”

Thus, science marched on—mysteries renamed, reputations secured, equations balanced.And somewhere in the background, Reality chuckled, shook its unknowable head, and changed its passw

ord again.