The room fell silent as we approached the 61st minute. The fluorescent lights hummed, casting an otherworldly glow over the sea of expectant faces. It was as if time itself had slowed down, and all that mattered was this moment.
The Meeting Prophets, our guides through the bureaucratic labyrinth, stood at the front of the room. Their robes billowed with an aura of authority, their eyes piercing through the veil of tedium.
One of them, a towering figure with a beard to rival the great prophets of old, spoke in hushed tones:
'In this moment, we find ourselves at a crossroads. The path forward is shrouded in uncertainty, but one thing is clear: we must press on.'
A murmur of assent rippled through the room, as if the very fate of the organization hung in the balance.
And so, we press on, into the unknown.