A fist slammed down on the table, the sound echoing through the vast conference room like a gunshot.
Two men sat on opposite sides of the long, polished table. One was in his early forties, exuding an air of unshakable confidence. His lustrous bright brown hair seemed to catch the light just so, and his hazel eyes gleamed behind sleek black glasses, hinting at secrets and schemes only he could comprehend. His posture was relaxed, his hands resting calmly on the table as if this confrontation was little more than a mild inconvenience.
The other man, far younger, looked ready to explode. His messy dark brown hair matched his disheveled appearance, and his fiery brown eyes were locked onto his opponent with unyielding fury. His entire body was taut with barely restrained rage, his clenched fists trembling as he glared across the table.
"What… what the hell is wrong with you, Benjamin Khybernus?!" the younger man shouted, his voice shaking with anger and frustration.
Khybernus didn't flinch. In fact, he barely reacted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in what could have been the beginnings of a smirk. "Many things, really. Some diagnosed, others not… You'll have to be more specific," he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with disinterest.
The younger man's teeth clenched audibly as he leaned forward, slamming both palms onto the table this time. "I'm talking about my ideas! The ideas you stole from me!"
Khybernus adjusted his glasses with a nonchalant flick of his fingers, as though the accusation had failed to reach him entirely. "Ah, yes, those ideas," he said with a faint sigh, his calm gaze meeting the younger man's furious one. "The concepts you scribbled down hastily during your internship? The ones you left half-baked and incomplete before I took the liberty of refining them into something… usable?"
"That's not what happened, and you damn well know it!" the younger man growled, his voice rising with each word. "You stole my work! My designs! And now you're passing them off as your own!"
Khybernus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded the young man coolly. "Stole? That is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as… salvaging brilliance from the clutches of mediocrity. After all, without my intervention, those ideas would have languished in obscurity, much like their creator seems destined to do."
The younger man's face twisted in a mix of disbelief and fury, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You arrogant bastard… You think you can just take whatever you want and get away with it?"
Khybernus's expression darkened slightly, his composed façade slipping for just a moment as his hazel eyes glinted with something sharper. "It's not about what I think, Markus. It's about what I know. And what I know is that the world rewards results, not idealistic dreams or petty grievances."
For a moment, the room was silent, the tension crackling like static electricity. Markus's breathing was heavy, his fists trembling as he fought the urge to lunge across the table.
"You'll regret this," he finally hissed, his voice low but venomous. "I'll make sure everyone knows what kind of man you really are."
Khybernus smiled then, a cold, calculating smile that sent a chill through the room. "Do what you must," he said, his tone laced with mockery. "But be careful. The path of righteousness often leads to unexpected… obstacles."
The younger man glared at him for a moment longer, then turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
Khybernus remained seated, his expression returning to its usual calm as he glanced at the door. "Such passion," he murmured to himself. "What a shame it's so poorly directed."
With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the holographic display hovering above the table, lines of data and schematics illuminating his glasses. There was much to be done, and far more important matters to attend to than the tantrums of an idealistic youth.
***
The idealistic youth was Markus Tempus, a bright but underappreciated scientist who had dedicated his life to designing a prototype device theoretically capable of altering weather patterns. His motivations were noble—he wanted to help the world recover from climate disasters and mitigate the effects of the Swart Rook. But Benjamin Khybernus had dismissed his ideas, branding them "too dangerous."
What a lie that was.
If the concept was so perilous, then why had Khybernus announced his own project to develop a weather-altering device? And why hadn't Markus received even a shred of acknowledgment for his work?
"As if… as if that bastard could understand my concept in such a short amount of time…" Markus muttered to himself, disbelief and bitterness twisting his voice. His footsteps echoed down the long, sterile corridors of KhyberCorp, a place he once thought would be the birthplace of innovation and change.
When he finally reached the door to his lab, he froze. There was a box on the ground, filled with his belongings—books, papers, a mug he had cherished since college. A small note sat atop the pile, its message brief but devastating:
You're fired.
Markus's breath hitched. His vision blurred as he clutched the note in trembling hands. Just like that, his life's work, his career, and his dreams had been snatched away. This was what Khybernus had meant by "obstacles." The man hadn't just stolen Markus's ideas; he'd systematically destroyed any chance he had of continuing his career as a scientist in this city.
"What… what a wicked man…" Markus whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of despair. His head hung low as tears threatened to spill. "Why… why can't I ever seem to give anything back to them…?"
"Markus?"
The gentle, familiar voice snapped him out of his spiral. Markus wiped his eyes hastily and turned. Standing before him was a slightly shorter, slightly overweight man with a kind expression. His clean-shaven face bore a few freckles, and his dark brown hair was neatly combed. Round, wire-framed glasses rested on his nose, framing his eyes—eyes that seemed to gleam like polished obsidian, full of warmth and concern.
"Prof. Edwards…" Markus croaked, his throat tight. He tried to straighten himself, but his legs wobbled under the weight of exhaustion and despair. "What… what are you doing here?"
Edwards frowned, concern deepening the lines on his face as he stepped closer. "I could ask you the same thing. What's going on? Why are your things in a box?"
Markus forced a weak smile, though it felt like it might shatter at any moment. "I'm… being relocated to a new lab," he said, the words tasting bitter as they left his tongue. He didn't want to worry the kind man who had been a mentor to him for years, through college and into his professional career.
Edwards's expression shifted, a beaming smile spreading across his face. "Ah, I see. I suppose I misunderstood things." He sighed, his relief palpable. "Have you gotten a promotion?"
Markus nodded, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. "Something like that… Yeah." He reached for the box, gripping it tightly to steady his shaking hands. "So… I'll see you around, Professor."
Before Edwards could respond, Markus turned and hurried down the corridor, his head bowed low. Each step felt heavier than the last as he felt his mask crumbling, his weak smile falling away with every hurried breath.
By the time he reached the elevator, his vision was blurred with tears he could no longer hold back. He jabbed the button for the ground floor and stepped inside, the box of his belongings clutched tightly to his chest.
As the elevator doors closed, Markus leaned against the wall, finally allowing the wave of frustration and despair to crash over him. His shoulders shook as silent tears fell. "What now…?" he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the elevator.
The doors opened to the bustling lobby of KhyberCorp. People moved past him, their faces blank with indifference, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside him. Markus forced himself to keep walking, his steps unsteady but determined.
Once outside, the sharp evening air bit at his skin, grounding him. He stood there for a moment, staring up at the towering structure of KhyberCorp, its glass facade gleaming in the fading sunlight. It had once been a symbol of hope for him, a place where dreams could be realized. Now, it loomed over him like a monument to betrayal.
"I'll prove it," Markus murmured, his fists tightening around the edges of the box. His voice trembled with dark emotion…
***
What a pleasant and sunny day it was—until the skies betrayed everyone and unleashed a downpour.
"Ugh, there wasn't a cloud in sight a minute ago, and now it's raining like crazy!" Nicholas grumbled, pulling his jacket over his head in a futile attempt to shield himself.
The man seated next to him gave a slow, almost robotic nod. His slouched posture and hollow expression screamed exhaustion, like someone who had been wrung dry of every ounce of vitality.
'Yeesh, this guy looks like he's been through some, ' Nicholas thought, sneaking a glance at him. The man was young, probably in his early twenties, with a darker complexion and a mop of disheveled brown hair that matched his weary brown eyes.
Unable to stand the awkward silence, Nicholas asked, "You alright, man?" The bus couldn't come fast enough to rescue him from this tense atmosphere, but he figured the question might at least ease it.
"…No."
That single word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain. But to Nicholas's surprise, the man's expression shifted ever so slightly. He sat up straighter, the lifelessness in his eyes replaced by a faint spark, as if someone had finally noticed he was there.
"Well, that's honest," Nicholas said. "Bad day or… bad everything?"
The man let out a bitter chuckle, a sound that seemed foreign to him. "Bad everything."
Nicholas sighed, shaking the rainwater from his jacket. "Yeah, I've had a few of those myself. Doesn't seem like it right now, but hey, you're still standing—or, uh, sitting. That's gotta count for something, right?"
The man tilted his head slightly, considering Nicholas's words. "Standing doesn't mean much when you don't know where you're supposed to go."
Nicholas frowned. "Fair point. But sitting around in the rain waiting for a bus with a total stranger? Sounds like the start of a decent story, at least."
The man gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just the intermission before things get worse."
Nicholas leaned back, studying him with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You got a name, or should I just call you Mystery Guy?"
"…Markus," the man said after a pause.
"Nicholas. Well, Markus," Nicholas said, offering a lopsided grin. "You're in luck. If this bus doesn't get here soon, I've got plenty of stupid stories to pass the time. Distraction all but guaranteed."
Markus actually smiled—a faint, fleeting thing, but genuine. "You're persistent, aren't you?"
"Stubborn," Nicholas corrected. "But yeah, let's go with persistent. So, what's your story? I promise I've heard weirder."
Markus hesitated, glancing at the puddles forming around their feet. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "I used to think I'd change the world. Now I'm just trying to figure out if it's worth the effort."
Nicholas nodded slowly. "Big dreams, huh? Those are the best kind, I think. Even if they don't pan out… well, at least they keep things interesting, right?"
Markus looked at him for a long moment, the rain cascading around them like a curtain. "Maybe," he said softly. "Maybe you're right."
Nicholas took a step in front of Markus, turning to face him. "I'd say it's worth chasing whatever dream you've got. Life's pretty boring otherwise. Although…" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "That's kinda ironic coming from me, seeing as I don't really have any dreams yet."
Markus tilted his head, considering Nicholas. "What about helping your family? Wouldn't that be a good dream?"
Nicholas blinked, momentarily taken aback. He stared into the rain, his voice quieter now. "I suppose. Though… they don't really need me."
Markus's gaze lingered on Nicholas, intense and unyielding. Nicholas squirmed under the scrutiny, feeling as if Markus were peeling back layers he hadn't even known were there.
"Don't say that," Markus said at last, his tone measured and thoughtful. "Even if they seem like they're doing fine without you, it's probably because they don't want you to worry. That doesn't mean they don't need you."
Nicholas shrugged, trying to shake off the weight of Markus's words. "What about you, then?"
Markus smiled weakly, his eyes dimming as he spoke. "My family is… poor. Really poor. It's a miracle they managed to send me to university here. Once I started working, I sent every cent I could back to them in Mexico."
Nicholas's eyes widened. "You're from Mexico? Wow, your English is really good."
Markus blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the compliment. "Oh… thank you—" His words faltered, his expression shifting to one of terror.
Before Nicholas could process what was happening, Markus shoved him aside with surprising force.
"What the hell?!" Nicholas started, but his words died in his throat.
Above them, a bus careened through the air, smashing into the side of the building behind them with a deafening crash. The impact shook the ground, and shards of glass and debris rained down around them.
Nicholas stared in stunned silence, his heart pounding in his chest. 'Holy shit. I could've died just now.'
Markus stumbled back, breathing heavily. His eyes darted around, wide with panic.
Nicholas got to his feet, his legs shaky but functional. "What—what the hell was that?!"
They both turned in the direction the bus had come from and saw a fierce battle unfolding between the two figures. Though obscured by the relentless downpour, their movements were still visible—fast, powerful, and destructive.
Nicholas squinted through the rain, his heart pounding. "A… hero and a villain?" he ventured aloud. Markus, his expression tense, nodded almost imperceptibly.
As the two watched, the villain used the rain to their advantage, water swirling around them like extensions of their body. With each movement, they lashed out with torrents of liquid, forcing the hero on the defensive.
"Damn," Nicholas muttered, frustration tinging his voice. "Not only is this rain making it harder to see who's who, but it's literally helping the villain. Can you imagine if we had a device that could stop the rain or something?"
It was meant as a joke, but he didn't notice the way Markus stiffened at his words. The man's gaze dropped to the ground, his lips pressed tightly together.
After a moment of silence, Markus spoke, his tone heavy. "We should leave. It's not safe here."
Nicholas glanced back at the battle one last time before nodding. "Yeah… good call."
The two began to move away carefully, avoiding the debris-strewn street. As they distanced themselves from the chaos, Nicholas caught sight of multiple other figures approaching the scene—more heroes.
"At least the cavalry's here," Nicholas muttered under his breath, a small sense of relief washing over him.
As they reached a fork in the road, Markus turned in a direction opposite to Nicholas's. It was clear this was where their paths diverged.
Nicholas stopped, throwing a hand up in a wave. "Guess I'll walk home from here. Take care of yourself, man. I hope you and your family stay safe. And… thanks for saving my life back there!"
Markus didn't respond, his back already retreating into the distance.
Nicholas frowned slightly but shrugged it off. "Weird guy," he murmured to himself, turning toward his own route. He quickened his pace, eager to get home. The last thing he wanted was to worry his father.
As he walked, the rain began to ease, though the clouds above still loomed ominously. Nicholas glanced up at the sky, his thoughts wandering. "For some reason, I have a feeling something bad is going to happen…"
Meanwhile, Markus disappeared into the labyrinth of streets, his expression dark and unreadable. He clutched his phone tightly, his mind racing. A device that could alter the weather…
Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number he had never expected—or wanted—to call. The seconds stretched endlessly as the line rang, each one feeling heavier than the last. Doubt flickered across his face, and just as his thumb hovered over the screen to cancel the call, the line clicked.
Markus froze for a moment, his heart pounding. Swallowing hard, he forced the words out. "Sir… I'll take your offer. If… if it still stands, of course." His voice quivered slightly, a mix of fear and regret evident in his tone.
Unaware of the brewing storm, Nicholas finally reached his doorstep. Shaking off the rain, he stepped inside, greeted by the warmth of home and the familiar voice of his father.
"Rough day?" his dad asked, peeking out from the kitchen.
Nicholas forced a smile, his mind still replaying the event that happened just an hour ago. "Eh, could have been worse… a lot worse."