Thunderstorms (Fortnite Collection)

Irrational

It turns out that after you develop a certain fear of something, it doesn't always simply go away.

~•~

"Sir?"

Midas flinched up from the papers scattered across the circular meeting room table of The Grotto. His second pen had turned golden, though he wasn't sure if it had done so just now, or if through his tunneled vision on his work, it had been so for a while and he hadn't noticed. He glanced at the report he was writing. There were dents and scratches in the paper. It was the latter option, it would seem.

Even underground, in the cave that was The Grotto, the faint, muffled sound of heavy rainfall could be heard, especially considering the meeting room was close to one of the entrances from the mountain. Thunder rumbled through, and Midas tightened his grip on his golden pen, hoping the gesture would at least mask his shaking hand.

He turned his attention back to who had called for him. It was a fresh recruit, who he had hired to help oversee GHOST's tech and the server rooms. Terra, he recalled. "Not now," he snapped, though he hadn't meant to. He took a deep breath and peered straight into her startled eyes. "I'm busy, but if it is an urgent matter, take it to Brutus."

She nodded and went on her way. Midas sighed and scanned the room, hoping to spot a spare writing utensil. Nothing. "Of course," he muttered, throwing his golden pen off to the side.

It was relieving to know he didn't have to deal with the lightning, but the thunder wasn't any less daunting as it crashed and rang through the air. With still trembling hands, he began to organize the cluttered mess of paperwork scattered across the table. Several times, he nearly dropped the stack as each sound of thunder warranted a flinch or a startled gasp from his lips. At last, he set the papers down and focused on his breaths, which he realized were heavy and erratic.

This was silly. He was the leader of E.G.O, for damn's sake! Yet, here he was, cowering and hiding in the meeting room, scared to even take a step outside.

But he had no choice. His soldiers would look at him and see a pathetic child. His agents, his henchmen would gossip about their boss and his childish fear of storms.

They could never know. They could never find him in this state.