Marc: "...Hey, uh... hey, mom. I know I, um, haven't called in a bit, but... well, I've- I've got some incredible news."
He paced around the blindingly white room. Stubbornly so.
Marc: "I'm gonna-... yeah, of course." His tone of voice, going from excitement to monotone displeasure. "Pay's coming in next week. It'll be in your box the day after, alright? Can I talk about the news now? Thank you. As I was saying... I, uh... I've made a full recovery!"
Silence on the other end.
Marc: "Mom, I'm gonna live through brain cancer. Not only that, but I can function better than ever. Mr. Bray has given me the ability to operate faster than any human could possibly dream. I'm... I'm fixed... I'm whole again."
His desk, flooded in papers, was experiencing a tonal shift. Part of it tried to seem organized, but ultimately gave in to the chaos.
Half of his room was decorated with pictures and trinkets. A small replica of the Sydney Opera House on his desk. The other side was decorations taken down, packed in boxes.
Marc: "...Sure... I reckon, yeah... there's expenses to cover, obviously, but Braytech paid for 'em. Yeah, so you don't gotta worry about it, do ya, mate? Look, just... listen, I'm working on something that could change our lives if a HarperCollins or New York Times picks it up. I'm already getting offers from the literal best in Sol. This book... it'll... hell, it'll change the world."
His desperate smile faded as the voice went on. And on. And on...
Soon, any vestige of happiness was gone. You couldn't tell if he was once excited.
Marc: "...I'm giving you half of my paycheck... next Thursday? Ok, wait, just because I work for Braytech doesn't mean I've accumulated enough funds to pay off your medical. Maybe I don't even want to. Thought of that, have ya? This is my life, my dream, my success... you aren't going to take that from me."
Silence.
He shut his eye in frustration.
Marc: "...I'll call in a week," he whispered, "Tell the others I said hello."
He hung up.
Standing in the middle of the room, breathing intensifying, snow dotting his window, he raised his phone to throw it.
His throwing mechanics were awful, elbow and arm in the wrong places. Clearly not suited for athletics. But, he sighed, slipped the phone in his pocket, and returned to his desk.
His frustration coursed through his fingers as he rampantly typed.
Clovis: "Marc."
The voice rang inside his head, icy-cold and needle sharp.
His fingers lifted instantly from the keys.
Marc: "Y-yes, sir?"
Clovis: "I need you to the floor in 30 minutes."
Marc quickly raised his arm. Staring wide-eyed at his watch, he cursed under his breath.
Clovis: "Yes, you've gotten lost in your work again."
Marc: "My mistake, Mr. Bray!" He said, rushing around his office to gather his belongings.
Clovis: "NATO representatives and several generals will be here to review our tech. Focus yourself - this is your future."
Marc frowned.
Marc: "I'll be there in five, sir!"
Clovis: "After, I'm sending you back to Earth. There are some important people in Puerto Rico you should meet."
YOU ARE READING
White like Snow | Destiny X RWBY
حركة (أكشن)Set during the events of RWBY Volume 7-8 and beyond. Salem seeks an advantage over Ozma and his allies. A certain Arthur Watts deals a wild card. He suggests that Salem funnels magic into a portal that would tear through dimensions. They hope to gai...
