Manic [h.s]

#026

"You're a poison and I know that, it's the truth"

I Feel Like I'm Drowning | Two Feet

February 10, 1999

IRIS XANDER

Hubert Stanley is both nothing and everything I expected to be. His hair is partially greying, slicked back and his long beard is meticulously groomed. He's wearing a suit that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe, with a shiny gold watch peeking out from under his cuff.

His eyes, cold and calculating are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, scanning the living room as if evaluating its worth. He carries himself with an air of entitlement, the kind that makes you want to punch him in the face just for existing. Even his shoes are polished to a ridiculous shine. Everything about him screams money and power, and not in a good way.

He makes himself comfortable on the single-seat couch, crossing one leg over the other as he leans back, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. When his gaze lands on Harry, he barely manages a smile, more of a smirk really. "Harry," he acknowledges with a nod.

Harry steps forward, his posture still and his lips pressed into a grim line. "Mr. Stanley," he says, his voice controlled and carrying an edge of tension. Hubert leans forward slightly, as if he's about to say something important, but instead, he just lets the moment hang.

"Where's the gatekeeper?" he asks, not even bothering to look directly at anyone. "The old shit?" he spits, out with disdain, making it clear he doesn't give a fuck about the answer. My hands automatically roll into fists over how he regards Benny, when Benny has shown nothing but respect to this man.

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere," Harry replies. There's an unusual edge to his tone, but it's clear he's not scared or intimidated by the man seated in front of him, even though Hubert's presence demands attention.

Hubert narrows his eyes, clearly not satisfied with the response. I bet he probably wants everyone to roll out the red carpet for him and grovel at his feet.  "It's a bit of a surprise visit, Mr. Stanley," Meredith pipes up from beside me, probably trying to diffuse the tension she sees in his expression. She steps forward with her hands behind her back, her posture almost painfully straight, but her voice carries a sharp edge as a hint at the discomfort. "We weren't expecting you to be here."

Hubert's gaze shifts to her, and he lets out a mocking laugh as if her statement is the punchline to a bad joke. "Is that so, doll?" he sneers with irritation, his expression morphing from amusement to outright anger in seconds. "You wanna know why I'm here?" he continues, his glare sweeping over Harry and everyone else in the room. The tension is palpable, and you can almost feel the temperature drop a few degrees as his words hang in the air.

"You are fucking useless," he sneers, getting up. "I want that chip, and I want it as soon as possible. If you were actually doing your damn jobs, I wouldn't have to be here breathing down your necks."  He paces a few steps, eyes blazing. "What's the holdup? Do I have to fucking kill you all and find it myself?" He stops in front of Harry, leaning in close. "Because trust me, I'm this close to doing just that."

Harry holds Hubert's glare without flinching, though the tension in his clenched jaw is evident. "We're close. We just need a little more time," he says in a steady voice.

"Time? Time is money, and you're wasting both," Hubert snaps back. "Every second you waste is a second closer to me losing my patience, and you know what happens when I lose my patience."

"We're working round the clock, and doing everything we can, Mr. Stanley," Meredith speaks up.

"Oh really?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then what's the excuse this time? Did the dog eat your homework? Or are you all just a bunch of incompetent fucks? Save me the fucking excuses. I need results, not promises."