"Damnit, it WILL work I tell you! Stop questiong me."
"Bryan, my numbers just don't add up."
"Would you try trusting me for once? I've run these numbers at least a dozen times. It will work."
Sustained silence. An uneasy tension hung in the air as the two engineers faced each other, one glaring, one with a look of uncertainty. It was like this for a few moments before the uncertain one finally threw up his hands in defeat. He knew further efforts would be wasted in vain.
"FINE! You know what, fine. You just go ahead and throw all our f**king work out the window because you won't trust MY judgement on this. Trust ME, Bryan, I ran the numbers a dozen times on the computer. The transflux circuit will NOT sustain this sort of energy input. It can't and it won't. But don't mind me, because I'm not your partner anymore. I wash my hands of this."
To cement the idea, Mike ripped the government issued ID badge from his breast pocket and threw it on the nearby table. He didn't even wait for Bryan's reaction. He just turned and headed for the door.
"FINE! I don't need your help anyway. This was my idea and my project all along. You've done nothing but hold me back anyway!"
The efforts at insult seemed to produce no effects. Mike calmly opened the door to the workroom and slipped through, slamming the door behind him.
Bryan woke up with a start, breathing heavily. A cold sweat covered his body in a thin slick that gleemed in the dim light coming through the curtained bedroom window. It was hard to see through eyes still bleary with sleep. But the images from the dream were as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. That was no dream reconstituted from the images the brain takes in and jumbles together in some matchstick pattern to replay in your sleep. It had happened to him. Two years ago.
With a soft intake of air, he reached out for the alarm clock on his nightstand. His hand brushed against the quarter full bottle of Jack Daniels, knocking it over and spilling most of the remaining contents across the hardwood floor.
"God f**king damnit!"
He'd drank the three quarters the night before, which was no doubt the cause of the pounding headache he was now suffering. He had planned on finishing the bottle tonight, probably along with a twelve pack of Bud. Now he'd have to spend more money he didn't really have on a new bottle. This time it'd be something that didn't give him such a killer hangover. Rum maybe. Or vodka.
Brushing aside the now all but empty bottle, he grabbed the alarm clock and peered at it while rubbing at his eyes. 6:47AM was displayed in light green numerals. It was Tuesday morning. The sun was just about to crest the horizon, not that Bryan could see it here in Paragon City. All the buildings blocked out the horizon.
He dropped the alarm clock back on the nightstand with a dull thud, remembering back to his dream. That had been the last time he had seen Mike. There friendship that had extended back through grade school had ended there. At the age of 27, he had lost his best friend of 15 years to vanity. But that wasn't all.
Throwing back the sweat soaked sheets of his bed, Bryan looked down at his legs. They were emaciated sticks, lifeless and useless to him. They may as well not be there. Dark eyes shifted to the corner where his wheelchair resided. That was now his means of locomotion.
"F**k you..." he muttered under his breath.
There would be no more sleep tonight. Unless in a drunken stupor, sleep was hard to come into. Pop a few aspirin and the day would begin. He had to get to the Shop E-Z Mart for work at 8:30, anyway. May as well stop at the donut shop on the corner for breakfast.
"Damnit, it WILL work I tell you! Stop questiong me."
"Bryan, my numbers just don't add up."
"Would you try trusting me for once? I've run these numbers at least a dozen times. It will work."
Sustained silence. An uneasy tension hung in the air as the two engineers faced each other, one glaring, one with a look of uncertainty. It was like this for a few moments before the uncertain one finally threw up his hands in defeat. He knew further efforts would be wasted in vain.
"FINE! You know what, fine. You just go ahead and throw all our f**king work out the window because you won't trust MY judgement on this. Trust ME, Bryan, I ran the numbers a dozen times on the computer. The transflux circuit will NOT sustain this sort of energy input. It can't and it won't. But don't mind me, because I'm not your partner anymore. I wash my hands of this."
To cement the idea, Mike ripped the government issued ID badge from his breast pocket and threw it on the nearby table. He didn't even wait for Bryan's reaction. He just turned and headed for the door.
"FINE! I don't need your help anyway. This was my idea and my project all along. You've done nothing but hold me back anyway!"
The efforts at insult seemed to produce no effects. Mike calmly opened the door to the workroom and slipped through, slamming the door behind him.
Bryan woke up with a start, breathing heavily. A cold sweat covered his body in a thin slick that gleemed in the dim light coming through the curtained bedroom window. It was hard to see through eyes still bleary with sleep. But the images from the dream were as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. That was no dream reconstituted from the images the brain takes in and jumbles together in some matchstick pattern to replay in your sleep. It had happened to him. Two years ago.
With a soft intake of air, he reached out for the alarm clock on his nightstand. His hand brushed against the quarter full bottle of Jack Daniels, knocking it over and spilling most of the remaining contents across the hardwood floor.
"God f**king damnit!"
He'd drank the three quarters the night before, which was no doubt the cause of the pounding headache he was now suffering. He had planned on finishing the bottle tonight, probably along with a twelve pack of Bud. Now he'd have to spend more money he didn't really have on a new bottle. This time it'd be something that didn't give him such a killer hangover. Rum maybe. Or vodka.
Brushing aside the now all but empty bottle, he grabbed the alarm clock and peered at it while rubbing at his eyes. 6:47AM was displayed in light green numerals. It was Tuesday morning. The sun was just about to crest the horizon, not that Bryan could see it here in Paragon City. All the buildings blocked out the horizon.
He dropped the alarm clock back on the nightstand with a dull thud, remembering back to his dream. That had been the last time he had seen Mike. There friendship that had extended back through grade school had ended there. At the age of 27, he had lost his best friend of 15 years to vanity. But that wasn't all.
Throwing back the sweat soaked sheets of his bed, Bryan looked down at his legs. They were emaciated sticks, lifeless and useless to him. They may as well not be there. Dark eyes shifted to the corner where his wheelchair resided. That was now his means of locomotion.
"F**k you..." he muttered under his breath.
There would be no more sleep tonight. Unless in a drunken stupor, sleep was hard to come into. Pop a few aspirin and the day would begin. He had to get to the Shop E-Z Mart for work at 8:30, anyway. May as well stop at the donut shop on the corner for breakfast.