Inappropriate Gala

Mantis Tower, Metro City

The crowd was a suffocating sea of polished arrogance.

Men cloaked in designer suits, crisp ties, and shoes that probably cost more than an average apartment in the Metro City. They stood in clusters, laughing like hyenas dressed in silk as their voices oozed off artificial charm and self-importance.

Scott's face melted into an expression of pure disgust as his brows furrowed so hard it was like they were trying to escape his forehead. His jaw clenched, and the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips hinted that he might actually vomit if he inhaled one more whiff of overpriced cologne mixed with cheap champagne breath.

With a sigh heavy enough to carry the weight of civilization's decay, he shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his black trench coat and walked straight through them, like Moses parting the Red Sea—if the Red Sea were made of smug, overpaid businessmen.