Gemotions

The world seemed to shrink, closing in on Michael. The small space of the elevator felt like a suffocating tomb, the metallic scent amplified by his churning stomach. He’d been expecting a vital call from the board, a call that could solidify his long-awaited promotion. Now, all he had was this: a metal prison and his equally annoyed coworker, Jessica.

He stared at the display panel, which mocked him with its unwavering "Out of Service" message. He wanted to smash it, to obliterate the source of his mounting tension. He took a step towards the control panel, his hands clenched into fists, the knuckles white.

“Do you think this is funny?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. Jessica jumped, startled by the venom in his tone. He didn't even care.

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. The ticking of his watch seemed to amplify with each passing second, a constant reminder of the precious time he was losing. Each tick felt like a blow. Each second was a nail in the coffin of his ambitions.

He began to pace again, his steps short and agitated. He had to get out of here. He *had* to.