Gemotions

The patent denial sat heavy in Elias's gut, a cold stone. He slammed his fist on the desk, scattering blueprints like a flock of startled birds. He'd poured his life into this, this self-sealing container for space-borne waste, only to have some corporate shill beat him to it. He imagined the patent holder, probably a smug, silver-haired executive, lounging on a yacht.

He grabbed the prototype, his fingers tightening around the cold metal. He threw it across the room where it smashed against the wall, the sound oddly unsatisfying. He should have known. He should have been faster. He would be.

He paced his small workshop, the cramped space feeling suddenly claustrophobic. He would find a way to discredit that corporation, to expose their flaws. They’d be sorry they stole his thunder.