Gemotions

The workshop felt like a tomb. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the gloom, illuminating the discarded prototypes scattered across the workbench. Elias ran a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of grease in the strands. He hadn't slept properly in days. The patent application, the culmination of years of work, sat rejected on the kitchen table. Someone else, a faceless corporation, had already claimed the very thing he'd poured his heart and soul into.

His stomach churned, a knot of unease twisting within him. He picked up his wrench and started aimlessly tightening a bolt on a half-finished automaton, the rhythmic clink of metal against metal the only sound breaking the silence. A wave of exhaustion washed over him; he just wanted to go to bed and sleep for a week.

He sighed, the sound lost in the vastness of the room, and slumped back against the workbench. The fight, the struggle, felt utterly pointless now. His dream, his invention, stolen before it had even taken its first step.