The Amazing Marcus Puth

Owen’s Warth

Jack, the tension palpable in his movements, was pacing the room when his phone rang. He answered the call, his voice brisk and curt. "Yes?"

"Sir, we've sent it to you," the voice on the other end of the line replied.

"Thank you," Jack murmured, his tone flat and uninterested. He ended the call and opened the document, his eyes scanning the contents.

His brow furrowed in frustration as he surveyed the information. "There's nothing special about Marcus," he hissed, the words dripping with disappointment.

The futility of his efforts was a bitter pill to swallow, Jack's frustration mounting with each dead-end discovery. As his mood soured, he turned on the TV, only to be met with the infuriating sight of himself kneeling before Marcus, the image a haunting reminder of his humiliation.

His jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple as his teeth ground against one another, a barely contained fury seething within him. He seethed, his hatred for Marcus fueling a fire that threatened to con