...

  ..

  .

  Roaring gusts of wind follow as the missile shoots through the stormy clouds, leaving a stream of mist behind.

  The sound of impatient horns punctuates the restless chatter of people as the busy road is filled with countless traffic under the foul weather.

  The thunder growls like a lion's roar as civilians hurry, some casually walk through the sidewalk. A transparent, clear scent fills the moment.

  The piercing howl of wind remains while the missile spears through the turbulent rain-promising clouds.

  A fist slams against the neat wooden table.

  A man clothed in an office suit is leaning ahead furiously, his eyebrows twitching, a hint of beard on his face, some politicians are sitting on the chairs infront of him, their looks solemn, "Calm down Comman-" "NO!" the suited man adjusts to his seat upon bearing the interruption.

  Commander stands unruffled, the rhythmic voice of drizzle striking against the spacious window of the office quieted inside the office, "you bastards the say a sincere voice of authority "I should have known better than to trust you narcissists" the voice drips with rage as the men in suits look at each other and gulp, adapting to their chairs, commander straightens his Posture, gathering the spilled paperwork on the table. "Nova Terra will provide no money, necessary or unnecessary material for the development of those stupid human machines."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The missile is a distant shooting star as it crashes down at the city, the sound of rain slapping the already-drenched metal fills the atmosphere as it persists in its motion.

  Commander taps the paperwork on the table, rolling it into his hands before walking away. A creak of the wooden chair catches every eye's attention. "We figured you would say that..." Commander's narrowed eyebrows and clenched grip on the paperwork prove the wrath he houses as he continues to walk. "You have my sympathy, Commander." Commander jams upon reaching the door,

  "Don't tell me..."

  A flicker of knowing flashes commander's face—then, terror, Commander jolts his head back—

  The clock itself is shaking, its long and thin needle terrorizing to push forth.

  Tick.

  The busy road is hushed, cloaked in a strange silence that threatens to break; the raindrop hovered above the moisture-coated road lane like a clear pearl.

  Tick.

  The droplet stood stretched on the verge of the umbrella's bent corner, threatening to slip. The boy's mouth remained open in motionless laughter beneath it, the thin, dry eyelashes bowed down over the eye, wrinkles observable underneath the eye.

  Tick.

  The vehicles are frozen all across the eerie, vibrant road, the raindrop barely connected with rooftop of the car, the aroma of soggy cement and wet concrete serving the moment.

  Tick.

  The foot terrorized to reach the ground beneath, the boot's shoelaces are entangled in polished tidy knots, water drops clinging to its boundaries, some floating beneath it, finally, An echo of a thump.

  Fire.

  Cries.

  Silence.

  Only the sizzling sound of fire was audible behind the curtain of the blaze, then, a glimpse of someone in a torn office suit, his body limp as he moves forward.

  A glitched voice.

  "pro—je— i—me—"

  "succ—es—"

  Beep.