It was half past eleven in the morning and Marcus was ready to reenact 9/11 to the FBI HQ.
No, he was not a terrorist, nor was he a suicidal idiot. He was merely (extremely) aggravated at the agents currently keeping him here for "interrogation purposes".
Here as in a dark, gloomy cell.
He had an important meeting to attend in an hour's time, and these motherfuckers showed no signs of letting his ass go anytime soon.
Marcus's boss wasn't a patient man, especially when they had an important meeting with Galilei Corps. Sure, Bossman was cool with Marcus wearing his usual hipster clothing to work, but being late?
Hell would be a more welcoming prospect.
He shuddered at the reminder of what had happened last time he had been tardy.
That man must have a few screws loose and dislodged. He swore upon his mother's grave that he was telling the absolute truth.
... And if his mother knows telepathy, Marcus would be dead for having the balls to kill her off.
"Holloway! Stop fuckin' daydreaming and give us the truth! Stop wasting's everyone's time!"
An FBI agent that Marcus nicknamed Grumpy due to his bad temperant, bellowed as he slammed his palm onto the metal table, causing a loud echo that annoyed Marcus more than it intimidates him.
Grumpy's partner looked as if he wanted to eye roll at the display of unnecessary violence, matching Marcus's mood for the past hour of their so-called interrogation.
"My answer's still the same no matter what shit you try to pull. I. Don't. Fucking. Know." Was his unconcerned reply, already tired of repeating the same shit over and over again.
When he tells the truth, he gets told he was a liar. When he tells a lie, he gets the same result.
Was it because of he was black? Fucking hell.
"You fucking...!"
Grumps's partner must've had enough because he finally stepped in, quick to intervene before things became more ugly than it already has. The bruise on Marcus's right cheekbone was clear indication that Grumpy has no chill.
They better pray to Jesus that Bossman won't find out that they played rough with Marcus.
Oh, wait, not to be a tattletale, but Marcus would so be telling on them if he arrived late for the meeting. He was not going to hide the truth when it concerns his mental and physical health.
"You know, kid, you'll be out of here as soon as you spill the beans. We all have stuff to do, and I'm sure you're as hungry as us right now."
The quieter of the two agents stated soothingly, his hand splayed against his partner's chest in a show of restraint.
Good cop bad cop, eh?
Marcus would've been tickled if he weren't so annoyed.
Time was ticking, and if didn't get out of here soon, the bomb will explode all over his sexy as hell ass.
With a bored expression, Marcus crossed his right leg over the other in a show of being utter relaxed. He then shrugged his shoulders, pretending that he has all the time in the world and his stomach wasn't carving a hole due to hunger.
It was about time he escaped. Repercussions be damned.
"Before that, I need the toilet."
Grumpy couldn't hold it in (see what he did there? No? Nevermind) and roared, his temporal vein bulging as he lost his cool.
"FUCK NO! JUST ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!"
"Then, pardon me for spraying your walls."
As Marcus said that, he stood and readied himself to unzip his tight jeans, causing the agent to cuss up a storm and fled out of the room, having enough of Marcus's bullshit, apparently.
The one left behind grimaced before allowing him to leave, but with 'escorts' at his front and back as they roughly 'guided' him towards the nearest washroom.
When his two guards made a move to enter along with him, Marcus sneered.
"What? Never seen a black man peeing before? Do I look like I need to hold your hand while doing my business? Or do you need to hold my dong to be assured I don't spray your walls? Wow, FBIs these days sure are bold."
The two guards must've been noobs, because one of them immediately stuttered a no while the other turned away, clearly uncomfortable.
Since they two were too weirded out by him and waited outside obediently, Marcus was quick to lock the door and retrieve his miniature phone from within the safety of his hidden compartment - built in his sneakers.
His thumbs soared through the air as he typed rapidly, hacking into the security systems and bypassing all their walls to peek through their cameras. This was because he needed to find his laptop. It contained too much confidential information for it to land into the hands of the FBI.
As soon as he found the location, he made sure to memorise the route, as well as where their guards were.
This took a little longer than he intended, judging by the furious knocking on his washroom door.
Without much effort, Marcus deactivated the electronic locks that held the windows together and jumped out, making sure to relock them, and using his parkour skills, he scaled down the building as he made a tactical retreat as swiftly as possible.