#word-bound

"The correct answer you're looking for, Mr Fancy, is 'thank you, my lord and saviour, I am so grateful you hacked the system to ensure that my late application wasn't detected and my career is not fucked'." He declared before lighting up.

"I did smile. But because of the lack of awareness of humans, not because it was fun to watch him die." A half lie, but so small of one that Marcus didn't see what it mattered. "Why beg to return home to a family that would be more grateful for his life insurance money than for a hug? He knew it, I could hear it in the back of his mind - beneath all of the fear and the pleading and the 'is this all life is?'" He kicked the corpse away. "Behind it all 'no one is even going to care'."

"No, sir." The words were empty, barely concealed irritation underpinning everything despite his best efforts. "If you'd like someone else to take over the maintenance of the system I designed and has singlehandedly increased data collection efficiency tenfold across the UK then... Feel free." He stepped back. "Physical faults on the collection ends are not my fault, perhaps you should speak to your friends about assigning appropriate security budgets for all departments, not just the ones the tabloids like to natter about."

Marcus chuckled lowly, though the sound underpinned a threat as the younger man’s fingers worked away at the top few buttons of his shirt. “And when, pray tell me, do you think you earned that right?” The hacker purred dangerously as he grabbed Alex’s wrist to hold him still, green eyes sharp and warning in the dim lights of the bar. An evening drinking while Q was in the US on a conference was Marcus’ only escape, he didn’t think he wanted some American upstart worming their way into his trousers.

"What useful powers do you actually have then? Little that can't be mimicked by modern human technology. Seems like a pretty shit deal - I wouldn't want to live forever." He picked up his glass to take a sip of scotch.