Xal's POV
Xal stomped out of the tall, gloomy building, fuming. The automated door silently shut behind him as he stepped towards the cafe line in sight.
Neither the aroma of freshly brewed coffee nor the warmth of soft sunlight could fix his souring mood. Abruptly, he turned back and flippedoff the building, earning a few judgmental glances from passersby.
"You old hag… how the fuck would you know if I'm not a good fit for the job without letting me do it first? Screw you!" Dressed in a full gray suit, hiding his lean, athletic build, jet black hair parted neatly to the side, covering the gray undertones, and styled to perfection, armed with every qualification except the good old "related experience," this was the third interview he'd been rejected from for the same ridiculous reason.
He stepped backward as he vented, missing his old days working as a bodyguard.
The feeling of keeping people safe always felt right for him, as if he was born to be a protector. Unfortunately, he'd quit twice already because he refused the shady requests made, making his career path unstable.
Being top of his batch in sports physiology, he'd figured becoming a self-defense instructor would be a solid path, better yet, a safer one to ease his parents' worries and put zippers on his annoying, nosy relatives' mouths.
So much for that. Following that thought, shrugging off the stifling jacket, he tugged at the necktie, loosening it.
"Fucking garbage-eating assholes!" He cursed out loud again as if it would change anything.
"Having a rough evening, I see."
Xal paused, hearing a voice behind him, and scrunched his nose in annoyance. He turned to tell the guy to mind his own business, but the words died in his mouth as he could swear the guy's eyes had just flashed white.