Jason's impatience flared as he hung up the phone with a forceful click, his frustration evident in the set of his jaw and the tension in his voice. You entered the room, aware of the storm brewing within him.

"Fucking idiots," he muttered, his words laced with venom as he vented his frustration. His mood darkened further at the mere mention of Bruce, whose persistent resistance to Jason's advances only fuelled his simmering anger.

"What did they mess up this time?" you say, approaching him with a sympathetic expression, pouring a drink to help ease his agitation.

"Everything," he grumbled, accepting the drink with a weary sigh. "And my damn back is killing me," he added, his frustration evident in the way he rubbed at his tense muscles.