MUST-READ BEFORE PROCEEDING

DISCLAIMER: This is a hidden mini-chapter that will not be in the final version. Please keep in mind that this is not from Rebecca's point of view, nor any of the main cast. It contains some things which may intrigue you. It is a glimpse of what is to come. Much like the fleeting moments, this chapter may help crack the mystery I've hidden in these chapters. Although it is not in the POV of our main cast, it is CANON and a part of the lore and the world. However, you do not need to read this to fully enjoy Overwritten, and Rebecca shall continue on the next chapter. If you have any further questions, do not hesitate to ask. Just to restate: This is not Rebecca, she will continue in the next chapter.

Also, happy pride month! It has certainly been a while, and jumping back into Rebecca didn't feel quite right. The next chapter is almost complete and continues from the previous chapter. Consider this an appetizer before the main course which shall be posted in a few days.

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"Marlin's dead," he said, running his fingers through his greasy hair. To say he was stressed, would be an understatement. He bit his thumbnail, glancing over to the woman whose snarky demeanor dropped from her face as she collapsed onto the chair across from him. She took the cigarette from her mouth, holding it aggressively between two fingers.

"Shit..." she muttered, the smoke roughly exhaling through her mouth. She tapped the cigarette against her fingers, before thoughtlessly tossing it to the floor. She appeared to mimic his self-soothing action by nervously running fingers through her similarly ear-length hair, soaked in grime and sweat, "Don't tell me she-..."

"Just him, don't worry Max," he reassured, his gaze focused now on the cigarette which had burned a small hole onto his already stained carpet. She looked at him, expecting a plan of action, for him to continue with an elaborate scheme that would solve everything, but he couldn't meet her eyes. He couldn't tell her that he had absolutely no idea what to do. He instead tried to focus on the cigarette, something which became difficult as the woman Max took a step forward, rising from her chair.

"Fox..." she said softly, a change of tone for her. She always used that tone when she wanted something from him or was going to say something he didn't like. It was the same with his father, pitiful and treating him like he was fragile. Delicately, she continued "Maybe you're overworking yourself..."

"I'm fine," he snarled, his bleak olive eyes snapped towards her, a defensiveness in his voice as he stood abruptly. It wasn't the first time someone had said that to him today, and he was beginning to get the feeling that people didn't think he was cut out for this job. And maybe he wasn't.

But he wasn't going to let his father win that easily.

"I mean, I've been in the system, I know how it works," Max said, jumping onto his desk and pulling out a small box of cigarettes from her leather jacket pocket. She selected one seemingly at random, placing it between her lips before bringing out a silver metal lighter. She clicked it several times, an orange flame blooming from the top. She lit the end of the cigarette, taking a deep pull, removing the cigarette, and exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke.

"I told you not to smoke in here," he said starkly, trying to ignore the familiarity he got from the smell. He wanted to try and establish his position, but she didn't seem to care. She gently swung her legs back and forth like a child. With a sigh, he continued, "It's bad for you..."

"God you sound like Damien," she said, snickering to herself before coughing. The name brought a light blush onto his cheeks, something which she seemed to notice. She smiled at him, before staring out through the grungey windows, rain hammering against them. Wistfully, she continued, "I thought that was just a straight thing – imposing all that white picket fence bullshit - but guess the gays managed to get it to,"

"You speak as if you aren't one of us," Fox said, chuckling quietly as he seemed to relax. Although the idea that he was supposed to be a leader did not phase her, in a way it made it easier to be himself around her. She smiled, winking at him.

"I never said I wasn't," she said, her dark mousy hair uneven, lazily cut likely by herself. She grinned, before extending her hand and offering him the cigarette. He paused, unsure of whether to take it. For a moment, he thought of how annoyed Damien would be, how well he had been doing. He'd resisted the temptation for so long.

With ink scrawled hands, he took the lit cigarette from her, the smoke lightly trailing in the air. It was cold, the ends of Winter pinching on his arms and egging on the comfort of warmth. Staring up at her, wordlessly, he placed it between his lips. 

Then the pull of smoke as it filled deep into his lungs, a rough scratch on the back of his throat, a familiar feeling which became a comfort, nostalgic. He felt immediate relaxation even before the release of the smoke through his mouth. He breathed out, a crisp smile forming as the smoke encircled the air. How long had it been? The last one he'd had was early June, the end of Spring. It'd nearly been a full year, and he had almost forgotten the euphoric feeling it gave.

He never liked to smoke in the summer. It would make him feel stuffy, overheated, like a flame fixed onto his mind as it melted his skull and drove a dull ache into his brain. But he could never deny the calmness he felt after one, even on those hot summer days that nobody had the energy for. A warm tingling sensation. And the power he felt as he watched the smoke trail in the air like a drop of blood swarming around in a bottle of alcohol.

But now, with the hammering rain and the cold of mid-march, the cigarette was inviting. And as the smoke filled his lungs, the stress of the world seemed to ebb away, a clarity replacing it. He felt alive, a shiver crawling up his spine as his body filled with contentment.

"Anyway, I'll be off," Max broke him from his train of thought, and quickly he adjusted his stance to face her properly. She sighed, jumping down from the table and looking back at him over her shoulder, a half exasperated sigh, "Guess I'll find someone to sort something new out... now that Marlin's..."

"Don't worry," he paused, knowing what she was trying to say. He shifted his chair forward, a new sense of determination overwhelming him as he stared forward, "I'll sort it out,"

And for the first time in months, he felt calm, and he wondered just how long it would be before he would feel this way again.