Morthisal's week at work started out like the others. He arrived at his cubicle, logged into his computer, and pretended to understand the spreadsheets that populated his screen. The monotony of office life continued to grate on his nerves, but he had developed a routine that made it tolerable. Most of that tolerance was bought with strong cups of coffee in the morning and a few Sex on the Beach mixed drinks at night.

  In the evenings, Morthisal devoted himself to studying electricity. The painful jolts from wall outlets had become tiresome. He needed a more efficient method to harness this world's power. After a few hours of research, he discovered something that might work much better.

  Morthisal typed "Amazon" into the search bar. He had heard many coworkers mention this name. The screen filled with countless items for sale. His jaw dropped as he scrolled through page after page of products. Vince's name appeared at the top, indicating an account already existed. That would make things easier.

  "This is remarkable," Morthisal muttered to himself.

  He quickly located two items he intended to test. With a few clicks, he completed his purchase. A message appeared that stated his items would arrive in two days. A new page asked if he would like to try a free subscription to something called Prime. Morthisal had already learned that many 'free' offers in this world were full of hidden catches and double meanings. Free typically meant anything but.

  Morthisal ignored the message and closed the window, lest he be tempted to shop for more items.

  "What a marvel this world is," Morthisal said. Even his fastest messengers had required days to deliver items across the kingdom. Here, they could arrive the very next day.

  Monday and Tuesday passed without incident. Morthisal supervised his unit, delegated tasks to Ronny and Willow, and maintained his facade as Vincent Logan. It had become a routine, now, one that required long days of pretending to be interested in the work.

  Morthisal attempted to contact Yvette several times. Each call went unanswered. One night, he sent a simple message: "Hello." No response came.

  Frustrated, Morthisal messaged Travious about the situation, hoping his first lieutenant could provide some insight.

  Travious replied minutes later:

  Sounds like you got ghosted. But what did you expect?

  Morthisal frowned as he looked up the term. The definition did not please him.

  Surely, that is not it. She invested in the movie and asked me to contact her.

  Bruh. Chick's rich AF. You were probably a weekend project. She's moved on.

  I am not pleased.

  Your displeasure has been noted and filed in the 'Things Travious Can't Fix' folder

  Morthisal shook his head at Travious's impertinence but let it go. For now.

  As the week continued, Morthisal realized Jack Sweet hadn't appeared, which struck him as unusual. He took the elevator to Jack's office and found it dark. The piles of files and folders that once covered his desk had vanished.

  Morthisal crossed his arms as he studied the empty office. He asked several temps about Jack's whereabouts, but most shrugged and said they hadn't seen him all week.

  "Maybe he's on vacation," one suggested.

  Morthisal sent an email to Jack. It bounced back with a delivery error. He called Ronny and Willow over to explain this phenomenon. The pair left their desks and walked to Morthisal's workstation. They peered over his cubicle wall but stood apart. Ronny wore a wrinkled blue button-up shirt with unevenly rolled sleeves. Coffee stains dotted his khaki pants.

  Willow wore a fitted black blazer over a charcoal blouse, and her dark nail polish matched her ensemble. They avoided eye contact. Ronny leaned against the cubicle wall with his arms crossed, and his shoulders turned away from her. Willow kept her spine rigid, her chin lifted. One hand clutched her opposite elbow.

  "Looks like his email has been cut off," Ronny said.

  Willow nodded. "I haven't seen Jack all week."

  "His office remains dark," Morthisal told them. "Perhaps he fell ill."

  Ronny shook his head. "If he were sick, we'd have received an email. Looks more like he's been let go."

  "You sure know a lot about emailing now, don't you?" Willow said, her voice sharp.

  "I said I was sorry, Willow. I told you I'd make it up to you," Ronny exclaimed.

  "Don't worry about it," Willow replied, then spun around and returned to her desk.

  Ronny looked at Morthisal and rolled his eyes. "Women," he said before walking back to his own workspace.

  Women, indeed. Morthisal checked his phone yet again, but there were no messages from Yvette. Perhaps Travious was correct, and she had 'ghosted' him. Yvette was rich and powerful and could have him removed from Corsair with a snap of her fingers.

  He sighed, crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and narrowed his eyes. It seemed he had no choice but to forget about Yvette. It would not be easy. Her lovely face, confident demeanor, and blonde hair were particularly attractive. It had been foolish to fall for such a woman. He would not allow himself to be weak like this again.

  Two minutes later, Morthisal picked up his phone and checked again for a reply from Yvette. There was none.

  Morthisal's desk phone rang with a shrill electronic tone that still grated on his nerves after weeks in this realm. He glanced at the display and frowned. Jill Holland from Human Resources.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "This is Vincent," he answered, keeping his voice steady and neutral.

  "Vincent, this is Jill from HR. Could you come to my office? We need to discuss something."

  Morthisal's jaw clenched. "Is this about my position?"

  "Just come to my office, please. Do you know where to find me?"

  "I do, and I will be there momentarily," he replied and hung up.

  Morthisal sat back and chewed his lower lip. If Jack Sweet had been “let go” it was likely Vince’s job had also been made redundant. Jill Holland did not like him, and he assumed she was sitting in her office, grinning at the fact that she would be laying him off.

  Morthisal pulled open his desk drawer and stared at the knives he kept stashed. His skin crawled as he considered what he needed to do next.

  Morthisal stood and surveyed the office floor. The sea of cubicles stretched before him, each identical to the next. Beige fabric walls topped with clear plastic dividers. Monitors glowed with spreadsheets and charts. Workers hunched over keyboards with blank faces. Morthisal knew the tedium all too well. The constant hum of conversation mixed with the clacking of keys and occasional rings of phones. Would he miss this place if he was laid off? Probably not. But it had become familiar in its own strange way.

  He pocketed the knives and walked toward the family bathroom Morthisal had discovered weeks ago. It offered privacy with its locking door—perfect for his needs. Once inside, he locked the door and pulled out the knives. Morthisal jammed them into the sockets one at a time. He grasped the left one and touched the other with the back of his hand.

  The jolt hit him hard. Electricity surged through his body. His muscles seized. His teeth clamped together. The pain lasted only seconds but felt much longer.

  Morthisal shook his head to clear it. He straightened his shirt and peeked in his pants to make sure he hadn't peed himself a little, then smoothed his hair. Fully charged, he was ready for whatever awaited him in HR.

  When Morthisal walked past the break room, he entered and deposited the scorched knives into the sink.

  The Human Resources department occupied the opposite end of the building. Morthisal strode through the corridors with purpose. He spotted Jill's office and walked straight in.

  "You summoned me?" he declared.

  Jill jolted upright in her chair. She looked up, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her nostrils flared. "You could have knocked."

  "My apologies," Morthisal said without sincerity. "What matter requires my attention?"

  Jill shuffled some papers on her desk. "I'll keep this brief. Jack Sweet has been let go."

  Morthisal sat down in the chair across from her. "I suppose I am the next to go?"

  Jill shook her head gently. "Actually, you're being promoted to Jack's position." She lowered her voice. "Despite my thoughts on the matter."

  Morthisal absorbed this information. "Very well."

  "Aren't you surprised?" Jill asked.

  "I am a little shocked but not entirely unsurprised. I am an excellent choice for Jack's old job."

  Jill's mouth opened and closed without sound. She finally handed him a stack of papers. "You'll have an orientation class next week. Keep this quiet until things can be lined up for the announcement. It will be a blow to the department."

  "Thank you for your wise decision in this matter."

  "I had nothing to do with it," Jill snapped. "It came from much higher up. Above my pay grade."

  "Then I wish you a good day." Morthisal nodded sagely, took the documents without glancing at them, and left Jill's office. He couldn't make out what she muttered as he departed.

  Morthisal returned to his desk, gathered his belongings, and announced. "I am departing early for the day. I will see you tomorrow." He was met by mumbles as he headed for the door.

  Morthisal entered his apartment building and paused at the wall of metal mailboxes. He inserted the small key and pulled open the door. A brown package was crammed inside, wedged tightly against the walls of the small compartment. He tugged at it, but it refused to budge.

  "Confound this," Morthisal muttered.

  He worked the package back and forth, wiggling it until it finally came free with a scraping sound. The cardboard was bent at one corner. Morthisal tucked it under his arm and climbed the stairs to his apartment.

  Once inside, Morthisal hung up his jacket and tossed his keys onto the counter. He settled onto the couch and tore open the package. The cardboard ripped apart to reveal two smaller boxes nestled in packing material.

  He pulled out the first box and opened it. A small black device was a flashlight with an attached taser used for self-defense, or so he had read on the Amazon description. Morthisal nodded with satisfaction. This would serve two purposes: defense against Thalindra should she attack again and a sudden surge of immense power should it be required.

  The second box contained what Morthisal sought most: the TENS machine. He removed the device, a small electronic unit no bigger than his palm. Several adhesive pads and thin wires connected to the main unit tumbled out.

  Morthisal unfolded the instruction manual and studied the diagrams. The text explained how to attach the leads to the pads and then to the skin. It warned about proper placement and starting with low settings. It also clearly warned not to place pads near his heart.

  "Simple enough."

  He connected two wires to the main unit and then attached the adhesive pads to the ends. Morthisal rolled his sleeves up and pressed the pads onto his forearm, spacing them a few inches apart. The adhesive stuck firmly.

  He turned the dial to the lowest setting and pressed the power button. A faint sensation tickled his arm. Tiny pulses tapped against his skin like miniature fingers drumming a rhythm. It was not unpleasant, but it was noticeable. More importantly, Morthisal detected the subtle current flowing through his body. He focused on the energy, drawing it in and converting it to magical power. It worked, though the flow was small compared to a jolt from a power outlet.

  He turned the dial higher. The tapping intensified to a stronger punch. Higher still, and the sensation bordered on pain. Morthisal grimaced but maintained the setting.

  "Interesting," he said.

  He had already charged his power at the office, but this device offered continuous replenishment. He could wear it all day beneath his clothing. If it worked the way he thought it would, the machine would provide his body with a nonstop source of electricity.

  Morthisal stood and walked to the kitchen, the TENS unit still pulsing against his arm. He mixed a Sex on the Beach, then pulled a frozen French bread pizza from the freezer and placed it in the air fryer. The food looked savory on the cover. In reality, the frozen bread topped with red sauce, cheese, and sausage looked nearly inedible. Like many things in this world, it would appear much richer once cooked.

  As he set the timer, his phone buzzed on the counter. Morthisal picked it up. His face tensed when he saw the name. It was from Yvette.

  A series of short messages flowed in.

  Sorry I missed your messages.

  Had to fly to Japan unexpectedly.

  Been swamped with work.

  Congrats on your promotion!

  Back Monday. Dinner?

  He typed in a response.

  I would be delighted. Until Monday. Morthisal paused. I will be thinking about you.

  Morthisal's lips curved into a smile.

  As you should. Yvette sent back with one of those insipid emojis. This one was a little yellow smiling face with red cheeks.

  Morthisal stared at the message for a while. He had long found these emojis annoying. Now, however, they did not seem as egregious as he had once thought.

  It wasn't until much later he wondered how Yvette had known about his promotion so quickly.

  QUICK REMINDER: I leave for Europe on March 28th and won't return until April 11. During that time I probably won't be able to post many new chapters, or if I have time, they may be short.