The next week became a blur as Morthisal settled into his new leadership role and learned the system, software, and ins and outs of corporate America and the boredom associated with being stuck in a cubicle for hours on end. Betty had contacted him shortly after the audition and had set up a time for him to sign some papers, but he hadn't heard from her since. A small amount of googling that shit had revealed that Hollywood types were notoriously wishy-washy.

  He was fine with it. The money they had offered hadn't been all that much, and the 'backend' almost certainly would amount to nothing. What irritated him was the fact that he would have had a chance to show these buffoons how a real dark lord acted.

  In his free time, he watched the third season of Love is Blind and the first season of the play-acting drama Mad Men, which he found quite enlightening.

  He kept the barest amount of power available on a daily basis. The electric shocks had begun to get to him. Whenever he approached an electrical outlet, his skin began to crawl. It was getting to where he would go to work and pray he wouldn't need his powers, which rarely happened.

  Morthisal settled into a routine. He rose at dawn and made coffee in a clever contraption that took small pods. He would then drench the wretched flavor in sweet creamer. He had also discovered sweet syrups and had a modest supply on hand. He mixed and tested his drinks every morning as if he were concocting a new potion when he had been a neophyte.

  At the office, Willow and Ronny seemed to be hitting it off. They spent a lot of time together, heads pressed close, whispering. At lunch, they often left and went to a nearby deli to eat together.

  Morthisal found the weather to be mercurial at best. One day, the sun would shine, allowing him to wear a light jacket over his work clothes. The next day, he would be dressed in several shirts with a waterproof jacket over the bulky clothing because it was going to rain all day—or half a day—or off and on every few hours.

  He wandered by Penny's store several times, but it remained dark, making him wonder when she would return. He wished to further explore her access to other realms while she was under the influence of what she called 'shrooms'. But she did not stop by his apartment or appear at her shop. Perhaps she had taken a trip, what the humans here loved to refer to as a vacation. He shrugged and put the woman out of his mind.

  Morthisal sat at his desk on a Wednesday afternoon. He yawned, drank another sip of sweet coffee, and thought about taking his powers to the White House and simply taking over.

  His mind drifted as he fantasized about standing at the podium, as the 'president' of this country was wont to do, and seizing control. He, Morthisal Ebonwrath, would rule this world as a benevolent god. Would he be a kindly god? No, he would not. The people of this world needed a strong hand to guide them. He would devote the whole nation's economy to figuring out how he could regain his powers of necromancy.

  Morthisal blinked. The glow of the computer screen cast a pale light on his face. Rows of numbers filled the spreadsheet before him. They never ended. Worse, half of them appeared to have duplicate information from other sheets. It was all a dull and monotonous drone that was sucking at his sanity. He once again wondered if this was a strange hell he had been resigned too after being cast out of Mythralon.

  His phone buzzed beside the keyboard. He picked it up and saw a message from Betty Mead:

  Vince, could you please call me at your earliest convenience? Thanks!

  He glanced around. His coworkers were absorbed in their tasks, eyes fixed on their screens. Willow and Ronny leaned over cubicle walls and whispered to each other, oblivious to their work. He shrugged and stood up, heading toward the window at the room's far end.

  He dialed Betty's number. She answered on the second ring.

  "Hello?"

  "This is Vincent Logan."

  "Vince! So glad you called," she said. "I'm sorry it's taken a while to get back to you."

  "Think nothing of it. My day job has been rather taxing, of late. The days have fled like a pride of seracats before an orc stampede," Morthisal said, happy to be able to speak with his true voice since this woman assumed he was a method actor.

  "Yeah. Sounds intense, and thanks for understanding. We've been doing some rewrites, and it's been a bit hectic."

  "I see. I shall assume my lines have not been rewritten, for I shall be using my own lines."

  She ignored him and went on, "Everything's coming together now. We're starting to film at a small soundstage, and we'd love for you to come out for your first shoot."

  Morthisal frowned. "When do you need me?"

  "We'd like you there very early on Saturday morning. Does that work for you?"

  "That will be acceptable."

  "Great! We'll need you at the studio at five AM sharp. We'll have some paperwork for you to sign and get you fitted for your costume."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Very well."

  She read off an address. "Do you know where that is?"

  Morthisal quickly jotted it on a piece of paper. "I do not, but I am aware of GPS applications, and I shall be there."

  "Fantastic! I'm really excited to work with you, Vince."

  "As you should be."

  "Yeah. Great. See you soon." Betty clicked off the phone.

  "Are you on a personal call?" A voice caught him by surprise.

  Morthisal turned, his phone still pressed to his ear, and found Jill from Human Resources standing behind him. Her arms were crossed, and her face held that pinched expression he'd grown to loathe.

  "Personal calls are strictly forbidden during work hours," Jill said, her voice carrying across the cubicle space. "This is your second violation of company policy this week. First, the dress code violation due to that inappropriate t-shirt, and now this."

  He'd forgotten his Dark Lord Energy had been under his sweater and had removed it when the office had become hot.

  Morthisal sat in his chair, jaw clenched as she continued her tirade. His fingers itched to reach for the power outlet under his desk. A simple paperclip would give him the jolt he would need to make her regret this interruption.

  "Furthermore, your work performance has been concerning," Jill said. "The amount of time you spend in the break room is excessive."

  "I'm certain it is no more than any of the other employees. I frequently see you there. Perhaps you spend as much time as I?"

  "Excuse me. We're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

  Morthisal offered a weak smile and said in a flat voice, "I assure you it won't happen again."

  "See that it doesn't. One more incident, and we'll have to put you on a performance improvement plan," Jill said.

  Morthisal's lips curved into a thin smile as he imagined implementing his own performance plan for Jill—one that ended with her taking a long walk off the Columbia Building's roof. But he had a meeting in five minutes with Jack about the Q3 reports, so satisfaction would have to wait.

  "Is that understood?" Jill asked.

  "Crystal clear," Morthisal said with a barely contained glare.

  Jill forked her fingers and pointed at her eyes, then at him.

  "Are you attempting to place a hex upon me?"

  "What?"

  Morthisal reached out with the remains of his power and felt for anything amiss. Thankfully, there was nothing.

  "No. I've got my eye on you."

  "Perhaps you have some attraction for me? I can assure you, good woman. It is one-sided."

  A few cubicles away, Willow snickered.

  Jill sputtered. "Excuse me? I have no… I've never…"

  "Never what?"

  She shook her head and blew out a loud sigh. "This isn't over. I'll have a word with Jack Sweet."

  "Very well. I would suggest you do not mention this strange fixation to others."

  Morthisal wondered if her face was about to catch on fire based on her reddening cheeks and incredulous eyes.

  "This isn't over," Jill promised before turning on her heel and marching out the door.

  "I sincerely wish it were," Morthisal replied.

  On Saturday morning, Morthisal opened his eyes and reached for his phone. The screen displayed 4:15 AM. His thumb hovered over the TikTok icon as he contemplated spending another hour in bed, scrolling through endless videos of cats, dance moves, and pranks gone wrong.

  "No," he said to the empty room. "A dark lord does not waste time on social media."

  He dragged himself from the warmth of his covers and shuffled to the bathroom. The hot shower helped clear his mind, though his back ached from being confined to a chair during a long workweek at Corsair.

  After drying off, he dressed and ran a brush through his lengthening hair.

  He prepared his morning coffee in the kitchen, adding three pumps of caramel syrup and a generous shot of sweet cream. The first sip warmed him but did nothing to settle his nerves about what came next, so he put it off and heated a meal. Morthisal ate a frozen breakfast burrito after microwaving it for a few minutes and savored the cheese and what passed for meat on this planet.

  The power outlet waited on the kitchen wall, innocent and ordinary. Morthisal gripped his coffee mug tighter and stared at the small plastic rectangle that was becoming the bane of his existence.

  "There must be a better way," he muttered into his cup.

  Morthisal had been saying these same words before every jolt, but so far, he had not managed to turn up a solution outside of having someone shock him while he was completely unconscious, and that would not do. How much more of this could Vince's body take?

  His hands shook slightly as he retrieved two metal butter knives from the drawer. His stomach burned around the burrito and the anticipation of what would come next.

  Morthisal inserted the knives into the outlet one at a time and gripped one. He had to have an iron will to do what was next. He placed the back of his hand near the second knife's handle, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth. The jolt knocked him backward, and his body convulsed as electricity surged through him. When his vision cleared, he found himself sprawled on the kitchen floor, the smell of ozone thick in the air. He had managed to hold out much longer than usual and had a full dose of power.

  The lights had gone out, so he made his way toward the breaker box in the hallway. It went over with a pop, and the electricity was restored to his kitchen. As he pulled his hand away, he couldn't help but notice that it was still trembling.

  "Cease this weakness," he commanded his fingers, but they continued their betrayal.

  He called for an Uber on his phone, but the screen was difficult to navigate with his unsteady hands. While waiting, he walked past Penny's shop. The windows remained dark, shades drawn tight against the early morning light.

  As he opened the car door, he found that his hand still had not stopped shaking.

  "Why do you betray me so?" He quietly cursed his hand.

  "Sorry?" the driver, an Asian man wearing a blue Seattle Mariner hat, asked.

  "Nothing. Onward, kind steed driver."

  "Whatever," The driver muttered.

  Morthisal turned his attention to the road ahead. Soon, he would arrive at his new acting job and be able to live his true self for the first time since he had arrived in this body.