The aroma of burnt coffee beans assaulted Morthisal’s senses as he pushed through the glass door of Harbor Brews. Overhead speakers emitted the cloying acoustic notes of some pop song. The singer’s breathy vocals flattened what little melody actually existed. He scanned the room—exposed brick walls adorned with local art and mismatched wooden tables occupied by patrons staring at their laptops. Most wore oversized headphones. Some nodded to whatever was playing. Most remained stock still, occasionally pausing to sip their coffee. A barista’s espresso machine hissed as he made drinks.

  Jackson sat near the back, his huge frame dwarfing the wrought-iron chair. He raised a hand. “Logan. Over here.”

  Morthisal navigated past a woman typing furiously on a silver laptop. He slid into the opposing chair and its legs screeched against concrete flooring. “This establishment reeks of complacency.”

  Jackson shrugged. "Ain't that bad. At least the coffee is good and strong. I got a late night ahead of me."

  Morthisal waved his hand dismissively as he peered at the white porcelain coffee cup Jackson drank from. It appeared to be filled with black coffee. He wondered how in the world the other man drank such a dreadful concoction.

  “You ordered yet?” Jackson sipped his pitch-black coffee. “Their dark roast’ll put hair on your chest. Assuming you ain't already got some.”

  “I require no stimulants.” Morthisal eyed the chalkboard menu behind the counter. “What is a ‘pumpkin spice latte’?”

  “Diabetes in a cup. You look like hell, by the way.”

  “Your concern is noted.” Morthisal’s fingers drummed an irregular rhythm on the tabletop. A teenager at the next table glanced over, then quickly looked away when their eyes met. “This music would drive sane men to self-immolation.”

  Jackson snorted. "Tell me about this ex of yours."

  Morthisal’s jaw tightened. Through the front window, a delivery truck screeched to a halt outside, its reverse alert beeping in time with the music’s off-key chorus. “A former associate. Skilled in, shall we say, blades in the dark and betrayal. She has returned following a long absence. I do not trust her. I also do not know where she is. Our last meeting was eventful."

  "Did she try to get physical?"

  Morthisal paused, and a quick smirk played across his face. "Yes. She got quite physical."

  “Let me guess—she used to be cool. Hot. Used to take care of you. Now she hates your guts because you left her cold. Did you ghost her?"

  "She is very much alive," Morthisal shot back sharply.

  "Easy, man. I'm just trying to get the measure of you and this threat. Gotta be honest, boss. It sounds like you don't need someone like me."

  "I beg to differ."

  "Right." Jackson tapped his coffee cup with one finger. "Okay. Here's the deal. I work by the hour. Fifty bucks per, and I need at least a hundred dollar deposit each time you require my services. I take cash and only cash."

  Morthisal considered the offer. He would need this man under certain circumstances, mainly when he left his apartment. However, it seemed highly unlikely that Jackson would take on such short-term jobs.

  "I see. When I have need of you, how likely is it that you shall be available?"

  "Depends on the day, boss. If I'm unavailable and you need me for a few hours or half a day, my partner can fill in. He's on a job right now. Big black dude. Used to be a Marine. I mean, he is a Marine. They don't like the "used to" bit."

  "I see."

  "His name is Joel Kelly. He's more than competent. He's good with guns. How are we doing so far?"

  "Very well. I will give this some thought."

  Jackson nodded. "Great. If you need me, get the cash ready and give me a call."

  A sudden burst of laughter came from a table of students comparing smartphone screens. Morthisal waited for the noise to subside.

  "Cool. Now tell me more about this chick."

  Morthisal studied a stain on the table that resembled a screaming face. “Thalindra, I mean Penny, runs a store called Mystic Wonders."

  "Like hippy dippy psychedelic shit?"

  "I suppose." Morthisal went on to give a physical description. He also warned Jackson that Penny–he nearly said Thalindra again–was particularly good with small knives. "She used to secret them around her body."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Christ.” Jackson rubbed his temple. “She got any tells? Birthmarks? Weird bling?”

  "Her clothing is quite colorful. She tends to wear bright dresses."

  Jackson nodded. "Cool. She'll be easy to spot. Get me a picture of her, deal? Maybe you have one on your phone?"

  "I do not. I shall endeavor to find one."

  The music shifted to a piano ballad, the singer warbling about lost love. Morthisal rolled his eyes.

  "That's all I need for now. I gotta hit it, boss." Jackson slid a new business card across the table. "You hang onto this. It has all my contact info beyond my cell phone. If you can't reach me on my regular, use this one." Jackson tapped the card, indicating a different phone number.

  "I will call upon you soon," Morthisal said.

  He had charged up before this meeting. He used his powers to loop a thread around Jackson but did not tighten it. It would simply hang out there in case it was needed.

  Morthisal stood. Jackson also got to his feet. The men shook hands, and Morthisal left and headed back to his apartment.

  Morthisal spent the rest of the week in a daze. Each morning, his phone's alarm jolted him awake at six AM. He dragged himself from bed, showered, and dressed in the strange attire expected of office workers—pressed slacks and button-down shirts that still felt confining after centuries of flowing robes.

  The commute tested his patience. He wedged himself onto crowded buses where people pressed against him from all sides. The indignity of it made his jaw clench.

  His cubicle at work felt like a prison cell. Gray walls rose on three sides, decorated with a calendar and sticky notes left by Vincent. The computer screen glowed with endless spreadsheets and reports that meant barely anything to him. Numbers upon numbers that required his attention for eight hours each day.

  "Good morning, Vincent," Willow said as she passed his desk. "Want to grab lunch later?"

  "Perhaps," Morthisal replied and looked up from his screen. "Ronny will accompany us, I assume."

  "Yep. We were going to hit the deli around the corner."

  "Very well. I shall see you then."

  "Oh, hey. Do you play D and D?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Dungeons and Dragons."

  Morthisal's head cocked to the side. "I am not certain how to answer that question."

  "Don't think about it too hard. I have a weekly game, but if you're not a fan don't worry about it."

  "I will look into this Dungeons and Dragons," Morthisal replied, and returned to his desk.

  Morthisal spent his days inputting data, attending meetings where managers droned on about quarterly projections, and counting the minutes until he could leave. The tedium nearly drove him mad.

  Friday morning arrived, and Morthisal found himself still very much alive, with no sign of Thalindra. There was a meeting in the morning, so he gathered his powers in the form of an extra cup of coffee.

  Morthisal entered the conference room and found himself pressed against the back wall. Thirty or more employees were crammed into a space meant for twenty, their shoulders touching as they shifted and murmured amongst themselves. A projector screen hung at the front, the surface wrinkled from years of use. The room smelled of coffee and perfume mixed with the lingering scent of someone's microwaved lunch.

  Somebody coughed. Another sneezed and muttered, "Excuse me."

  Kelly Chen sat near the front in an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder as she chatted with Willow. Ronny stood against the side wall, his temp badge dangling from his belt loop. The rest were a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces, some he recognized from his floor, others from departments he rarely dealt with.

  Jack Sweet walked to the front of the room, his white polo already showing sweat stains under the arms. He cleared his throat and raised his hands.

  "Thanks for coming to our Employee of the Month meeting," Jack said.

  The murmuring died down as Jack continued speaking.

  Morthisal should have read the meeting description. He did not know what to expect. Was this an award of some sort?

  "This month's pick has been instrumental in getting our department back on track after the merger announcement. In fact, he's done such an outstanding job that we made him team lead last week. His team speaks highly of him, and his metrics are through the roof."

  Jack paused and smiled, his eyes scanning the faces around the room until his eyes locked with Morthisal's. "Come on up here, Vince."

  The room broke into polite applause. Morthisal's scowl melted away and was replaced by a wide grin. He pushed away from his corner and made his way through the crowd. Hands patted his back as he passed.

  At the front, Jack handed him a framed certificate and a small envelope containing what appeared to be a gift card.

  "Fifteen bucks for Amazon," Jack whispered. "Pretty cool, right?"

  "Yes." Morthisal nodded at the paltry offering.

  Morthisal faced the crowd. They regarded him with a mix of blank stares and a few eye rolls. Nonetheless, his face flushed as he accepted the award.

  He turned to the room and gazed at the other employees.

  "My loyal subjects, I'm sorry, my friends and compatriots," he began, his voice carrying to the back of the room.

  Jack chuckled as he interrupted Vince. "No need for a speech."

  "I do not agree." Morthisal returned his attention to the assembled employees. "Your dedication has not gone unnoticed. Each day, you toil at your stations, entering data with precision and filing reports with unwavering attention to detail. Together, we have conquered deadlines that seemed insurmountable. We have processed numbers that would make lesser departments weep."

  He paced in front of the projector screen. "Under my leadership, this department shall continue its march toward excellence. Those who show initiative will be rewarded. Those who fail to meet expectations will be..." he paused, considering his words carefully, "counseled appropriately."

  The room had grown completely silent.

  "Now, return to your cubicles and continue your vital work. Glory awaits those who serve with distinction."

  A lone voice rose from the back. "What the fuck?"

  The Dark Lord's Guide to Hostile Corporate Takeover. This one is tough because I love the covers the artists came up with. The contest is on 99designs.

  https://99designs.com/contests/poll/df6b91436d