In the beginning, there was—

Jordan rose with a sudden gasp, coming back to consciousness after what felt like only a second of darkness. As he shot up, the room filled with the sound of a sudden cry, but for once… it wasn’t him.

The bejeweled noblewoman had pulled a seat up next to the bed and cried out in shock—practically levitating in place—as Jordan rejoined the lands of the living. But as quick and sudden as his resurgence of life was, it was followed just as quickly by a flop of exhaustion.

“Horrid hells, Aureliana! You scared the spirit right out of me. Are you alright?” the woman said.

Jordan twisted his head slightly to look at her. Gone was the pristine visage from moments before, instead replaced by crumpled clothing, stray, wild hairs bursting from her braids, and deep bags under her eyes. How long was I out? Jordan couldn’t help but give the panicked thought.

“Dow lurig wasssiwa ikiikio-I unnnsshhhhssss immm ka?” Jordan’s attempt at a reply was so far from coherent it elicited a wince from him at the harsh racket pouring from the mouth of the Brat’s body. The woman looked immediately troubled by his incoherent squeaks.

“Easy now, Aureliana. You were severely injured. You need to continue resting, but you’ll make a full recovery. Is there anything I can get you my dear?”

It sounded like the kind of lie you told a child, in Jordan’s opinion, followed quickly by an attempt to change the subject. However, perhaps he was just overly judging her? He was breathing anxious, as to him it had been only a moment ago his brain was having a meltdown. Not being able to understand the woman or the old man had…

Wait a fucking moment. I can—I can understand her! Jordan realized. Concentrating on that fact, he saw that the last vestiges of her previous comment hung in his mind. The words themselves were fading quickly, but he could see them! He desperately tried to grab at the hallucinatory script, and surprisingly, they responded. He felt a rush of focus fill him as his world narrowed down upon the images in his mind. With a breath he could see.

The words were just… floating there, in some nondescript place that had no meaning or shape. A place of imagination, or thought? Jordan contemplated before redoubling his attention on the squiggles patiently waiting for him. They were so odd, their shape and presence seeming to shift with the angle he looked at them, like they were a hologram of sorts, and he was a nameless viewpoint floating around them like a movie camera zooming about.

It was an accurate description, he found, as he could bob around, shifting his perspective of the text. It was kind of fun at first, but with a start he realized that the angle he looked at the words seemed to control how they looked. From one side, it almost looked like regular characters, but only in size, shape, and complexity compared to English. From another angle, it looked like Hieroglyphics. Or like Chinese, he thought.

Then he moved along some new axis, startled to find it was neither left or right, up or down, nor closer or further. Yet the text moved in his mind nonetheless as he moved along… something. The text rearranged with his motion, shifting, changing, dancing in his mind until he was staring at English. He had heard the woman speak English somehow, but whatever had triggered that before didn’t happen again. Despite that lack of repetition to her speaking, he could still analyze her words perfectly in written English. Jordan was at a loss to even begin to categorize the nature of what was transpiring in his mind.

Absentmindedly, he realized he had still been moving on the axis of time—which with a start he realized was the motion he was making—and the words disappeared only to be replaced with the monstrosity that would have been a unforgivable insult to the Linguists of his world.

It was like there was a mix of languages meshing together, in some god-forsaken orgy that had ended with the bodies literally fusing together while leaking nondescript, yet terrifying, fluids. His floating ball of perspective gagged a bit as somehow the characters even had a foul smell to them. What the monkey hell is this bullshit? Jordan succinctly thought. He was momentarily amused to see the words ‘monkey hell’ float away from his thought blob—apparently this realm could transcribe his own thoughts as well—but he focused on the travesty before him for now.

If words could scream ‘kill me, please!’ then these words would be doing so. Jordan was sure he could feel that intent from them, as well as confusion, anguish, and even a little guilt. He didn’t know if the woman’s words had had any emotions to them as he didn’t recognize the colors of the text before. These words, though, were bleeding color. It took Jordan only a moment longer to understand that they had also been his words.

Is this… really what I said? The words didn’t seem to be shifting or translating for him. No matter what angle he looked at them from, they just… bleed more, sometimes wiggling in anguish. The way they joined together was almost like…

Like I was trying to speak English and these people’s weird language at the same time, he thought. He was inside someone else’s body, so perhaps it was naturally trying to speak its’ native language? But why can’t I just speak English instead?

The word ‘English’ floated off as he absently stared at it. He metaphysically poked it and it spun lazily around. This place is weird as fuck, he thought, before a different idea came to him. He focused on the word English, and tried to shift his perspective on it, yet despite his attempts, it didn’t change into the other language for him. He wasn’t sure if this meant there were other factors, or if perhaps his translation ability only worked one way.

Wait… how long have I been here? Oh shit! Worried that he’d been laying there—staring off like some mind-addled simpleton—Jordan turned to withdraw from his inner world, but instead saw a picture of the outside. Like viewing the world through a TV screen, only the whole thing was paused?

Well, not exactly paused, he noted. It’s just slow. Like… bullet time? He continued to watch in confusion as the whole world waited on bated breath for his little moment of introspection. It only took a second more, hanging on the edge of eternity as he stared out with eyes unable to move before the world surged back up to speed and he found himself thrust back into reality once more.

Text from the woman’s response to Jordan’s splurge of madness popped up and faded in the back of his mind. He blinked at the woman and the words within him before he frowned at them all.

“Aureliana, can you… understand me?” The woman asked.

Jordan stared at her lips in fascination. He could hear her speaking English, but as he watched he saw that the woman was doing the world’s worst foreign dub—her lips didn’t match the words he heard. With his direct awareness, however, Jordan heard her native language as well. It was faint, and incredibly easy to just… ignore, just like her moving lips had been. However, before he could come to any kind of conclusion based on this information, a concern filled him.

He was being rude, staring at her like this and not responding. He should… respond?

He opened his mouth to say something, but held back, worried that he’d produce more gibberish. Frustration clawed at him. He had so many questions to ask the woman! And not being able to respond would get old fast. Biting his lip, he nodded to her so she’d at least know he could hear her, but then focused on an idea he’d had.

What if… I try talking but don’t think about it? At first, that had sounded supremely stupid to Jordan, but the idea was simple enough. Perhaps the body of the Brat wasn’t able to speak English? He had watched, slack jawed, at the way the mouth of the noblewoman moved, and he was sure that if he had to speak their foreign language, he’d screw it up.

How much of talking existed in the mind versus the body? Did a tongue have to be trained to speak properly? He’d known people in school who’d had issues with the letter ‘r’ and had to have speech therapy because of it. If that could help them talk properly, then… yes? You had to be able to train your mouth. It only made sense.

So… he’d just have to hope the Brat’s body still had the instinct and he could be just dumb enough to get it to work. Makes for a lousy motivational tag line, but fuck it. With a deep breath, he focused his intent.

He didn’t know if it would work, so he decided to keep his message short and sweet. He had a matter of dire consequences, life or death, to convey after all. So, he sent the concept to the Brat’s mouth, did his best to purposely blanked his mind, and… the Brat’s mouth moved. In that singular moment he felt all the ways he’d been fighting it before but this time—he let it move as it naturally would.

And he called out for salvation from the most desperate issue pressing him.

“H-hot.”

This was, without a doubt, the most important thing to Jordan at the moment. The woman, mollified somewhat by his earlier nod, had begun to fix the covers Jordan had disrupted after his sit-up, and that couldn’t be allowed to continue. He was damn well going to be cooked alive at this rate!

The woman looked at Jordan curiously. “Hot? Darling, what do you mean?”

Jordan frowned at her. She had understood him! He’d done it! And yet… she didn’t understand?

“Hot. I’m… hot!” He tried at more word-speaking, and felt pleased to note that it was… actually a lot easier than he’d thought it’d turn out to be.

“You’re… hot?” She repeated, and Jordan nodded his head energetically at her. He’d been boiling alive earlier and the giant fluffy comforter had to be to blame. He fussed at them now to emphasize his point, and with a frown of her own the woman began to help him remove them.

“I… I suppose if you need these removed, we can do so. But, my dear, what do you mean hot?” Her worried voice and tone were posh, like a member of the British royal family, Jordan thought. But that’s all just an illusion in my mind, isn’t it? Does she sound that way just because I thought she looked Victorian?

“It feels like I h-have a fever.” Jordan replied, appalled to finally realize that the Brat’s voice was equally posh in tone, though obviously higher in pitch from its youth.

“A fever? What…” The woman mused on Jordan’s words before saying, “But dear, our kind don’t become feverish. Are you sure you feel… hot?”

Our kind? Jordan looked inward, double checking the words just to make sure he hadn’t misheard her, but then with a start he had to remind himself—she has red and black eyes. She looks human enough, but maybe…

“Are you a… demon? Do they not get h-hot?” Jordan asked.

“We,” she corrected, “are Demonkin, Aureliana. Most Demons aren’t immune to fire, like us I suppose, but still—you shouldn’t be capable of… feeling hot. We Freyhells are an evolved line among the Prideborn that carry that trait. Perhaps I need to consult with your Grandfather…”

Okay, that’s a lot to process. Does that mean I have weeaboo eyes now too? Wonderful, Jordan sarcastically grumbled internally. He fought to sit up, and after a moment, the woman stepped up to help him. Grabbing from the pile of pillows that Jordan distressingly found had been rebuilt during his unconsciousness, the woman set some up behind Jordan, allowing her to effortlessly prop him up against them. Finally, she removed the accursed comforter, leaving Jordan feeling…

Hot. Wait, I still felt hot? What the fuck!? He whined internally as an eyebrow twitched in barely suppressed fury.

It was better, he supposed, but still present. He frowned as he looked at the Brat’s hands, feeling at his new body’s forehead trying to gauge its temperature. The woman nearby pulled her chair up closer, and then leaned towards Jordan. He looked at her noble, yet anxious features. Jordan surprised the woman when he reached out to grab her hand. She didn’t fight him of course, but as he grabbed onto her—he realized something.

Hot. She felt hot. Just as hot as he did?

“What in the…” Jordan trailed off as he held onto her hand. It felt like a plate that had just come out of a microwave. While it wasn’t hot enough to warrant dropping immediately, his instincts suggested he needed to be careful lest he find a portion that would burn his fingers off. It was distinctly, decidedly, hot.

And the woman’s body was just as warm as the Brat’s.

“How hot are we?” Jordan asked. The woman looked puzzled, but before she could misunderstand Jordan he added, “I-I mean body temperature.”

She looked even more confused at his clarification, but seemed to dismiss it before hesitating in thought. After a moment, she finally answered him. “I believe our temperature is around… fifty degrees? A bit less, now that I think about it. I’m not a scholar my dear, so I’m not entirely sure.”

Fifty degrees? That’s freezing though! Jordan thought. It didn’t make any sense that they’d be so…

“Wait, is that in Celsius or…!” Fahrenheit was what he’d wanted to say. Yet nothing had… come out?

“What else would it be in, Aureliana?” The woman answered him. The worry just seemed to be plastered on her face at this point, yet she seemed determined to be there for him.

What else? Fahrenheit you posh bitch! He silently lamented. It just didn’t make sense. Why couldn’t he say the word? When he’d tried, the Brat’s body had just gone quiet. He had attempted briefly to push at it, but had felt a disruptive tremor in the body he was in. It felt similar to his first attempt at speaking. Something about that word couldn’t be said, and he didn’t know what, but he had a suspicion.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Is there… only one measurement?” He inquired.

She nodded, giving a brief “Of course,” to his question.

If that’s the case, he thought quietly, then maybe the word Fahrenheit doesn’t exist in their language? So… that’s why I couldn’t say it? Well that’s going to be a fucking problem. How hot is fifty degrees Celsius in real measurements?

“What… what’s the normal temperature for someone?” Jordan asked.

“Hmm,” She paused in thought, “I believe it’s around… thirty-seven degrees?”

So we’re nearly a 13 degree difference? Jesus Christ! We’re like halfway to boiling! At least, Jordan thought it was halfway. 100 degrees Celsius is boiling, right? He briefly considered asking, but at this point decided to drop the issue. Knowing his temperature wasn’t helping with feeling hot, so he’d just have to hope ignoring how warm he was would get easier as time went on. He was more panicking about the heat than feeling actually uncomfortable anyways.

Prideborn though, right? Is it like… “So… are we related to the seven deadly sins or whatever?” Jordan asked. It sounded so weirdly nonplussed to his ears, but he figured it was only to be expected as he still felt emotionally drained from earlier.

The woman looked completely blindsided by his statement, however. “What? I’m sorry Aureliana, I don’t know what you mean by that.”

He huffed in response before saying, “Like, aren’t demons related to the Sins or whatever?”

“Sins? Hells no, my dear,” she said, “demons are related to Passion, not Sin. By the Princes, you sound like a Devoted.” She shook her head in disbelief at Jordan.

“A… devoted?” He asked.

She waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Yes, followers of the Way of the Heavens. The Church has long held prejudices about our kind but… why are you asking about this? Do you… not remember?” She looked into Jordan’s eyes.

He gulped, wondering if he should try and play along, but before he could say anything more, the woman sighed before shaking her head sadly.

“You really don’t remember do you? I had hoped Rahm was wrong about the amnesia, and that it had just been a confusion status effect. But I guess that’s not the case, is it? We’ll have to work to find your other derangements.”

Shit, she knows! He panicked internally for a moment before slumping. Oh, who cares? It’s not like I would have been able to pretend to be this fucking Brat for long anyway. At least this is a convenient enough excuse. There was one thing he wasn’t sure about when she’d spoken, though.

He grimaced as he asked, “What was that last word you said?” It had sounded like… white noise in his head. Even the thought transcriptions in his mind just showed a bleeding amalgam of letterings. It made him feel deeply uneasy to even think about.

“Derangements?” She spoke the white noise again, “They’re the term used for conditions caused by ins—” Mercia’s words were interrupted by a scream.

[https://hismajestysimmortalacademy.files.wordpress.com/2020/09/null-38.png]

Jordan sat on the bed confused, but… nonplussed. That seemed to be the word of the day for him. The woman—what’s her name anyway? He thought—was currently leaned out over him, holding him down. Jordan had a strange taste lingering in his mouth, and glared at the woman accusingly as a bit of bloody drool dripped past his lips. What the fuck is she doing? Jordan looked at her, feeling uncomfortable from the sudden closeness of the woman.

For some reason, the noblewoman was crying, and a few of the red tears staining her face fell down, dribbling onto Jordan. How inconsiderate of the bitch, he thought as he gripped the Brat’s slightly wet fists. He wasn’t sure what had gotten the woman’s skirt in a twist, and was about to demand she get off of him, but she did so on her own accord as the door to the room opened up loudly, almost as if in panic.

As the woman retreated to meet up with the new person—it looked to be the maid again—Jordan sneered in irritation at her back. In his mind, this was just typical of women, after all. They were always up in your face about something, claiming to be ‘empathetic’ but never truly considering how others felt. They only use it as an excuse to yell at you for not being able to ‘read’ their minds, he groused.

But… aren’t I, ah… one of them now? A… woman?

No. No he most certainly was not! He was not a… girl. It didn’t matter if the body he was in was currently of that… variety of humanity, it simply wasn’t him! Nothing about this situation would convince him otherwise. He was clearly possessing the body of this child or… his thoughts grew distant as the moment began to fade from focus. Jordan suddenly realized the maid and woman were talking, and focused back onto them.

“No, tell Rahm he can keep resting. It looks like it’s one of her triggers—I should have been more mindful with my words. We suspected it but this at least confirmed what we thought. She’s unaware, and can’t be made aware of her core condition.”

“Unaware, Your Grace?” The Maid, currently sporting a golden gem on her collar for some reason, looked confused as she helped the woman smear a moisturizer or something on her face.

“Yes, it’s one of the more common derangements a degree of… this type of harm can cause. The Ignorance of Condition” The woman looked at Jordan pointedly. He glared back sullenly. “It will make treatment difficult. Let Rahm know I’ll try to find others if I can, but I’d prefer to avoid triggering her further as she recovers.”

“Will you be alright ma’am? And what should we do if she’s triggered by this again, Ma’am?”

“Hm? I’ll be fine. My ring prevented the worst of it, and this healing balm will take care of the rest. She isn’t my first child, after all,” she said with a bit of a joking tone to her voice before getting far more serious, “As for her condition, this type of derangement is always the worst in the beginning. In time, she just won’t hear the word, or be unable to react to it. For now, if she’s triggered, hold her down and keep her from hurting herself or others no matter the cost to yourself. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid gave a cute curtsey as she twirled and left the room.

Triggered? Him? What, was he some overzealous feminist now? A keyboard warrior? Social Justice nitwit? How dare they! He had half a mind to start cursing, kicking, punching… anything really! Scream at them until their stupid heads blew up, or at least try to bash their brain pans in with… what did he have on hand? Pillows? Surely with enough force even something that fluffy could be weaponized… right?

He eyed Mt. Pillowmore next to him dubiously. He was still worried it might fall upon him again. When had it been reconstructed again? Also, what did they say that triggered him? He felt like that was… important? But why was he even getting worked up over it? He should calm down. It was probably nothing anyway. Besides, remembering things was hard. Memories were like pieces of thoughts or feelings drifting around making *ca-chunking* noises as he touched at them. Didn’t feelings have colors before?

The sound of the door ca-chunking drew his attention back towards the fancy noble gal, and he forgot what he was thinking about and why he’d been upset, and his mind cleared up as a result. She approached looking like she wanted to pop a squat on the bed next to Jordan, but he glared at her with all the malice he could muster. She looked exasperated, but sat on the chair once more.

She gave Jordan a weak smile, but one filled with love and understanding. He responded with a grimace. After a long, awkward moment, she let out a sigh before resting deeper in her own chair. Jordan started at it briefly.

It was a plush piece, made of some deep, rich wood with dark red cushions set into it. It looked as comfortable as the bed Jordan was in, which was to say, heaven on Earth. Honestly, if this situation weren’t so fucked up, I wouldn’t mind staying here, he thought. Looking around now, he realized the room smelled much better than it had earlier too. The windows had been opened up, and natural light was gently flowing into the room alongside a small breeze from the outdoors. Jordan couldn’t see anything on the blue horizon, so he supposed he was on an upper floor, but the gentle smells of flowers and trees came in, nonetheless. They helped eradicate the sterile, overly floral-infused chemical smells from earlier. It had seemed so artificially stuffy.

“So… what, ah, happened anyway? Also, who are you?” Jordan finally asked.

The woman’s eyes opened wide in shock before she seemed to conclude, “Ah, you mean from yesterday, don’t you?”

“Ah… yeah?” Jordan responded blandly.

“Right, I thought for a moment you meant just now,” she analyzed Jordan with her gaze, but when she saw nothing but confusion at her words she continued. “Well, I suppose that’s fair, all things considered. My name is Mercia, and I’m your Mother.”

“Mercia?” It sounded… familiar? Jordan shook his head at the incomprehensible thought. “And the four-armed guy was…?”

“Yes, but I would ask that you refer to me as your Mother. As for him, that was Rahm. Your Grandfather” She looked sternly down at Jordan, but he wasn’t cowed. It seemed a bit much to be demanding of him, even if she might have had merit in doing so. He also couldn’t figure out how a, well non-white man was the Brat’s grandfather.

However, before Jordan could protest, she moved on to answer his other question. She seemed to like cutting him off.

“As to what occurred yesterday—that was a consequence to your actions last week. You…” her face seemed to scrunch up with struggling emotions before she finally sighed, exhaling the pain inside her. “You tried to perform a ritual, Aureliana. A forbidden ritual.”

Oh sweet baby Jesus. A forbidden ritual? Come the fuck on! Jordan griped internally. Jordan’s slack jawed response seemed to mollify the woman somewhat, though the way she responded instantly worried him that the Brat’s body might have been broadcasting his feelings.

Jordan’s eyebrows twitched as he reminisced on the fact that he was nominally a stoic man. Fists clenched alongside his jaw as anxiety of suddenly being easy to read filled him, but with a shake of his head he dismissed the concern. He was fairly confident only a little, if anything, was actually showing in this new body of his. A final shrug followed by a victorious fist dropping lightly into an open palm announced his thought, it’s nothing I need to worry about, I suppose. He turned his mind to more relevant concerns, nodding his head determinedly.

I think I have my smoking gun, at least. A forbidden ritual. Jordan didn’t need much more information to know that this was almost certainly the cause of his current misfortune. What else could it have been? Some stupid little Brat does a forbidden ritual and BOOM, here I am. In her body though? That’s the weird part. It sounds like the kind of thing that would happen in an anime or something. Ugh.

Jordan was no expert on “trapped in another world” fantasies, though he knew the basics about how they worked. He was sure that in most of them, people were brought into the fantasy world wholesale—usually by a council of elders or by some desperate big-tittied goddess—rather than waking up possessing children. They were often accompanied by some prophecies for-saying or for-soothing something or other as they were given super-swords and mega-cheat powers. They’d then spend most of their time forming their harem and going on adventures. Had that happened to him? Also… did the world slow down again?

With a start, Jordan paid attention outwardly again and saw that the world was indeed crawling by as he thought. Was this bullet time his cheat power? All things considered it wasn’t the worst power out there, but it certainly paled in comparison to most. What do I even know about shit like this anyway? He tried to think through it all as he allowed himself to sink back into that formless mental space.

His only experience with fantasy stories like that had been in high school and college. There was a girl he liked and had spent time with—practically religiously—and had watched anime with. Jordan didn’t care for the “cartoon-trash,” as he thought of it, but put up with it in an effort to win the girl over. She remained oblivious to his romantic interests, however.

Eventually one of Jordan’s friends must have told her what he was doing. He never did find out which one had ratted him out, but after the truth was revealed his crush had flipped out at him. Somehow, she was hurt that he was putting up with her shitty little hobbies rather than grateful. The nerve!

Regardless of how things had gone down, he was almost sorry about it now. Not about how everything had transpired, of course, but more that he hadn’t paid attention to the shows. Maybe they could have given him a clue? No, that’s stupid! How can I base my situation off of a story? That’s like basing how I felt during yesterday’s drug trip off of movies. Why had I even thought that was a good plan? He conceded that he’d been monstrously foolish, but his emotions had been all over the place. Even now he could barely remember everything before…

The world sped back up and Jordan asked the Brat’s mother a question. “What… what was happening to my head though?” It had felt like something had been prowling in his mind before.

The woman’s lips pursed as she bit back frustration. “As I said… consequences to your actions.”

“Well… what exactly do you mean? Also why was the Bra—er… I? Why was… I… doing this ritual?” Jordan’s eyes darted back and forth as he smoothly covered. The woman might know that Jordan had no memories from the Brat, but he felt it was probably important to hide his existence for the time being.

The woman’s eyes never left him, however. He was certain he should be sweating under her scrutiny, but despite the Brat’s elevated temperature, there was none to be found. He did squirm though. Finally, she spoke up.

“You were attempting a summoning ritual, but were targeting something from beyond,” she said that as though it meant something, and ignored Jordan’s blank look. “You were likely attempting to find a solution to your heart’s bane weakness. Instead, you pulled some aberrant horror into your mind. Rahm suspected it was there, though he didn’t tell me.” She looked very put out by that.

The world slowed back down as Jordan poked at the words floating in his mind. Summoning something from beyond? Aberrant entity? Fucking fantastic, he thought sarcastically. It sounded like some Cthulian bullcrap to Jordan, but hearing that it was a ‘summoning’ ritual sealed the deal. The stupid Brat must have fucked it up and summoned me as well as the alien into her, rather than into her world.

Dread realization dawned on him as he thought, wait what happened to her? Did we switch bodies? The small ball of thought that comprised Jordan while within the realm of thought-to-text trembled in anxiety as it bobbed this way and that. The temporal spiraling that caused played havoc on the words around him, but he ignored the inadvertent strobe effect as the words spazzed to a dubstep disco dance.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! The idea of a small child suddenly piloting his body was more than enough to make Jordan flip out, but what could he do about it? Maybe… maybe that isn’t what happened though. He tried to reassure himself, bringing up the reminder that he was grabbing onto the first piece of information that had been presented to him. Just because it was the first didn’t mean it was correct!

Could I be in a virtual reality program? He thought about it, playing with the words ‘Virtual’ and ‘Reality’ as they danced before him. He tried to make the words kiss before deciding, No, that wouldn’t make any sense. He threw the two words into the thought void, one had a funky flashback as another pumped the disco finger like its textual life depended on it.

There was no technology that he was aware of that would allow it. While plenty of games had been marketed as ‘virtual realities,’ complete with headsets and similar kit, none of them were the ‘deep dive’ variations that populated many a desperate man-child’s fantasy—as he dismissively thought of them. There were no pods to go comatose in, no worlds in dreams, nothing that came close to a true alternate reality. The closest humanity got was being able to move cursors on screens by directly plugging wires into people’s brains. And that’s been around for decades with no progress, Jordan grumbled.

He liked technology—it had always been a hobby of his. If there had been a VR game you could jump in and experience like real life, he’d be tempted to… okay I’d have been all over that shit, he begrudgingly concluded. As it was, there wasn’t even a hint that something of that scope was coming. So could it be… reincarnation? His mind stumbled along to his next guess.

Well that would have required me to die, right? I don’t remember dying, and I’d bet a memory like that would have fucking stuck with me, he thought. Crap-biscuits! That meant the only option he had was…

That fucking Brat really did try to summon me, didn’t she? And she fucked it up! What the hell was he supposed to do about this? Either the Brat was long gone, and Jordan was stuck in her body forever, or they had swapped bodies completely and she was currently wandering around ruining his life. What was a spoiled little kid going to do faced with the realities of adulthood? He’d barely been on top of it!

He wasn’t sure how, but he knew he’d need to work quickly to get back into this own body as soon as possible. While he may have been tempted to take the life of a rich noble brat as his own, there was no way he was going to accept the life of a girl. Even the sight of the word, now floating around him like an errant thought bubble in this strange place, filled him with anger. He mentally kicked at it, and the word spiraled out and away from him. It doesn’t even make any sense! Why summon me in the first place? Maybe I just snapped. Had a mental break and now I’m in a mental asylum, he laughed at the thought. Maybe it’s just temporary in… ins…

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