The words Morthisal had spoken seemed to be very popular in this realm, but Jack Sweet did not seem to appreciate being told to fuck off. Morthisal had recognized that they were vulgar, but he had clearly miscalculated the appropriate use of the language he had learned from the television dramas. Quickly, he attempted to salvage the situation.

"Oh dear, Jack. My apologies. I fear my head wound has left me somewhat disoriented." Morthisal tapped his bandaged forehead for emphasis.

Jack's expression softened, though a hint of wariness remained in his eyes. "You can't talk to me like that. Did they give you some meds at the hospital? Did you take too many?"

"Eh. Perhaps that is it. My words got away from me." Morthisal nodded noncommittally. In truth, he had not been taking the Ativan prescribed to him, preferring to maintain a clear mind as he navigated this strange new world. However, the lure of the calming medication had been real; perhaps it would have helped today.

If this encounter continued going in the wrong direction, he might need to take direct action. Morthisal quickly accessed some of his power reserves to seize a thread, in case he had to use it on Jack. His forehead wrinkled, and he lightly shook his head.

"I'll let it go. But just keep those kind of words to yourself."

"Yes. I shall, Jack. Deepest apologies." Morthisal tried to sound contrite. In truth, he wanted to make this sweaty man sweat a little more, for instance, over an open fire.

"Here's your badge," Jack said, handing over a thick, shiny picture with Vince’s name under his face.

Morthisal examined the badge. Vince's hair was longer in the photo, and Morthisal must admit it didn't look too bad. Perhaps he would grow it out. The badge hung from a slim metal rope. He glanced at Jack’s badge and quickly deduced how to attach it to his shirt.

They rode in silence. The elevator stopped several times to allow more people on and off until their arrival on the twenty-third floor. Jack led the way, and Morthisal took in the building's interior. The last time he had been here, he'd been on what he had learned was called a gurney, the strange floating bed that had seemed so miraculous at the time.

They passed through a couple of doors until they came to a large room that was thoroughly disorienting. Instead of the grand, private workspaces he had expected, the floor was filled with rows upon rows of boxes with short walls. The flickering glow of computer screens was visible, along with the heads of people sitting in front of them, although a number of monitors were not lit.

"I'll leave you to it. Call IT to get your password reset.”

The words made some sense to Morthisal, but he would feel foolish–and look the part–if he kept asking simple questions of Jack, like, "What is IT? How do I call them? Where do I sit?"

He used a thread very lightly—not enough to overpower Jack, but just enough for him to influence the man. "Jack, my friend," Morthisal purred. "An intern was promised. When will they arrive?"

Jack sighed and lightly shook his head. Morthisal tightened the thread ever so tightly. "Right. Yeah. I'll send one over in a few."

"Most appreciated, Jack. Now, please be so kind as to show me to my office."

"Office." Jack chuckled and led the way.

They walkedthrough a maze of tiny squares before arriving at one with the same nondescript beige walls as all the others. A box sat on the floor with what appeared to be children's toys, some photos in a frame, and a couple of books with meals on the cover.

Morthisal turned to ask Jack what the box was about, but Jack was already walking away. He stopped and said, "Oh, also, there’s limited coffee due to the cutbacks. Get some now, or it will be gone for the day."

"Coffee. Yes." Morthisal nodded, but Jack was already walking away. Morthisal decided not to press his luck and took a seat. He stared at the computer screen, the login prompt mocking him. While he had mastered basic PC navigation, thanks to his time with Vince's laptop, his passwords remained a mystery. The telephone on his desk offered no comfort - just another modern contraption he barely understood. He lifted the receiver and listened to the steady buzz before setting it back down with a frustrated sigh.

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Rising from his chair, he surveyed the office floor. A few workers hunched over their keyboards, tapping away in their tiny fabric-walled domains. Few of them had looked up as he’d passed. Their focus was absolute, or perhaps they were purposefully avoiding eye contact.

Did no one in this area know Vince? Why were there no greetings? He took to nodding at each as he left his tiny box and took a walk. P. He prowled the floor's perimeter, mentally mapping the layout. The space stretched longer than expected, with identical beige cubicles creating a maze-like pattern. His head throbbed, a dull pain that grew with each step.

A familiar scent drew him to what appeared to be the break room Jack had mentioned. Inside stood several machines reminiscent of the ones that cluttered Vince's kitchen counter. The headache intensified, and Morthisal recalled his late-night research into coffee and its effects. Vince's apartment had been a shrine to the beverage—specialized equipment, varieties of beans, and an excessive collection of mugs. The lack of caffeine was likely the cause of his aching head. He'd been filled with power for most of the day yesterday and wondered if that was what had kept the withdrawal at bay.

One counter was dominated by a large coffee machine, which had a stack of brown cups stationed beside it. Morthisal approached, acknowledging that this body's caffeine dependency would need to be addressed. The headache was clear evidence of withdrawal, a mortal weakness he would have to embrace.

He picked up a paper cup and examined the machine with its array of buttons and options. In his former life, he had commanded armies and wielded dark magic. Now, he faced the challenge of mastering this coffee contraption and training himself to appreciate its bitter offerings. Such were the travails of a dark lord.

The door at the opposite side of the break room opened and a woman bustled in. Morthisal's gaze was immediately drawn to her. She wore a plum-colored outfit, but her skirt was fairly short, revealing her legs. Morthisal couldn't help but stare, his mind briefly drifting to the alluring dark elves of his world.

The woman confidently walked toward Morthisal. As she approached, Morthisal caught a whiff of her scent—a subtle, floral aroma that intrigued him.

"Hello," she said, her voice pleasant and self-assured.

Morthisal greeted her in return and his eyes met hers. He was struck by their intensity, reminiscent of the dark elves he had known. "Greetings. Would you kindly instruct me on the use of this coffee machine? Perhaps you are the intern sent to assist me?"

The woman chuckled softly and shook her head. "You think I'm an intern? I've been called many things over the years, but never an intern. I'm sure we can figure it out together."

She expertly placed her cup under the dispenser and stared at the panel of buttons. After a moment, she pressed one, and the machine whirred to life to dispense a stream of dark liquid into her cup.

As the aroma of fresh coffee filled the break room, the woman turned to Morthisal. "What do you do here, if you don't mind my asking?"

Morthisal shrugged, his mind still reeling from the head wound and the strange new world he found himself in. "My name is Vince Logan. My duties are a bit unclear due to a head wound. My memories are askance, I'm afraid."

"Sorry to hear that. I'm Yvette Sterling." She stuck out her hand.

Morthisal took her warm hand in his and gripped it firmly, but not tightly. He shook it once, as was customary in his land, and then let go.

Her head tilted to the side, and a quizzical smile graced her lips. "Are you from Europe, by chance?"

"I am not, fair lady. I am simply a man who is here to analyze data on a computer." He touched the bandage on his forehead and added, "I fear I am not myself."

"If you're here, and doctors okayed it, you must be capable of doing your job. That's great. Good for you."

Yvette cautiously removed the brown cup from under the machine. Morthisal held out his hand expectantly.

"Did you think I was making this for you?" She lowered her voice and muttered, "Should be the other way around."

"You wish'd for me to serve you? I am not used to serving others. When you are finished here, could you be so kind as to ask after my intern? I do so wish to get back to work, but I am somewhat lost.”

Yvette coughed and placed the coffee on the counter. "You really don't know who I am?"

"Should I?" Morthisal asked. He paused and considered the situation. For all he knew, this woman could be the person that Jack Sweet reported to. She could be in charge of this, as it was called, department. Wishing to look no more the fool than he already appeared to be, he used a little of his remaining power and yanked a thin thread from behind the veil. Morthisal looped it out and around the woman named Yvette. He had no intention of using his full power on her. This was simply to probe, learn what he could, and leave the thread in place in case he needed to use her for his personal gain.

But something happened. Something very unexpected. The thread melted away just as it should have settled in place. He reached for it again, but it was completely gone.

"Are you okay?" Yvette asked him.

Morthisal shook his head and stepped back. The room swam.

"I'm… Fine…" He stammered.

"You don't look fine. You kind of look like you need to go to the bathroom."

A woman poked her head in the break room. "There you are, Ms. Sterling."

Morthisal glanced up and frowned. It was the same person who had knelt in front of his prone body and offered to stick her shoe in his mouth while he was prone on the ground on the day he had arrived in Vince’s body.

“You’re back,” she stated as she stared at Morthisal.

“Yes. Are you my intern?” Morthisal pointed at Yvette. “This one is not.”

The woman froze, and her face flushed. “That is not an intern! That’s Yvette Sterling from Sterling Global Solutions."

Yvette gave a light shrug as if to say, 'I tried to tell you.'

"This way, Ms. Sterling. I apologize about him. It's a complicated situation. They're ready for you in the conference room."

As Yvette left the room, the other woman stared daggers at Vince.