Morthisal's eyes took in the others in the little room sitting in padded chairs and waiting for their name to be called. A woman with a sniveling child. The boy kept his head down and sneezed repeatedly into his hand. She looked up apologetically and said, “It’s not Covid. Just a cold.”

An older couple sitting on the other side of her and the child quietly got up and moved farther away from the plague-ridden child. Morthisal wasn’t sure what Covid meant, but he knew a child spreading disease when he saw one.

He almost advised the woman to eliminate the threat, but wouldn’t they have done that in one of the rooms? Clearly, health was a secondary concern in this world, or that child would have been buried by now. Morthisal followed the older couple’s example and moved a few seats down.

“It’s not Covid,” the woman reiterated.

When the young man behind the large counter called his name, he didn't even notice.

"Vincent Logan. Is there a Mr. Logan?"

"Oh." Morthisal popped out of his chair, took the long way around the sniffling child, and approached the desk.

“Name and date of birth?” the young man with the smooth chin unmarred by a hint of hair asked him. What was this child doing working in such a position? He should be training as an apprentice or learning how to wield a sword.

Morthisal had been asked a few times for this information and was ready. He extracted the card that featured his picture and held it up. “I have a head wound. My memory is askew.“

“That sucks, dude.” He squinted at the ID card and added. “You got a twenty-dollar co-pay.”

“Is that a monetary exchange?”

“We take cash, debit, or a credit card.” He tapped a device on the counter.

Morthisal showed the man his wallet.

“Is it cool if I touch your cards?”

Morthisal, slightly confused by the turn of phrase, nodded.

The young man pulled out a slim red card and tapped the device. It beeped, and the word Approved appeared.

The boy returned the card and gave him a bag that felt full of small pebbles rattling around. He glanced inside and found a small brown bottle. He pulled it out and turned it over and over. The 'pills,' as they had been called, bounced around.

"You good?" The young man asked him

“Ah. Yes. Hmm… thank you,” Morthisal nodded, placed the brown vial back in the bag, and left.

Morthisal stepped out of the hospital and his senses were immediately assaulted by the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells of the strange world. A nonstop drizzle of rain pattered against the concrete and created a glistening sheen on the surface. The air was filled with myriad noises—the incessant beeping of strange devices, the roar of passing carriages, and the chatter of people hurrying by. It was all so loud compared to the relative quiet of the foreboding fortress he had once called home, where the only sounds were the echoes of his own footsteps, the grunts of orcs and goblins, and the occasional reassuring screams of a tortured soul, as well as the dead who were always chattering on his periphery.

Morthisal's eyes were drawn to a large building with massive entryways. Curiosity piqued, he strode towards it, his gait still that of a dark lord expecting others to make way for him. Lost in thought, he nearly collided with a large man who growled, "Watch where you're going, buddy!"

Morthisal bit back a scathing retort, which he would have enjoyed delivering with a swarm of summoned daggers to this rude man’s chest. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and continued to explore the strange structure.

Inside, he stared at the rows of gleaming carriages, cars as he had learned, each one different from the last. One of the four-wheeled coaches roared to life and departed, with a woman behind the wheel and a man sitting slumped in his seat. She put a hand on the man’s shoulder and rubbed. Perhaps he had been in the hospital for a head wound as well.

Morthisal couldn't help but wonder how they were powered. Surely, as Megan had jokingly implied, there weren't miniature horses hidden beneath their hoods.

His attention was drawn to a man leaning over one of the carriages, its top propped open next to another vehicle in a similar state. Wires ran between the two, connecting them in a way that Morthisal couldn't comprehend. The carriages themselves were older, their paint faded and chipped.

The man looked up and called out, "Hey, man! Can you give me a hand? I need to jump my wife's battery. She left the lights on. We've all done it, right?"

Morthisal, his curiosity piqued, nodded and approached. He was in this world now, and the quicker he could learn about it, the quicker he could get to work taking control.

"Thanks, dude. I’m Miguel, by the way. You know how to do this, right?" the man asked, gesturing to the wires. "The cables are a little too short and keep popping off. If you could carefully connect the battery while I start the car, that'd be a huge help. Just be careful, man. Don’t want you to get shocked."

"Yes. Very well."

Miguel held his cable end up and squeezed the side until a pair of sharp teeth opened up. They reminded him of Thalindra and how she had enjoyed having similar devices attached to her-

“You with me, man?”

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“Yes. I apologize. I have a head wound.”

“Oh. Shit. Wow. Sorry. Are you okay to do this?”

“Most assuredly.”

“Okay. Okay. Just hold them on the battery posts, red to red and black to black. I’ll start this car. You can pop them off as soon as it fires up. Just be careful, cool?”

“Yes. Cool.”

Miguel dashed around his coach and hopped inside. He held his hand up and extended his thumb.

Morthisal held the strange metal teeth on the posts, as they'd been referred to. As Miguel caused his car to make a chugging noise, he waited. Then it arrived—a blast of energy that threw him away from the carriage with a pop and a blast of white.

Pain raced through his body like an ice spell had hit him.

Morthisal would have screamed in pain, but the most wonderful thing happened. The veil between the realms opened, and his former power blossomed in his mind.

Morthisal lay on the cold concrete, his body tingling from the strange energy that had coursed through him. The sensation reminded him of his first encounter with necromantic magic—raw, primal power surging through his veins. But this was different. The veil between realms, hidden from him since he had arrived, now flickered at the edges of his consciousness.

Miguel rushed over. "Oh man, I'm so sorry. Stay right there. I'll get help."

Instead of seeking assistance, Miguel darted to the vehicles, yanked the cables free and slammed both hoods shut. He jumped into one car, turned it off, then scrambled to the other.

"Just stay there, okay? I'm going to get someone," Miguel called out.

Morthisal pulled himself up, using the wall for support. He reached out with his mind, testing the familiar threads of power that had once allowed him to bend others to his will. They were there, weak but present.

Miguel's car lurched forward, and he gave a quick nod through the window before the vehicle made an odd squealing noise and disappeared through the garage exit. Morthisal had a feeling the man was not coming back.

A familiar figure caught Morthisal's eye—Travious, the nurse from earlier, stood near the entrance. The young man's eyes narrowed with recognition and suspicion. Morthisal had already used his powers to influence the young man once, not as strongly as he'd used on the girl named Megan.

Morthisal didn't hesitate. He seized one of the ethereal threads and wrapped it around Travious's mind, just as he had done countless times before to numerous servants. The familiar rush of control filled him with satisfaction. The link was much weaker than any he'd had in his old world, but it was a link nonetheless.

"I require assistance reaching my hovel," Morthisal said and tightened the thread. "You will help me."

"Yes, of course," Travious replied, his voice taking on a distant quality. "I don't drive, but I can get us an Uber."

"An Uber. What is this?"

"A ride, man. Gonna get us something slick. Cool?"

Morthisal nodded.

Travious pulled a slim rectangular device from his pocket—an I phone, as Morthisal had learned. The nurse's fingers danced across its surface while he bobbed his head to an unheard rhythm.

"Where we headed?" Travious asked.

Morthisal retrieved his wallet and held it out. "Find the location within, as they did at the hospital."

Travious plucked out the identification card and studied it. "Oh, nice. You live in Capitol Hill? That's dope." His attention returned to the glowing screen, and he tapped it several times. "Car'll be here in about five minutes. I got us an Uber XL so we can ride in style."

Moments later, a sleek black vehicle pulled up, its surface gleaming in the gray drizzle. Morthisal's eyes widened at the sight of the massive mechanical beast. Unlike the other carriages he'd seen, this one seemed built for luxury rather than mere transportation.

Travious darted forward and opened the back door, and motioned for Morthisal to get in.

The former dark lord settled into the back on a plush leather seat. The man in the driver's seat exchanged greetings with Travious, but no other words were spoken as they glided through the city streets.

The carriage purred a deep sound that rose and fell. Morthisal pressed his face close to the window, taking in the overwhelming array of sights. Metal carriages of every size and color crawled along the roads in orderly lines, stopping and starting at the command of hanging lights. Towering glass and steel structures reached toward the clouds, their surfaces reflecting the dreary sky. People hurried along the sidewalks, many holding cups of steaming liquid, most staring at their glowing rectangular I phones.

The streets wound upward, and the buildings grew shorter but no less strange. Their vehicle passed rows of brick structures decorated with colorful signs and window displays. The scent of roasted beans and cooked food floated through the car's vents, but there was an undercurrent of something unpleasant, acrid and sharp. Morthisal could not place it, but he very much enjoyed it.

They pulled up to a weathered brick building, its facade decorated with detailed moldings that reminded Morthisal of his own castle's architectural adornments. However, these were far more modest in scale.

He struggled with the door until Travious leaned over him and showed him how to pull a metal bar. The door sprang open, and Morthisal almost fell on his face as he'd been leaning on it.

Out of the vehicle it took a moment for Morthisal to regain his balance. The mix of the Ativan elixir, combined with the floating carriage was playing tricks on him.

A metal gate protected the entrance, and a panel of buttons gleamed beside it, each labeled with numbers that presumably corresponded to different dwellings within. Morthisal looked over the small fence and nearly laughed. This wouldn't stop a single orc from smashing its way through.

Morthisal reached out with his mind, testing the ethereal thread that bound Travious to his will. The connection flickered, growing weaker with each passing moment. The veil between realms, so close after the shock, was already beginning to fade. Time was running short. Morthisal needed to figure out a way to procure one of the things Miguel had called a battery.

"Your wallet," Travious said, his voice carrying the dreamy quality of the enchanted, which was concerning. A full enchantment would have left him speaking in a normal voice. "There's probably a badge in there to get us inside."

Morthisal thrust the leather pouch into Travious's hands. "Be quick about it."

"Sure, man. Sure. A little gratitude, and all?"

Morthisal stared at him.

Travious dug through the wallet's contents and extracted a flat piece of plastic. He pressed it against a metal panel studded with numbered buttons. A small gray box above it emitted a sharp beep, followed by the familiar sound of a lock disengaging.

They stepped into a dimly lit corridor. Travious led the way to a set of stairs, climbing to the second floor. "Check your pockets for keys," he said.

"Keys?" Morthisal patted the strange fabric of his clothing until he felt something metallic. He pulled out a ring of small keys that were tiny and appeared weak compared to those that had allowed him access to his many dungeons.

"Here, let me show you." Travious took the keys and demonstrated how to align one with the lock. The mechanism clicked and turned. Again, Morthisal fought from laughing. A goblin could have pulled the delicate metal knob out of the wood without using the lock.

Travious blinked rapidly, his head swaying from side to side. The enchantment was breaking. His eyes darted around the hallway, confusion creeping across his features.

Drawing upon the last remnants of power in the thread, Morthisal pushed a final command into Travious's mind. "Take me inside."

Travious's hand found the doorknob, turned it, and the door swung open.