Morthisal was bored.

He'd been sitting at this desk, drinking tepid sweet creamer with a hint of coffee, while staring at a mass of files on Vince's computer that all seemed to do the same thing but with different names. Spreadsheets, they called them, and it was certainly an apt title because they spread across the screen so much that it required a lot of scrolling. Numbers. Numbers everywhere, and none of them made any sense to him.

He considered going to the break room again, but he'd been warned that they were always being watched. Morthisal looked over at Ronny, but the man had his head down.

"How in the world does anyone survive in this culture?" he muttered. The population seemed so kowtowed, despite the fact there was no dark lord running this world.

Yet.

Morthisal delved into Yvette Sterling's online presence. Her images revealed a woman of immense wealth and influence. In one photograph, she stood poised and elegant in a shimmering evening gown, her platinum blonde hair perfectly styled. Another showed her in a crisp, tailored business suit. She carried herself with great confidence and had a figure he found more than a little distracting.

As he scrolled through the images, Morthisal found himself unexpectedly drawn to Yvette. Her sharp features and piercing blue eyes held an allure he couldn't quite explain. She was far from the dark, mysterious beauties he had favored in Mythralon, but there was something utterly captivating about her. Perhaps it was how she carried herself with such confidence, or the hint of cunning intelligence he'd observed in the break room. Maybe it was as simple as meeting someone who was immune to his new powers.

Later, he typed in phrases related to dark lords and necromancy, hoping to find a glimmer of his past life. However, the results were disappointing—parody websites and humorous images that mocked the very essence of his former existence. He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused. On the plus side, there were no serious contenders for the title. The pickings were ripe.

As he sat in the featureless, colorless cubicle, Morthisal couldn't help but wonder if this was his eternal punishment. Had he actually died, and was this the hell that Drathaia, Sovereign of the Grave, had sentenced him to?

Feeling restless, Morthisal stood up and stretched his legs. The idea of simply walking out of the office and returning to Vince's apartment crossed his mind. He could easily power up with a fresh jolt of electricity and set out to take what he wanted from the unsuspecting masses. However, his recent research revealed that much of the world was under constant surveillance, a concept that both intrigued and unsettled him.

Just as Morthisal contemplated his next move, he noticed Jack Sweet bustling into the area. The sweaty manager rushed to someone's cubicle, leaned in, and then stood up with his hands on his hips and looked around with a puzzled expression.

Morthisal seized the opportunity and called out to Jack, "Greetings, Mr. Sweet. Could you provide me with an estimated time for my intern's arrival? I am more than a bit confused this morning and could use assistance. As you know, my memory is askance."

Jack's face clenched as he walked over to Morthisal's cubicle, clearly annoyed, and said, "Uh. Right. Yeah. I'll get on that, but I have bigger fish to fry right now. Have you seen Tamara?" Jack pointed at the cubicle he had just entered.

"I do not believe I have met Tamara. Nor did I observe anyone leaving." With a wry smile, Morthisal joked, "What a shame we can't simply chain them to their workstations, isn't it?"

Jacke gave him a strange look before lowering his head and briefly chuckling. "It would make things easier. Dammit. I need a copy of the Q3 Revenue and Expense Analysis. And Q2. And Q1, for that matter."

"She has these reports?"

"The person she replaced had them. I think. Honestly, it could be on any computer here. I've already emailed the group and have not heard a peep. People don't read their damn emails." Jack sighed heavily. "It looks like one of the former employees hatched some kind of virus before they left, or something. All the files for this department are scrambled. I can't find a damn thing."

"The files are gone forever or are they simply altered?"

Morthisal listened intently as Jack explained his predicament. The manager's brow furrowed with concern as he spoke, his words tinged with frustration and desperation.

"I think the files have been altered, not completely deleted," Jack said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "But I can't make sense of them. It's like someone scrambled the data and changed the file names. I don't even know where to begin looking."

Jack's shoulders slumped as he continued, "I need to find these files by the end of the day, or I'm screwed. The higher-ups are breathing down my neck, and I can't deliver what they need. I don't know what I'm going to do. I told them to keep a few key members of the team around, but they said no. Goddamn mergers…"

Morthisal considered the issue. Although the intricacies of this world's technology were still foreign to him, he recognized an opportunity when he saw one. The office was filled with temporary workers, and Morthisal's dark lord instincts whispered that he should be able to bend them to his will.

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With a confident smile, Morthisal turned to Jack and said, "Fear not, Mr. Sweet. I shall resolve this problem for you."

Jack's eyes lit with a glimmer of hope. "You will? But how?"

Morthisal's smile turned enigmatic as he replied, "Leave that to me. I have my ways."

As Jack nodded uncertainly and hurried off to attend to other matters, Morthisal surveyed the sea of cubicles before him. The temporary workers toiled away, their faces a blend of boredom and resignation.

He stood up from his desk and strode purposefully into the center of the office. "Attention, everyone. I require your assistance in a matter of great importance."

Heads popped up from behind cubicle walls, curious eyes fixed on Morthisal. He continued, "Our esteemed manager, Mr. Sweet, is in dire need of our help. Critical files have been altered, and it falls upon us to restore them. Together, we can overcome this challenge and prove our worth."

"Esteemed…" Someone quietly laughed.

His eyes narrowed and not for the first time, he wished he possessed his full powers so he could could burn this person's face off with the snap of his fingers.

Morthisal swept his gaze across the room and made eye contact with each temp. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper: "I know you possess skills and talents that have gone unrecognized in this place. Now is your chance to shine. Join me in this endeavor, and I shall ensure that your efforts are rewarded." He bluffed.

The reactions were a mix of disbelief and outright ignoring him. One of the temps shook his head and put his headphones back on. Another simply looked back to their computer screen. Others shrugged or simply lowered their heads.

"I see," Morthisal said and sat back down, muttering. "Perhaps a more personal approach is in order."

Morthisal rose from his chair and strode to Ronny's desk. He leaned down, keeping his voice low but urgent. "I have failed to capture their attention, but perhaps you could assist. There appears to be a situation developing. Many reports have been altered, and the higher-ups need them. You see, an audit looms on the horizon. If it is not found, we will all be held here until the wee hours of the morning."

Ronny didn't appear impressed. "I'm hourly, dude. They can keep me here as long as they want, and I'll get time and a half."

"Is that a lot?"

Ronny lifted his hands and shrugged. "I mean…"

A woman approached and her short, black, spiky hair caught Morthisal's attention. Dark tattoos crawled up her neck from beneath her collar.

"Hey, I'm Willow. Couldn't help but overhear. What's going on?" she asked.

"We seek crucial documents. It seems they have been altered and must be corrected or recreated from scratch. Jack Sweet has asked that I find people capable of helping with this."

"Classic." Willow nodded, lips pursed. "When you mess with people's livelihoods, they mess with you back. Laying off most of the accounting department will do that. One of them might have buried a script on a timer. A file scrambler of some sort on one of the computers. They didn't even wipe them before we got here, they just gave us new logins. I used to work in IT. I've heard of that kind of thing but never seen it in action. I'd guess they did just enough damage so the files could be recovered. Deleting a bunch of data on the way out the door can land you in court."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. But that's all above my pay grade," Willow added.

"Me too," Ronny said and turned back to his screen.

Morthisal sighed.

"Good luck with all that," Willow said and returned to her cubicle.

"None of you desire to help?"

All he got were a few disinterested looks.

Very well…

While pursuing various websites over the past few days, he had come across a curious term and decided that it would fit his next move perfectly. It was time to use a cheat code.

Back in the break room, Morthisal made himself another creamer/coffee drink because, he had to admit, the caffeine was a pleasant feeling, and the headache he'd been fighting was now gone. His eyes roved across the ceiling and walls, and he was relieved to find there were no visible cameras. His next move would be risky.

He glanced around and dug around in drawers until he found what he needed. A pair of silver knives with serrated edges sat in a row, along with forks and spoons. He pulled two knives out and didn't have to look far to find an outlet.

Morthisal darted to the break room door and pressed his ear against it. The hallway beyond remained silent. No footsteps, no voices, no signs of anyone approaching. Time to work fast.

His gaze swept the room one final time before he positioned himself near the outlet, inserted the first knife into the socket, and quickly yanked his hand back.

Morthisal swallowed loudly as he carefully pushed the second knife in place, keeping his other hand away from the metal. He tried to tell himself it wouldn't be too bad. He'd done this before.

Still…

Drawing in a deep breath, Morthisal wrapped his fingers around one knife handle. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed the back of his free hand against the second handle.

Pure electricity surged through his body. Every muscle seized as raw power flooded his system. His teeth clenched as energy crackled through his bones and set every nerve ending ablaze. The feeling of being suddenly immersed in ice-cold water returned, and his heart hammered in his chest.

The lights above popped and flickered out, plunging the room into darkness broken only by dancing spots in his vision.

The force had knocked him backward. His legs wobbled as he steadied himself against the counter. His hands trembled violently as he yanked the knives free one by one, nearly dropping them as he returned them to the drawer.

The overhead lights came back on, and the coffee machine cycled as it also came back to life.

Morthisal stared at his hands and willed them to stop shaking. Then he looked beyond his consciousness to verify. Yes! The veil was there, and it parted to his touch. Morthisal returned to his desk with the power coursing through his veins. As he sat down, Ronny glanced up at him, his face the usual mask of boredom and disinterest, before returning his attention to his screen.

Undeterred, Morthisal seized several threads of power, and began wrapping them around his new subjects. The strands coiled and twisted, snaking their way through the cubicles and around the unsuspecting temps.

He stood up, looked around, and said, "Ronny and Willow. Attend me."

Ronny's eyes widened, and a flicker of fear mingled with curiosity crossed his face. He hesitated before slowly pushing back his chair and standing up.

"Willow," Morthisal called out. "Your knowledge of technology will be invaluable. Come, join us."

Willow looked up. She also stood and made her way toward Morthisal and Ronny.

"Now," he began. "Let us work together to find a solution for the scrambled file issue."

"On it, boss," Ronny said with a soft smile.

"Yeah. Good call. Let's fix this. I'll start by searching for the script. We have old emails from before the merger, so we can look for attachments. Some of them might be altered files. If I can compare them to what's on the drive, I might be able to figure out how they were changed," Willow said.

The pair continued to discuss how best to fix the files. After offering them a few more encouraging words, Morthisal returned to his cubicle to sip tepid creamer and coffee drink while his new minions did the work.