Morthisal could not stand the taste of coffee. It was like trying to drink liquid ash. He spotted a container of various creams and peeled one open. It smelled sweet. He dipped his tongue in and was surprised at the complex flavors.

"French vanilla, eh?" he muttered. He dumped half a dozen into the drink, sipped, and added a few more until it was at least palatable. As long as it got rid of the headache, he would drink this wretched potion until he found a suitable alternative.

Morthisal took another sip of the overly sweetened coffee as two women and a man entered the break room. They were dressed in the strange yet somehow familiar attire he had seen others wearing in this realm—a style that Travious had described as "business casual."

The man approached a vending machine similar to that which Morthisal had observed in the hospital, passed a small card across a reader on its front, and selected a beverage. The machine whirred and dispensed a cylindrical container. The other man nodded at Morthisal as he made his way to the coffee pot.

Suddenly, the woman gasped when she saw Morthisal. She rushed over and grabbed his arm, a look of concern etched on her face. "Vince! You survived. I heard about what happened. Are you okay?"

Morthisal, caught off guard by the sudden physical contact, quickly composed himself. He had to play along, to blend in until he could figure out his next move. "I... I apologize," he said, feigning confusion. "I seem to be experiencing some memory loss. I hit my head, you see."

The woman's eyes blinked twice in shock. "Oh my god. I heard something happened to you the other day, but it's all hush-hush. Hey, it's me, Kelly Chen. Don't you remember me, Vince?"

Morthisal studied her face, searching for any glimmer of recognition, but found none. This Kelly Chen was a stranger to him. He shook his head slowly, maintaining the facade of a man struggling with amnesia.

Kelly's brow furrowed, and she tilted her head to the side. "You're messing with me, right? Or…" Her eyes darted to his bandage again.

Morthisal held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I assure you, I am not jesting. A CT scan was performed on my head at the hospital, and I am awaiting the results. I truly cannot recall who you are or the nature of our relationship. Perhaps, with time, my memory will return. But, as we are friends, perhaps I can rely on you to help me with a few menial tasks? I am awaiting my intern and could use some assistance."

"An intern?" Kelly looked at the two guys she'd come in with. "So that's what they were talking about.” Her expression softened, and she released her grip on his arm. "I'm so sorry, Vince. I had no idea. Listen, if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know. We've been friends for years, and I want to support you through this. That reminds me, last week you said I could have your red stapler."

"Ah. A vague memory. Yes. You may have it." Morthisal had no idea what a red stapler was. He hoped it was not something important.

"I'll go pick it up now. Talk later?"

Morthisal nodded, forcing a grateful smile. "Yes. Thank you, Kelly. Your kindness is appreciated. I am certain that, with the aid of my... friends, I will recover in due time."

"Oh, I'm sure you will." She nodded and patted his arm.

Morthisal had the barest of power left. He used it to touch Kelly. Not to influence her, but to probe. He nearly recoiled. Anger simmered beneath the surface, and it was directed at him. She didn’t understand why they had brought him back. She didn’t like Vince. She didn’t really like anyone near her, and she felt particular contempt for the young men she was training. There was fear that they would soon replace her.

Interesting.

She smiled brightly, turned away, and motioned for the other two to join her.

Morthisal made it back to his desk and sipped the coffee. It was wretched. Even with the copious cream and sugar. Why in the seven planes of hell would anyone drink this?

He powered through it and hoped the caffeine headache would soon abate.

Morthisal stood up and looked around. He met the eye of a man sitting a few cubes over and offered a tentative wave. The man looked away and returned his attention to his computer screen.

“Pardon me, good people. I was informed that I needed to call IT. What does this mean?”

A few heads looked toward him and then back at their screens. The man who had met his eyes shook his head and pointed at Morthisal’s wall. “There. On the wall. Look for a phone number.”

Instead of returning to his own cubicle, Morthisal approached the man's desk and took in the Spartan surroundings. The surface was bare, save for a computer keyboard and mouse. No personal effects adorned the space, not even a single photograph. The man's name tag read "Ronny Talbot," with a large red T beneath his photo.

The man had a sturdy build, and carried a little extra weight. His thinning hair exposed a generous amount of shiny scalp, while the remaining strands were cropped close to his head. Despite his soft appearance, Ronny's sharp brown eyes hinted at a keen intelligence lurking beneath the surface.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Ronny Talbot, is it?" Morthisal asked, his voice smooth and measured. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I find myself in need of assistance. You see, I have had a head injury. My memory is askance."

Ronny leaned back in his chair and his gaze appraised Morthisal. "You're Vince, right? The guy who got hurt?" His tone was neutral, neither friendly nor hostile, but his eyes darted around.

Morthisal nodded. "I was hoping you might be able to guide me in the right direction. You appear to be a bit nervous."

Ronny lowered his voice and his eyes and said, "Uh, yeah. They're watching us."

Morthisal looked around and observed a few cameras on the walls as well as ceiling.

"Intriguing," he muttered, and his voice rose a little. "I assume we were not friends before my accident?"

"Dude. I can't… Return to your desk, wait a few minutes, and go to the bathroom. I'll talk to you there."

"Um. Very well. Can you tell me how to contact IT? However, I am unsure of what this entails or how to proceed."

Ronny sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "I just told you! Pick up your phone and dial the number. It's on the phone list on the wall."

"Ah. Yes. Thank you," Morthisal said. He turned and returned to his desk, but not before he lowered his voice and added, "I shall meet you after the call."

"Whatever."

Morthisal found the number on the list, picked up the phone, and dialed. After verifying some information, such as his name and employee ID, which was on the back of his badge, the woman on the line reset his password and he was able to log in. Then, he was greeted with a screen filled with icons and names that made little sense. What was he supposed to do here?

Ronny walked past him, met his eyes, and then walked to a side door and exited.

Morthisal waited for several minutes after Ronny's departure. He stood up from his desk and proceeded to the door the man had exited through, his eyes drawn to the cameras positioned in every corner of the room. As he stepped into the hallway, he noticed a single, nondescript picture of a mountain with a snowy peak hanging on the wall.

He found the bathroom and entered, spotting Ronny waiting inside.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Morthisal said. "Who is watching me, and why?"

Ronny's expression was a blend of suspicion and concern as he addressed Morthisal. "Look, man. I don't know if you're full of shit or if you really lost your memory, but here's the deal. I'm a new temp. Almost everyone on this floor is a temp. They gutted the place. The company's about to merge with Sterling, and they thought it would look better on the books if they had fewer employees. That's why there have been so many layoffs."

Ronny glanced around, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "There are cameras everywhere, and we're being watched constantly. You mess up, and you're gone. I need this job to pay my rent, so don't fuck this up for me. Call your manager if you have questions. Gotta go. They have AI now that times our bathroom visits." With that, Ronny departed, leaving Morthisal alone.

Morthisal relieved himself and then exited the bathroom, his mind processing the implications of Ronny's words. A lot of it made little sense to him, but he was quite familiar with the benefits of round-the-clock surveillance. However, he wasn't the one used to being surveilled.

A familiar face caught his attention as he walked through the hallway toward the office entrance. It was Jill, the woman he had encountered in the break room earlier. The same who had threatened to put a shoe in his mouth when he had awakened in Vince's body. He had called her a peasant, and she had been quite unhappy about the label. A simple mistake, really, since plain clothing had given few other clues.

Jill's eyes narrowed as she approached. "Why were you bothering Yvette in the break room?" she demanded, her tone accusatory. "Have you never heard the phrase 'don't talk to the talent?'"

Morthisal, feigning confusion, replied, "Ah, Yvette. The woman in the break room who helped me learn how to make coffee. She seemed pleasant enough."

"Oh she did? One of the richest women in the world seemed nice, and she helped you make a cup of coffee."

"I apologize, Jill. What is your position at the company?"

She tsked and said, "Hilarious. You know I'm the VP of human resources. Don't play dumb with me. You're on thin ground, Mr. Logan, and it is growing thinner by the moment."

Morthisal looked down and studied the floor, then tapped it once with his foot. Human resources? He wondered why this modern world insisted on such sterile terminology.

'Human Resources' indeed—as if humans were mere supplies to be managed, like his stockpile of bones and grave dirt. Actually... perhaps they were not so different after all.

Jill blew out an exasperated sigh, and her expression hardened. She lowered her voice to a menacing whisper. "I know you're full of crap, Vince. You used your injury to weasel your way back into the company. Well, let me tell you something. I'm going to be watching you very closely from now on. The moment you screw up at your job, I'll write you up. Two write-ups, and you're gone."

"A write-up is a disciplinary action?"

"Of course it is."

"I see. Well. I shall be on my best behavior. You shan’t have a worry regarding my actions, I can assure you.” Especially after I get a dose of electricity. Morthisal smiled from ear to ear and bobbed his head. “I can sense you have a very busy day. May I depart your presence?”

"Why are you talking so…weirdly?"

Morthisal resisted the urge to talk to this woman as if she were a child and instead offered a half smile. "Good woman, do you know the trauma I have been through in the past few days? No. No, you do not. Now, I should depart. As I understand it, our time away from our desks is measured. Is your time similarly accounted for?"

For once Jill appeared to be at a loss for words. She finally waved her hand dismissively and said, "Whatever. Go."

Morthisal returned to his desk, opened a browser, and got to work "googling that shit" regarding one Yvette Sterling.

"My goodness," Morthisal whispered as he read about Yvette Sterling's immense wealth and power.

Next, he looked up human resources. Morthisal leaned back in his chair. It was similar to a title bestowed upon those who oversee the acquisition and disposal of mortal vessels in his own realm, much like his own Chief Executioner, but with more paperwork and fewer ceremonial daggers.

Jill’s vigilant eyes, the company's cameras, and Yvette's strange resistance to his magic were significant obstacles, but not insurmountable. Keeping Jill appeased was crucial, at least until he figured out how to fully control or dispose of her—though the image of her plummeting from the building amused him, he knew it would need to be a last resort.

He needed to understand what shielded Yvette from his influence and, more importantly, how to use it to his advantage. This corporate labyrinth would become his new dominion. He smirked as he imagined towering over these humans, commanding respect and fear once more. For now, he would play his part, learn their ways, and bide his time until he could seize control.