When he went to the big city with his father, it had been an adventure. But even then, the fantasy he held in his young imagination couldn't hold up to the harsh reality of the concrete kingdom of glass and steel. And the passage of time has not improved the experience.
Like stepping into an ant hive with a million workers, each one trapped in their own personal hamster wheel of doom -that's modern New York for you. The skyscrapers loomed like ancient monoliths dedicated to some forgotten capitalism deity, their glass surfaces reflecting distorted versions of reality that somehow felt less honest than the original.
The density of humanity was overwhelming. In the Otherworld, cities had been sprawling, yes -but not like this. There had been variety, species beyond counting, languages and cultures layered like sediment over thousands of years. He had walked through kingdoms where humans were only one piece of the puzzle. Here? They were everything.
And somehow, that made him feel like the outsider. Which was ironic, considering he'd spent years among creatures who'd view most humans as merely curious distractions.
"Humans, humans everywhere, and not a drop of magic to drink," Jack muttered to himself, feeling the irony of being an interdimensional traveler who somehow felt like the fish out of water. The Otherworld had spoiled him with its rainbow menagerie of sentient creatures -pixies that could solve magical equations, talking reptiles with PhDs in theoretical sorcery, and entities made of pure consciousness that played the cosmic equivalent of fantasy football with entire solar systems.
Jack moved through the sidewalk crowds with practiced ease, navigating the flow of bodies like a veteran of a battlefield. Which he was -several, actually, though none they'd find in history books. He was used to watching. To seeing. He counted the exits before he entered, clocked who was armed and who wasn't, noted the patterns in the security rotation.
His eyes categorized the pedestrians with military precision -businessman with concealed anxiety and unconcealed hemorrhoids; a tourist family from Ohio with matching fanny packs, one kid already plotting his future therapy sessions; a corporate lawyer who'd sold her soul so long ago she'd forgotten her ideals.
Jack's brain filtered threat assessments automatically, like a bizarre superpower nobody would ever make a Marvel movie about: The Uncanny Ability to Spot the Guy Most Likely to Start Some Shit.
Old habits. The kind that didn't go away, even after -years? He wasn’t sure- away from active conflict. They were the kind of habits that had kept him alive when everything else wanted him dead. He approached the rotating glass doors, watching others move through before stepping in seamlessly. It was fluid, mechanical, effortless. But the moment he was inside, he knew he stood out. Not in an obvious way. It was subtle. His presence. He didn't fidget. He didn't hesitate. He moved with intent.
Not the awkward penguin-waddle of everyday citizens caught in the corporate machine, but the deliberate prowl of someone who'd once hunted creatures with teeth the size of steak knives and egos to match. And only trained operatives did that. Or, as Raya, his mentor, might have put it: "Move like you belong without demanding attention."
Raya, with her emerald eyes that could see into your soul and her tendency to speak in fortune cookie wisdom that somehow always proved terrifyingly accurate three days later. She'd taught him how to become invisible through perfect visibility -a paradox that had saved his life more times than he cared to remember.
He saw the way the security at the edges of the lobby took note. How their posture shifted slightly, how their hands hovered just a little closer to their radios. And their guns. Jack smirked. They were good. Not good enough to spot what he was. But good enough to know something was off.
You guys sensing disturbances in the Force? he thought, amused at how their animal brains were setting off alarms while their conscious minds were still trying to define the problem. In the Otherworld, he'd been hunted by creatures that could smell your intentions before you even had them. These guys were playing checkers while he'd been schooled in multidimensional chess with pieces that occasionally ate each other.
He made his way to the reception desk, where a bottle-blonde beauty of a woman with a corporate smile and sharp brown eyes greeted him. She wore a smart suit, the kind that screamed polished professionalism -but the moment she looked at him, her demeanor shifted.
Her smile was the practiced perfection of someone who'd mastered the art of customer service theater -all teeth and no warmth, like a shark in lipstick. Her nails tapped against the keyboard with metronomic precision, each click a tiny declaration of her efficiency in the grand corporate ecosystem.
For a split second, her expression flickered. Jack didn't miss it. Years dealing with creatures who could mask their true form had taught him to read the tiniest tells.
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The subtle widening of pupils, the momentary freeze of facial muscles, the infinitesimal hitch in breathing -all adding up to the universal expression of "Holy shit, something doesn't compute!" He'd once negotiated with entities that could rearrange their facial features at will, making poker faces literally impossible to read. This woman's face might as well have been a Broadway marquee announcing, "CONFUSION NOW PLAYING!"
"How may I help-" she started, then faltered, blinking as she looked at him again. It was in the second glance that everything clicked for her. Recognition. Confusion. She glanced down at her display -subtly, but not subtly enough. Jack caught the way her eyes darted over the screen, the slight widening as she processed something. The name. The face. She glanced back up. He was supposed to be in a meeting. Because, in their eyes, he was Jacob.
The cosmic joke wasn't lost on him. How many times in the Otherworld had he been mistaken for something he wasn't? The humans' champion, the fae's pet, the demon's puzzle, the god's entertainment. And now here, in his own world, the ultimate case of mistaken identity -being confused with himself, or rather, the version of himself that had taken over his life like some bizarre identity thief with a genetic advantage.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitation clear. She cleared her throat, recovering quickly. "Sir, I'm so sorry," she said smoothly, shifting into damage control mode. "Did you get lost? Are you-?" She didn't finish the sentence. Jack watched her scan the display again, saw the moment she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with what she knew. He smiled.
A lazy, slow-building grin, like he was enjoying an inside joke only he knew. He leaned forward on the high counter, glancing down at her name tag. Mindy. "Hi, Mindy," he said, his voice warm and easy.
His voice carried the smooth cadence of someone who'd once talked a sentient hurricane into changing direction -honey-warm with hidden steel underneath, the kind of voice that made promises your logical brain knew were impossible but your heart desperately wanted to believe.
She flushed. A small, involuntary reaction. Not just attraction -there was a flavor of uncertainty. Something about him made it difficult to look away. Charisma was a weapon. And Jack wielded it well. In the Otherworld, your words could carry power if you knew the right inflections.
Words had been literal weapons there. The right syllable could freeze blood, the proper intonation could stop hearts. Jack had learned linguistic martial arts from beings who'd been perfecting the art since before humans invented fire. He'd once made a minor deity burst into tears just by whispering a perfectly constructed sentence directly into its cosmic ear.
Mindy shifted in her seat, recovering with an overly professional smile. Her hands moved over the keyboard, her posture just a little too stiff. Jack didn't call her out on it. He just waited.
The art of the pause -another lesson from the Otherworld, where some creatures lived their entire lives in the spaces between moments. Time wasn't always linear there; sometimes it looped, sometimes it danced, sometimes it just sat down and had a cigarette break. Jack had learned to weaponize silence, to let it expand and contract like a living thing, to let it do the work for him.
"I'm hoping you can help me." Mindy nodded automatically, her body unconsciously mirroring his movements. Every slight tilt of his head, every subtle nod -she followed. Perfect.
Like a master puppeteer with invisible strings, each minute adjustment of his posture creating a sympathetic echo in her own body. The human brain was hardwired for mimicry, a leftover evolutionary trait from when we needed to instantly bond with our tribe to survive the saber-tooth tigers lurking in the darkness. Modern corporate training was no match for primordial neurological coding.
It was an old trick, one he'd perfected in the Otherworld. Get in sync with someone, guide the rhythm of the conversation, and they'd follow your lead without realizing it. It was a psychological technique -a way of establishing control without force. Even without his abilities, his skills and training remained. Lessons learned from his Lord. Hard-earned wisdom from con artists, spies, and swordsmen alike.
His Lord -a person of such complex morality that human ethical systems seemed like Fisher-Price toys in comparison. A man that could be benevolently cruel and mercilessly kind, often in the same moment, teaching Jack that power was never about brute force but about understanding the intricate web of desires, fears, and contradictions that made up any sentient mind. Those lessons were integral to his survival as a dungeon diver.
And so he directed the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go. "I was hoping you could help me find my…" He let the sentence trail off, as if he were carefully considering his words. Presentation was everything. What was the best angle here?
His mind raced through scenarios like a Netflix algorithm gone wild, each possibility branching into countless outcomes, probabilities shifting with each microsecond of Mindy's reactions.
Long-lost twin? Too soap opera. He had watched enough bad daytime television with his parents as a kid to know that nothing killed credibility faster than an over-the-top twist. And if they dug even slightly into the records, that would fall apart quickly. Secret illegitimate sibling? Possible, but that would imply scandal, and Jacob wouldn't allow anyone to think he had skeletons in his closet. No, something simpler. Something that made people relax because it made sense.
The simplest lie always worked best -like narrative Occam's razor, cutting through complexity with the clean edge of plausibility. Humans were pattern-recognition machines desperate to make sense of chaos; give them something that slots neatly into their understanding of the world, and they'll practically convince themselves.
"...my cousin. Jacob. The owner of the company." He saw the shift instantly. The tension in Mindy's shoulders released. The stiff, businesslike posture she had taken on melted just enough for her to be human again. She'd been nervous, uncertain, but now? Now, she had context. Something familiar to latch onto.
Relief flooded her features like someone had finally provided the missing puzzle piece in a brain-teaser that had been driving her mad. The cognitive dissonance of seeing the same face in two places resolved itself with the magical explanation of "family resemblance," that universal hand-wave that explains everything from genetic rarities to ancestral curses.
"Yes, yes, of course," she said quickly, eager to correct her mistake. "I'll send a message right away." She flicked her fingers toward the security guards standing nearby -a lazy, dismissive wave, the kind that said she wasn't really calling for trouble, just formality. But the moment the guards looked at Jack, they hesitated. They had started forward, all squared shoulders and neutral professionalism, but now? Now, they were re-evaluating.
- Followers go up? Boom, bonus chapter.
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- Reviews? Cue the confetti -bonus chapter and a shoutout, because I care.
- Ratings go up? You guessed it -bonus chapter. (And I might even crack a smile. Maybe.)