Morthisal reached for his power. The threads lashed out across the courtyard. He had never attempted to control four people at once, but desperation drove him forward.

  The memory of Greg and Cody flashed through his mind, the two homeless men in Seattle who had tried to rob him. He'd wrapped threads around both their minds and commanded them to seek help, to get clean, to turn their lives around, intending to use them as minions at some point. That had been difficult with just two people. Four would test his limits.

  The first thread struck the photographer with the telephoto lens. His camera lowered immediately. The second thread caught the man who had been checking his phone. His arms dropped to his sides.

  Morthisal pushed harder. The third thread found its target. Another photographer stopped scanning and stood motionless.

  But the fourth man resisted. He clutched his head and stumbled backward.

  "Get in your cars," Morthisal commanded the three under his control. "Leave this place. Vincent was not here. He is not here. He will never be here. Go look elsewhere. If you spot Vincent anywhere in the future, you will forget his face immediately. You will mistake him for a tourist. Spread the word that you came to this motel hoping to see Vincent, but he was not here."

  The three men turned mechanically toward their vehicles. But his power wavered as the fourth photographer straightened up. The man vigorously shook his head.

  "What the hell?" the fourth man called out to his companions. "Who are you to tell us what to do?"

  Morthisal's hand dove into his pants pocket. He cranked his TENS machine as high as it would go. The needle points shot into him, and he gritted his teeth. The device was intended for use in relieving aches, pains, and muscle tension. It had settings that went from feeling like a peculiar thumping against the skin to needle points relentlessly driven into flesh. Electricity surged through him. Pain made his eyes water.

  He walked quickly to the resistant photographer and locked onto the man.

  "It is you!" the guy said, lifting his camera.

  With steady power flowing through him, Morthisal tightened the thread around the fourth man's mind. This time it held.

  The photographer looked at his friends in confusion, then went still. Morthisal gave him the same commands he'd given the others. The man nodded slowly and walked toward the remaining car.

  They began to climb into their vehicles. One pair took off immediately.

  Big Eddie had finished his beer and tossed the can aside. He headed toward Morthisal.

  "Everything okay over there, Vince?"

  "Everything is fine," Morthisal called back, though his voice carried strain from the effort.

  Luckily for him, the confrontation had lasted only seconds, even though it had felt like an hour.

  The fourth photographer paused at his car door. His head turned back toward Morthisal. "What are you doing to me? To us?"

  Morthisal reached deep into his reserves and lashed out one final time. The thread struck hard.

  The man blinked once and climbed into his car without another word.

  The vehicle pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared into traffic. Morthisal cursed himself for being careless about his appearance. He should have worn sunglasses, a hat, or something to disguise himself better.

  Big Eddie approached, slightly out of breath. His huge paunch swayed with each step.

  "What was all that about?"

  Morthisal thought quickly. "Paparazzi were looking for a movie star in hiding. They were in the wrong place."

  "Makes sense. Lots of actors hole up in places like this when they're between gigs. Not big actors. You wouldn't find an A-list celebrity here unless it were their corpse. Or trying to stay out of rehab." Big Eddie mopped his forehead with the back of his hand. "You handled that pretty smoothly, dude. Nice work." Eddie paused. "Although, maybe they could have taken pictures of us. Maybe flashed them around the rags. 'Course, without Kristol out here to shake her tail, they ain't really gotta reason to stay."

  Morthisal feigned laughter. "I simply told them they had made an error."

  "Yeah?" Big Eddie looked puzzled. "Seemed like they listened real good."

  "People respond to authority when it is properly applied."

  Big Eddie nodded slowly. "If you say so, man. You coming back to finish your beer?"

  "I believe I am done for the evening."

  "Cool. See you tomorrow."

  "Yes. Until then." Morthisal nodded.

  Morthisal climbed the stairs toward his room, but he had another destination in mind. He paused and leaned on the railing, trying to ignore the pain of four pads applying multiple stacks of needles to his back. When his power levels had been refreshed enough to handle one person, he turned and walked toward the room of the man who had called the paparazzi. It only took a moment to convince the man he needed to find another motel and never step foot in the Hollywood Hacendia again.

  Satisfied he had stopped the problem for now, he went to his room and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would bring new challenges. For now, he needed rest.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Morthisal dreamed of a festival in an underground location with buildings made of coppery material. It reeked of goodness and foul good-deeds being replicated around the space. Humans and strange hybrid, gleaming, metal-like dwarves served food. Orcs danced with no interest in killing the people around them.

  He woke with a start just before his door rattled in its frame as someone thunderously banged on the door.

  "Yo. Dude. Ready to run?"

  "What?" Morthisal croaked.

  The door banged again in the doorframe. "Vinnie. Hey, man. You in there?"

  Morthisal rubbed his eyes and looked around the cramped room. The smell of exhaust fumes lightly permeated the space. He realized there wasn't so much as a small coffee maker. Perhaps Jazz had some in the office.

  His deal with Kenadee came back to him. Morthisal flung the covers off and rose. He rubbed his eyes and scratched his butt. He'd gone to bed wearing his boxers and what he’d hoped was a clean shirt.

  Morthisal opened the door and stepped back. The sun slammed into the room. He squinted and raised his hand to shield his face from the brightness.

  Kenadee stood in the hallway, practically vibrating as he jogged in place. He wore fluorescent yellow running shorts that hurt to look at and a matching tank top that read "BEACH PLEASE" in hot pink letters. A neon green bandana covered his forehead, and his blonde hair stuck out from underneath in perfectly styled spikes.

  "Yo! You ready to get swole?" Kenadee bounced on his toes. "I hope you remembered we're gonna work out today!"

  His movements were so animated that Morthisal wondered if the man had consumed stimulants. Kenadee shook a bright purple shaker cup up and down. The contents sloshed and rattled inside.

  "This is gonna be awesome, bro. Totally Kenough!" He thrust the cup toward Morthisal. "Here, drink this. It's my special workout blend."

  Morthisal accepted the cup cautiously, hoping it was filled with coffee. "What does it contain? What is Kenough?"

  "Oh man, it's got everything you need. Protein powder - vanilla and chocolate mixed together. Creatine for those gains. Branch chain amino acids. A little caffeine to get your system going. Some B vitamins. Electrolytes. Coconut water for hydration. And a secret ingredient." Kenadee winked. "Pure Hollywood magic, baby. And don't even tell me you haven't seen the Barbie movie, bro. I'm pretty much just like Ken. They should have totally cast me for that role."

  "As you say." Morthisal shook his head.

  The cup felt cold in Morthisal's hands. He looked inside and found a beige liquid that resembled wet cement.

  "This will make me stronger?"

  "Absolutely. It's got like thirty grams of protein. That's gonna feed your muscles while we train. The caffeine will give you energy. The creatine helps with power. Trust me, dude. I've been perfecting this formula for years. You wanna drink one or two of these a day while you lift."

  Morthisal shook the contents and grumbled. "I need a moment to get dressed."

  "No problem! I'll be down at the pool running laps to warm up. Gotta get that cardio base going before we hit the real stuff." Kenadee handed him the drink and backed toward the stairs. "Don't take too long! The day's burning, and we got work to do!"

  Kenadee bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Morthisal closed the door and examined the so-called protein drink. He removed the lid and sniffed. The smell was wretched. Artificial vanilla mixed with something that resembled wet cardboard and disappointment.

  He took a small sip and immediately regretted it. The texture was gritty. Chunks of undissolved powder scraped against his teeth. The taste was aggressively sweet and yet somehow bitter at the same time. But if Kenadee spoke the truth, this vile concoction would help him get stronger faster. He'd drunk worse things in his life. What was a little drink like this, which possessed no alchemical properties, going to do to him?

  He forced himself to drink more of it. Each swallow required considerable willpower. The liquid coated his throat with a chalky residue that refused to wash away. He managed to consume most of the drink but had to stop twice to prevent himself from retching.

  He went into the bathroom and ran the water for a moment, then filled a glass, and tried to wash away the taste. It didn't work all that well.

  Morthisal changed into his Dark Lord Energy t-shirt and dug through his luggage until he found his Seattle Seahawks cap. The one Yvette had given him. From now on, he intended to keep his head low. His face already bore a few days' growth of stubble. Morthisal intended to allow a little more growth as part of his disguise. He also pulled on his gray sweatpants, the only exercise clothing he owned.

  He grabbed his room key and headed downstairs. True to his word, Kenadee jogged circles around the kidney-shaped pool. His bright yellow outfit made him visible from space.

  "There he is!" Kenadee called out as Morthisal appeared. "Ready to crush this workout? We're gonna start with a nice, easy run. Nothing too crazy for your first time. You gotta build up that base, bro. Rome wasn't built in a day, am I right? But today we lay the foundation!"

  Morthisal's stomach gurgled ominously as they set out from the motel. Kenadee had chosen a route that would take them through the neighborhood surrounding the Hollywood Hacienda. The streets were lined with aging apartment buildings and small businesses. Chain-link fences enclosed cracked parking lots where palm trees grew through gaps in the asphalt.

  They jogged past a laundromat where the morning sun streamed through grimy windows. A taco truck parked on the corner was already serving breakfast to construction workers in hard hats. The smell of grilling meat made Morthisal's stomach churn even more violently.

  "This route's perfect," Kenadee explained as they ran. "It's exactly five miles. Not too far for a beginner, but long enough to get that cardiovascular system fired up. We'll take it nice and slow today. Maybe twenty minutes total."

  "Did… you… say… five miles?" Morthisal asked between gasping breaths.

  "We can go longer if you're feeling frosty, bro."

  "No."

  Five minutes later, Morthisal's stomach performed another somersault. He sucked in breaths. Merely attempting to keep up was a struggle.

  They passed a row of small houses with barred windows and overgrown front yards. Graffiti covered a concrete wall that bordered a vacant lot. In the distance, the Hollywood Hills rose, dotted with impressive homes.

  "You know what I love about running?" Kenadee continued. "It's like meditation in motion. Really gets you in touch with your body. Speaking of which, I've got three auditions this week. Gonna have to make these early runs every morning."

  Every morning? Morthisal was sure he would not survive this first run. He should stop, take a breath, and attempt to recover somewhat. He needed water and possibly a bathroom. Morthisal tried to keep up, but his stomach stopped gurgling and started actively rebelling. His heart hammered against his ribs. Sweat poured down his face despite the early morning coolness.

  "How much caffeine was in that drink?" Morthisal gasped.

  "Oh, not much. Maybe like two hundred milligrams. Same as a strong cup of coffee. Plus some natural energy boosters. Green tea extract. Guarana. Yerba mate. All organic, all natural. All energy. It really synergizes with the protein isolates."

  Morthisal's vision blurred slightly.

  "The key to all this," Kenadee droned on, "is consistency. Show up every day. Put in the work. Trust the process. I've been doing this for like six years now, and I'm in the best shape of my life. Plus, all these casting directors are looking for authenticity now. They want real fitness, real passion, real dedication."

  They rounded a corner and passed a strip mall with a nail salon, a check-cashing place, and a store that sold nothing but phone cases. Traffic picked up as they hit a busier street.

  Morthisal managed another three minutes of this torture before his body finally rebelled completely. His stomach lurched violently. He stumbled to a stop, doubled over, and barely had time to turn toward a brick wall before the protein drink came back up.

  The vomit was somehow fluorescent purple and chunky.