“I’d like to think I can understand you,” John muttered, his voice echoing softly in the empty Ship. His fingers drummed against the cold metal of the console, tapping out a rhythm that only the void answered. “But we both know that’s a damn lie.”

  The Ship remained silent, as always. No hum of acknowledgment, no flicker of lights—just the ever-present, indifferent stillness. John leaned forward, exhaling a slow breath laced with smoke as he cracked his knuckles one by one. The sound barely registered over the nagging frustration gnawing at his patience.

  “But you follow some kind of logic, don’t you?” His eyes flicked over the controls, the maze of levers, switches, and glowing sigils spread before him like the inner workings of some ancient, incomprehensible god. “I’ve got a vague idea of what you do,” he admitted, his lips twisting in a grimace. “Thanks to you forcing all those weird memories into my skull.”

  No response. Of course not.

  John exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he ruffled his already-messy hair. “I’m losing my mind.” He chuckled, the sound dry, bitter. “Why the hell am I talking to you?” His gaze dropped to his Terminal, the screen’s cold glow illuminating his face in the dimly lit cockpit.

  No more aimless guessing. He needed information. A direction.

  “Alright, let’s see if the HiddenNet has anything on Mana Emulators…” His fingers danced across the screen, searching. No results. Nothing. His eye twitched. “Nothing?” He clicked his tongue, irritation prickling up his spine. “Okay, what about making something bigger on the inside?”

  A few links popped up. He skimmed the headlines. Patent trolls suing over magical spatial distortion, ridiculous conspiracy theories about government warehouses— John squinted at a forum post, clicking on it. A 200-page thesis immediately began downloading.

  His expression soured. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  Two hours later.

  John sat hunched over, his fingers gripping the edges of his Terminal like he wanted to snap it in half. His eyes burned from scanning dense formulas and theoretical nonsense that may as well have been written in an alien language.

  And the conclusion?

  "Not likely."

  His hand twitched. The urge to hurl his Terminal at the nearest wall nearly won out.

  “What was the point of your thesis then?!” he shouted at the screen, his voice bouncing off the metal walls of the cockpit. His own echo mocked him. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly through his nose. “Calm down. Keep going.” Clicking through a few more links, his last sliver of patience disintegrated as another 150-page research paper began downloading.

  John closed his eyes. Counted to three. “No. Fuck this.” He shut the Terminal with a sharp snap.

  It was a dead end. All of it.

  Sinking back into the chair, he dragged a hand down his face. "Fine. Let’s assume the whole ‘bigger on the inside’ thing isn’t normal. Even for the Hidden World." His nails tapped against the armrest. “I need a new angle.” His lips pressed into a thin line before murmuring, almost testing the words on his tongue, “Authorities.”

  The instant he said it, a shadow of paranoia slithered up his spine. His shoulders stiffened.

  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Alright,” he whispered, opening a new tab. “Last time, I only checked one link. Let’s see what else there is.” He skimmed through the results, opening way too many tabs, his Terminal struggling under the strain. The loading wheel spun endlessly, the device groaning in protest.

  One hour passed.

  John slammed the Terminal down, groaning as he rubbed his temples. “How many ‘Is my cousin secretly hiding an Authority?’ posts must I read before my brain melts?”

  The HiddenNet was a mess. Half the threads were speculation, the other half were pure bullshit. And then there were the…other things. John’s eye twitched as he skimmed through one particularly unhinged thread. ‘The Authority of Love: How One Kiss Can Break Reality (NSFW) ( Fanfiction of the Year).’

  He immediately regretted reading the title. “I need to bleach my eyes.” Yet, despite the sea of bad fanfiction and meme threads, one thing stood out: The way people talked with each other. Like they were just…people. With their own lives, worries, even jokes.

  It made them feel uncomfortably human.

  John's smirk faded. “The fishmen from Ninth Street had families, didn’t they?” A sickly feeling curled in his stomach. He had pulled the trigger without hesitation in that parking lot. Had stood in the wreckage of a blown-out warehouse, watching embers die. Had killed without blinking. No guilt. No second thoughts. But now, for some reason, the thought lingered. His grip tightened on the Terminal. “No. No room for sentimentality. They tried to kill me. Hell, they succeeded. Twice.” His chest felt tight. Flashes of Chase’s corpse flickered behind his eyes—alongside his own, mangled, broken body.

  John clenched his jaw. “I did what I had to do,” he muttered, forcing the words through gritted teeth. He sucked in a slow breath, exhaled.

  Still. That didn’t help him.

  “Authorities are a bust. No one knows anything aside from them being weird powers.” His fingers tapped impatiently against the console. “I need real answers.”

  His gaze darkened. “I’ll have to ask Chase.” An Enforcer family like his had to have something tucked away. John then drummed his fingers against the console, eyes flicking between the Ship’s map and the glowing screen of his Terminal. "Now—what about the worlds in the Bubble?" he muttered, rubbing his chin. "What are they, and how do you even get to them?"

  He opened the first link. The website, true to HiddenNet fashion, looked like it had been cobbled together in the early 2000s and never updated since. The background was a hideous, uniform blue, overlaid with badly stretched images of swirling portals. Every button played a pixelated animation when clicked—a tiny, rotating portal effect that made the page feel like something out of a forgotten web forum. "These HiddenNet sites are always horrendous," John chuckled, scanning the homepage.

  Then his amusement faded. His gaze locked onto the first paragraph.

  Five Worlds System.

  His smile disappeared as his eyes flicked to the Ship’s map. Seven worlds bobbed inside the Bubble, softly pulsing like distant stars. "Five?" he muttered, frowning. "They’re missing two." He leaned closer, scrolling further. "Is that a mistake… or intentional?"

  The list began with Earth. He clicked on the entry, and high-definition photos loaded—crystal-clear images of sprawling cities, untouched forests, and vast, gleaming oceans. A quiet pride stirred in his chest.

  Earth: the central hub of the Bubble. All known connections to other worlds pass through it, along with the Bazaar.

  John tilted his head. "So the Bazaar isn’t linked to the other worlds directly?" He shrugged and moved on. A bullet-point list outlined dangers, climate conditions, and a "special considerations" section containing only a single, ominous hyperlink: Masquerade.

  "

  I know what that is," he sighed, pushing past it. He clicked on the next world. The title loaded first.

  Faerie.

  The images that followed were… surreal. Vast landscapes of impossible colors. Glowing fungi the size of houses. A horizon split between a burning desert and a frozen jungle, both somehow existing side by side. "Even weirder from this angle," John muttered, squinting at an image of what looked like rivers of molten gold flowing beneath a sky riddled with three separate moons. He scanned the description.

  Faerie is the home of the Fae, a world where natural laws are distorted by magic. Climates shift unpredictably, and an environment that appears safe can turn into a death trap within moments. Only known source of most Mana-Touched Materials. Ruling Fae Courts are not fully integrated within the Enforcer System and have increased autonomy.

  "Yeah, that matches," he muttered, recalling images displayed earlier by the Ship’s map. Then he reached the section marked Hazards.

  Variable.

  "...That’s comforting," John muttered, shaking his head before scrolling to the next world.

  Verdanthia – The Endless Wilds.

  The images loaded slowly, revealing sprawling green forests stretching beyond the horizon, cut only by glimmering rivers and rolling plains. Cities were rare, hidden beneath the dense canopy or rising as carved fortresses among towering cliffs.

  Population centers are sparse, with most settlements forming around enchanted groves. Known for its vast biodiversity and unique flora, including plants vital for enchantments.

  John exhaled. "Doesn’t sound too useful for me… except—" His eyes flicked to the hazard warnings.

  A single word, written in bright red:

  DANGEROUS.

  He swallowed. "What could possibly be considered dangerous for the people of the Hidden World?" He recalled the spells he had seen—had felt—ones that had ended his life in previous timelines. He shuddered, phantom pain flaring across his legs before fading. He shook it off. Next world.

  Aetheris – The World of the Elves.

  The first image made him pause.

  Golden skies, streaked with shimmering auroras. Grand cities stretched across entire landmasses, their structures an intricate blend of marble, crystal, and metal that gleamed as if infused with light itself. "Looks like something out of a dream," John murmured.

  Aetheris is known for its colossal city-states, each the size of a small country. Due to its strict immigration policies, access is heavily restricted.

  John smirked as he looked around the Ship’s interior. "Doesn’t bother me much." He scrolled down, looking for something concrete. Anything useful.

  Special resources: ???

  "...What?" He frowned. That was it? No elaboration? No hints?

  John clicked his tongue and moved on.

  Duskveil.

  The images were bleak.

  Utilitarian cities—gray, angular structures standing in the middle of an endless red desert. No embellishments. No beauty. Just functionality.

  Duskveil is primarily an industrial world, known for its vast deposits of mundane but essential materials.

  John nearly skipped the hazard section—until his eyes caught a strange phrase.

  Predators are rare…

  He exhaled in relief—until he read the next part.

  …but the few aggressive species that do exist live underground.

  John blinked. "...That’s somehow worse." He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "That’s all five."

  He glanced up from his Terminal, eyes drifting to the Ship’s map. Seven colored dots glowed softly within the Bubble. "But that’s not all of them," he murmured. His fingers tightened around the edge of the console. "Two are missing. Are they hidden? Classified? Or simply forgotten?” John leaned forward, his fingers gliding over the console as the Ship’s map displayed the seven drifting worlds inside the Bubble. Each pulsed with a soft glow, like embers suspended in the void. “Wouldn’t surprise me with how the Enforcers are,” he muttered, smirking. “So, what are these mysterious places called?”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He zoomed in on each dot, watching as their names flickered into view in the corner of the screen. “Not that one… not that—” His voice trailed off as a new map unfolded before him.

  The world was dead. A vast, desolate plain stretched across the screen, marred by jagged rocks, deep craters, and the skeletal remains of ruins half-swallowed by the blackened earth. No life, no movement—just a landscape frozen in silent devastation. The soil was a deep, lightless void, devoid of even the barest hint of color. The only remnants of vegetation were twisted husks of trees, long since withered into brittle, rotting shadows of their former selves. John’s breath hitched. A strange chill ran down his spine, prickling at the base of his skull. It wasn’t just the look of the place—it was the feeling that crept through the screen, as though something unseen and hungry lurked just beyond his sight, waiting for him to stare too long.

  “What happened here…?” His voice barely registered in his own ears. The name flickered into existence at the top of the display.

  Oblivion.

  “How fitting.” His pulse quickened as his cursor drifted over the terrain, past shattered buildings and gaping sinkholes, until it stopped over a massive chasm. The screen struggled to render its depths, the bottom swallowed in darkness. The cratered land around it looked like the aftermath of a war—no, a cataclysm. “This isn’t natural.” His voice felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. “Too many ruins. Too many craters.” His mind conjured images of No Man’s Land, those haunting photographs of World War One—blasted earth, skeletal remains of buildings, the landscape scarred beyond recognition. “Was there a war here? Some kind of large-scale magical battle?”

  He exhaled sharply, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “I’ll look into it later,” he muttered, though something deep inside him whispered that the HiddenNet wouldn’t have answers. His cursor drifted toward the final world. As soon as he selected it, the screen flickered. A burst of static crept in at the edges, twisting and writhing like ink spreading through water. The name didn’t appear. Instead, the space where it should have been displayed garbled symbols—characters shifting every few seconds, never settling into something readable.

  John stiffened. “What… the hell?”

  The world itself was wrong. There were no cities, no mountains, no forests—only vast, geometric plates stretching endlessly in every direction, each one the size of a city block. Their smooth, polished surfaces reflected nothing, absorbing light rather than casting shadows. John’s throat went dry. Something deep and primal inside him recoiled. A pressure settled against his skull, not pain exactly, but something foreign. Alien. As if the act of looking at this place was not allowed. He swallowed, his hand hovering over the controls.

  Then, the strangest thing of all—his own mind whispered to him, urging him to stop.

  Stop looking. Close the screen. Forget.

  John’s breath came faster. “T-That’s enough of that,” he muttered, forcing his fingers to switch the map back to Earth. The moment the strange world vanished, the pressure in his head disappeared. His chest loosened, his pulse slowed, and the oppressive, lingering dread faded—not like something dissipating naturally, but like something letting go of him. His fingers clenched into a fist before he forced them to relax. “That reminds me of something.” His eyes flicked to the Ship’s console. “Are you… related to that place?” he asked slowly. The Ship remained silent. Not that he expected an answer.

  John sighed, rubbing his temples. “Why do I even bother?”

  At least now he knew a little more about the Hidden World. Even if it felt like he’d only just scratched the surface. He leaned back, exhaling loudly. Images of the past flashed through his mind—memories of a disastrous timeline where things had gone very, very wrong. His fingers twitched as he recalled the sight of the warehouse roof rocketing upward like a makeshift spaceship, a testament to a desperate plan gone slightly off-course. “Don’t know if that was the best solution,” he muttered, half-smirking.

  Then—

  His Terminal buzzed. John snapped out of his thoughts, already reaching for it.

  Chase: I need a drink.

  Chase: A lot of them.

  Thomas: Was it that bad?

  Chase: You have no idea.

  Chase: Meet me at the Hot Spot. Five minutes—or five seconds. Whatever. I’m waiting for you.

  Thomas: On it.

  John exhaled through his nose, reading the messages as he punched in the coordinates for the Hot Spot. The beige elevator cabin shimmered into place on the familiar sidewalk. “Going out for drinks, huh?” he muttered. The words felt strange in his mouth. Feels so weird, with everything that happened. His fists clenched. His eyes flicked down to the Spell Glove and the modified cartridge inside it—untouched, unused. Maybe it’s for the best. His mind replayed the reality-warping fireball his first spell had created. It wasn’t normal magic—it bent the world rather than obeying its rules. Something like that wouldn’t stay a secret forever. “I’ll deal with it when the time comes,” he murmured, forcing a small, resigned smile before stepping through the elevator doors.

  The instant he did, sound hit him. Laughter, voices, the shuffle of feet, the occasional clink of glassware. A deep hum of city life, wrapped in the neon glow of the Hot Spot’s weathered sign. The faded red and yellow light blended with the streetlamps, giving the whole place an oddly warm atmosphere, despite the electric buzz in the air. People came and went from the diner, half-hidden by shifting layers of Glamour. To John’s eyes, the illusion shimmered like a bright beacon. He still didn’t know why he could see through it so easily.

  Another problem for later. His gaze landed on Chase. The werewolf leaned against the wall, arms crossed, dressed down in a sports jacket and jeans instead of his usual armor. The sight was oddly nostalgic, though John wasn’t sure why. Chase lifted a hand in a lazy wave. “Took you long enough.” He yawned, then smirked.

  John barely had time to open his mouth before Chase pulled out a glass bead.

  John immediately took a step back. “Don’t you dare.”

  Chase’s grin widened as he tossed the bead up and caught it again. “C’mon. What’s a little nausea between friends?”

  John scowled. “Why do you people insist on using something so awful? You’d think with all the magic in the Hidden World, someone would’ve come up with a better way to travel.”

  Chase chuckled, rolling the bead between his fingers. “Believe it or not, it used to be worse. At least, that’s what the old timers say.”

  “Great.” John smirked. “So the Hidden World has its own version of ‘back in my day, we had to walk uphill both ways’?”

  Chase snorted. “Pretty much.”

  His expression softened as he glanced up at the sky. “Anyway. Thanks for coming. I needed to do something else tonight.”

  John studied him for a moment. The usual sharpness in Chase’s eyes had dulled, his shoulders held a little lower than usual.

  “I take it the family reunion didn’t go well,” John said.

  Chase let out a dry chuckle. “That’s… one way to put it.”

  John tilted his head. “How bad?”

  “Well.” Chase pushed off the wall and ran a hand through his hair. “We’re alive. That’s what matters.”

  There was something heavy in those words.

  John swallowed. His mind flashed back to the previous timeline—where a beam of searing magma had wiped out their entire squad in seconds. He forced down the memory.

  “Right,” he muttered. “And, uh, nothing too serious, I hope?”

  Chase exhaled. “We did complete the mission.” A pause. “Even if we went a bit overboard.”

  John lifted an eyebrow. “We?”

  Chase gave him a flat look. “Don’t play innocent. The plan was your idea. We also stole from the Pack’s armory. That’s not something they take lightly. Especially since we, you know, smuggled out all those explosives.”

  “…Right.”

  “With how tense things are with the Scalebound, we can’t—” Chase cut himself off, shaking his head. His posture eased slightly. “—But I won’t bore you with the details.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Besides, we’re here to drink, not sulk.”

  John relaxed. “Now you’re talking,” he said, smirking.

  Chase let out a small laugh. “Never thought I’d take you to a bar in the Bazaar, but here we are.”

  “You’re paying.”

  Chase groaned but waved him toward the entrance. The moment they stepped inside, John blinked. The Hot Spot had always been busy, but tonight, it was packed. The tunnel leading into the Bazaar, usually cool and dimly lit, roared with noise. People filled every corner—mages, supernaturals, all wrapped in Glamour, their true forms barely veiled. Their voices overlapped in a chaotic din, bouncing off the stone walls until it became an indecipherable storm of conversations and laughter. John had never seen this place this crowded before. He leaned closer to Chase. “Never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss the creepy empty tunnel.”

  Chase huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. It’s Friday night. Everyone’s got business here.”

  A group of dwarves staggered past, their raucous laughter bouncing off the tunnel walls. The thick scent of beer clung to them like an aura, mingling with the damp underground air. One slapped another on the back so hard that the impact echoed, sending a ripple of amusement through John and Chase. Their shared glance said everything—this place, normally quiet and half-abandoned, was now alive.

  “It’s weird seeing it this packed,” John muttered, sidestepping as a cluster of tall, serious-looking mix of humans and lizards strode past. Their scaly spots glistened like polished stone, shimmered under the dim tunnel lights. The leader—a striking woman, draped in a lacy black dress with tiny dragon motifs woven into the fabric—moved with an effortless, almost predatory grace.

  Then her amber eyes locked onto John.

  A second stretched into eternity.

  Her dress clung to her voluptuous curves, the deep black a perfect contrast to her pale skin and the patches of blood-red scales near her collarbone, her ears and her eyes. At nearly six foot five, she already towered over most, but the sharp heels of her boots added an extra layer of dominance. Her lips curled into a slow, knowing grin as she raked her gaze over him—studying him like a hunter sizing up prey as her braided blond hair fluttered.

  John's breath hitched. Something about her was… off. Not just in the way a dangerous predator sets every nerve on edge, but something deeper. Something familiar.

  A giggle rippled through her companions—until they spotted Chase. His stance shifted, muscles tensing beneath his jacket, fists clenched at his sides like a coiled spring ready to snap.

  “Wolfheart.” The woman’s voice was silk stretched over steel as she folded her arms, lifting her chest slightly. A calculated move. Her breasts jiggled, barely restrained by the dress’s plunging neckline.

  “Scalebound,” Chase spat, his tone thick with distaste.

  Her grin widened, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. “I see you’ve picked up a new pet.” She turned back to John, eyes gleaming with something sharp. “He doesn’t reek of wet dog. Have your kind finally discovered what a shower is, or have you just resorted to outsourcing?”

  John didn’t need to see Chase’s face to feel his irritation.

  “Do you molt that attitude along with your skin, or is it permanent?” Chase shot back smoothly.

  A sharp hiss escaped her lips. Her reptilian tail slapped against the ground in agitation, the impact making a sharp crack against the stone floor.

  “Chase,” she said, voice dropping an octave.

  “Ziraya,” he replied flatly. The weight of long-standing hatred pressed between them.

  She exhaled sharply through her thin nose. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why would I answer a lizard’s hissing?” Chase countered. “This is neutral ground. Or have the Scalebound gotten so arrogant they think they can ignore the Bazaar Treaty?”

  Ziraya’s smirk turned razor-sharp. “Careful, Wolfheart. We wouldn’t want things to get… messy.”

  Chase growled, and John swore he felt a pulse of energy coil beneath his friend’s stance—his instincts winding up for a fight.

  Ziraya just smiled, but then her eyes flicked back to John. She studied him again, slower this time. And then— her expression faltered.

  It lasted less than a heartbeat.

  Her pupils dilated, chest rising and falling with the barest hitch in breath. Her tail twitched in a way that seemed almost… uncertain.

  John felt it too.

  A pull.

  Something unseen yet tangible, threading between them. Something primal. Ancient. Unshakable.

  The Ship’s hum vibrated in his ears.

  John stiffened.

  “I—You said your name was Ziraya, right?” John’s voice came out steadier than he expected, though his mind was reeling.

  Ziraya’s confident smirk flickered, something unreadable flashing across her expression. “…It is.”

  Her amber gaze met his, and for a split second—just a split second—her fingers twitched. A subtle, involuntary movement.

  Something deep within her stirred.

  A pulse in her chest. A tightening in her stomach.

  Her tail stilled, rigid behind her as she fought to keep her face neutral. She didn’t understand it either. And that infuriated her.

  John didn’t break eye contact.

  Neither did she.

  Chase, meanwhile, was staring at them like they’d both grown extra limbs. “The fuck is going on?” he muttered under his breath, glancing between them.

  Then, without warning, John’s Terminal vibrated. So did Ziraya’s. They both flicked their gazes down.

  New Contact Added.

  John’s blood ran cold. Ziraya sucked in a sharp breath, looking at him with real, genuine confusion.

  “…Ma’am, we have to go.” One of her companions hesitantly tugged at her arm.

  For the first time, she didn’t immediately respond. Then, with a small shake of her head, she stuffed her Terminal into her pocket, turned on her heel, and strode off without another word.

  John’s gaze followed her, tracking the sway of her wide hips—until a sharp slap landed on his shoulder.

  “Dude.” Chase’s voice was flat, but the concern in it was impossible to miss. “What the fuck was that?”

  John opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. “I… I have no idea.” His own voice sounded distant, like he wasn’t even speaking. “It felt… I don’t know, familiar somehow?”

  Chase exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “John. Please tell me you didn’t just fall in love with a dragon-blooded chick. Especially a Scalebound.”

  John snapped out of it just long enough to flip him off. “Fuck off. It wasn’t like that.”

  Chase squinted at him. “Sure looked like it.”

  John frowned, glancing toward the tunnel’s exit where Ziraya had vanished. The strange weight in his chest hadn’t faded.

  “…It has to be something else,” he muttered.

  A beat of silence. Then, almost to himself, he added—

  “Right? I can’t be into lizard women.”

  Chase folded his arms, his blue eyes narrowing as he leaned in, studying John’s face like a jeweler inspecting a questionable gem.

  "Hold still," he muttered. His gaze flicked to John’s pupils, scanning for something unseen.

  John, unimpressed, let out an exaggerated sigh. “What now?”

  Chase grunted. "No obvious signs of Coercion," he announced, finally stepping back. A muscle in his jaw relaxed, but not entirely. "That’s good. If the Scalebound made deals with the Fae Courts, then—"

  John lifted a brow. "Wait. What’s Coercion?"

  Chase hesitated. "It’s, uh—" He scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking like a kid caught bullshitting his way through a test. "The specifics are kinda beyond me."

  John crossed his arms. "Figures."

  Chase shot him a flat look before continuing, "But the gist? It’s a type of fae magic that doesn’t exactly control someone—more like… compels them."

  "So, mind control," John said.

  Chase shook his head. "Not really. Mind control means total domination. Coercion’s more like—" He waved a hand, searching for the words. "Subtle nudges. A push in a certain direction. You might think it’s your idea, but…"

  John frowned, his fingers unconsciously curling. "Great. So, magical peer pressure."

  "Yeah, but with extra steps."

  John's expression darkened as he flexed his hands, as if feeling for something invisible in his skin. "I wonder if something like Coercion would last between resets," he murmured under his breath.

  Chase tilted his head. "What?"

  "Nothing," John said quickly, before flashing a dry smirk. "So, how do I defend against this not-mind-control? Wear a tinfoil hat?"

  Chase snorted. "Not exactly. First of all, Coercion’s contact-based—only works if the fae actually touches you. And even then, it depends on your affinity with the caster, your mental strength, and a bunch of other crap I can’t remember."

  John's smirk widened. "Something tells me you weren’t the most studious."

  "Fuck off." Chase barked a laugh. "I don’t need any of that nonsense to do my job."

  John chuckled, his attention shifting to the swirling portal ahead, a shimmering tear in reality that pulsed like a heartbeat. On the other side, the Bazaar waited—a maze of lights, strange smells, and overpriced drinks.

  "So, how about those drinks?" he said, stretching his arms over his head. "I should warn you, though—I’m not paying for anything."

  Chase let out a dramatic groan. "Why am I even friends with you?"

  "Because you have bad taste," John said cheerfully, stepping through the portal.

  Chase laughed as he followed, the weirdness of their encounter temporarily drowned out by the promise of strong liquor and questionable life choices.