I’m John. John-from-IT. That’s how I introduce myself.

I used to be a superhero. Figuratively speaking.

Locked out of your email? I’m right here. Keyboard on fire? I’ll give that a go. Accidentally deleted that report that’s due this afternoon because you’re a fucking moron? You’re gonna love me.

What’s that, Karen-from-Accounting? That virus is back and you need me to come sort you out again? What a mystery. I’ll be there in a jiffy.

The praise never lasted long but it was real. People loved it when I stopped their day from being utterly and irredeemably shit.

Then the wizards came.

They called them ‘magicians’ at first. On the news. I always called them wizards.

Magicians are entertainers. They use psychology and sleight-of-hand and machines to dazzle an audience.

These guys use magic.

Henry-from-HR is one of them.

He says he comes from the Kingdom of Balvanor. He was a knight under King Osolo, but fled the Kingdom when the capital collapsed under siege from the Great Empire. Henry went on a voyage around his world, sailed with pirates, ran with rogues, made allies of Elves and Orcs, Giants and Dwarves, Goblins and Gremlins, Angels, Demons and Merfolk, learned to wield mystical powers he had never dreamed could be real, and then brought a mighty military menagerie to retake the city of his birth and end the dominion of the Empire.

Now Henry works in HR.

He and some other sorcerer folk were experimenting with the arcane. They accidentally created a spatial rift, fell into it and had to reacclimatise to living in Slough in 2019.

Unfortunately, his mind-magic abilities make him extremely empathetic. If you’re having a problem, he knows it before you tell him. And he can work out exactly what to do about it. And if it’s too much to solve, he can just pzaz you so you’re not upset anymore.

Karen-from-Accounting speaks to him a lot.

Prick.

Three weeks ago, I was the superhero because I could sort practically any problem you have.

Now, Henry-from-HR can fix literally any problem you have.

Except IT problems. That’s the one thing I have over him. God, I hope he doesn’t work out how computers work.

Joke’s on him, anyway. I’ve acquired his company laptop for maintenance and I’m filling it up with some pretty disgusting and legally dubious porn, so we’ll see who ends up on top.

Fucking wizards.

Everything started the day a tall stone gate appeared in the middle of Manhattan. It stood as tall as a small building, it’s pillars as thick as a school bus. Wrapped around these pillars were vines unnaturally green that emitted a thin purple mist. And inside this gateway was a translucent purple screen. Nobody quite knew what to do about it. Nobody dared to enter, of course. Fear of the unknown, I supposed as I stepped out onto the cold city streets to find a large crowd of people surrounding the gate yet keeping at least a few yards distance. I pushed my way to the front of the crowd, examining the gate along with the bystanders. It seemed odd already, but it was even more unordinary when a short man stepped out through the screen. He had a long grey beard, and was draped in a black cloak, embroidered with gold, that trailed along the dirty asphalt as he walked. He wielded a long staff made of pure obsidian — or perhaps black opal — with a glowing purple jewel resting atop. A silence fell over the crowd watching as we watched more people walk out: a girl with pointed ears, a boy with two fireballs hovering over his shoulders, strange animal hybrids that appeared to be combinations of cats and what I only assumed to be dragons. The group seemed to go on forever, until at last the final person stepped through and the purple screen evaporated into fine mist and disappeared into the dawn. The first man, the one with the tall staff, glanced around at the crowd of bystanders. A shadow covered his eyes, but a great shiver ran down my spine as I saw the weirdly wicked smile on his wrinkled face. A businessman in our crowd, Richard Yates, stepped forward until he was only a few feet away from the old man. “Who are you?” He asked, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. The old man hesitated, then spoke, voice booming. “I am Aldaren the Wise. I hold the power of immortality and all knowledge.” “That’s not possible!” Someone in the crowd piped up. “Is it?” Aldaren pointed a long finger at the boy next to me. “You.” The boy flinched slightly. “Your name is Ryan Rivera. You are a male, nineteen years of age, and a student in college. You aspire to be a lawyer once you graduate.” Everyone turned to Ryan in anticipation. “He-he’s right...” Ryan said simply. The crowd went into an uproar. “Silence!” Aldaren shouted. “In our world, magic is a common trait. We have come here simply to see what the world of no magic is like, and to see if someone like us, one with exceptional magical ability, was here. Someone like...” He scanned the crowd, then turned to the left and pointed a long, bony finger right at me. I felt my heart jump. I could feel his eyes staring into my very soul. “You.”