Jackson stepped out of the apartment building, squinting against the harsh sunlight. The world around him seemed both familiar and alien at the same time. Hover cars? No. Flying pigs? Nope. Just regular old 2033 traffic and pollution. How disappointing. "Well, this is just peachy," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Now what?" As if on cue, Quantum Quill's voice piped up in his head. "Now, my dear Jackson, you need to go to a hotel room." "A hotel room? Seriously? I just left a hospital, and now you want me to check into a hotel? What am I, a walking advertisement for overpriced accommodations?" "Less sass, more action, darling. Chop chop!" "Alright, alright. I'm going. But if this turns out to be some weird timeshare presentation, I'm blaming you." He spotted an ATM nearby and made his way over. "I always dreamed of taking out this much money without breaking into a cold sweat. Shame it had to happen in a parallel universe." Just as he pocketed the cash, a cab scr
The elevator descended with a gentle hum, carrying Natalia and Evelyn down from Evelyn's luxurious suite. Natalia's brow furrowed as she glanced at her friend. "Seriously, Ev, why do you always insist on these fancy-schmancy hotels? They're gonna suck your bank account dry faster than a vacuum on steroids." "Oh, please. Daddy dearest foots the bill. He'd have a conniption if his precious princess stayed under five-star." "Whatever," Natalia scoffed, crossing her arms. "You won't catch me burning cash on overpriced mini-bars and fluffy robes. I'd rather spend my hard-earned dough on something useful... like shoes." "Says the girl with more zeroes in her bank account than I have shoes," Evelyn retorted. "Come on, live a little! What's the point of having money if you don't splash it around?" Natalia opened her mouth to fire back, but the words died on her tongue as the elevator doors slid open. Her eyes locked onto a man standing next to a room attendant, and suddenly, the world se
The elevator dinged, and Carlos led the way down a plush hallway. "Here we are, Mr. Jackson. Your home away from home!" He swung open the door with a flourish, revealing a suite that made Jackson's jaw drop. It was bigger than his entire apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. A massive bed dominated one side of the room, looking more like a small island than a piece of furniture. "Holy sh-" Jackson caught himself, remembering Carlos's presence. "I mean, wow. This is... something else." Carlos beamed, clearly proud of the reaction he'd elicited. "Isn't it just? The living area is through here, and the bathroom... well, let's just say it's more of a bathing experience than a mere bathroom." Jackson followed Carlos through the suite, his eyes widening with each new revelation. The living area boasted a couch that could comfortably seat a small army and a TV resembling a private cinema screen. "And here," Carlos announced, throwing open anothe
Time seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace. Jackson paced the room, practiced his "seductive" face in the mirror (which mostly looked like he was constipated), and even considered raiding the mini-bar for liquid courage. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doorbell rang. Jackson's heart leaped into his throat. He smoothed down his hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Standing before him was a vision in a crisp hotel uniform. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a neat bun, a few rebellious strands framing a face that could launch a thousand ships - or at least a thousand terrible pickup lines. "Your order, sir," she said, her voice melodious and professional. Jackson blinked, his brain frantically trying to remember how words worked. "I... uh... sandwich?" he managed to croak out. "Yes, sir. One club sandwich, as requested." She held out the tray, and Jackson's hands moved on autopilot to take it. Their fingers brushed for
He slid his hands up her back, finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it with a practiced flick. The bra fell away, revealing her breasts, nipples already hard. "Someone's been practicing," she teased, arching her back to press against him. "Only on my teddy bear," he quipped, earning a laugh from her that turned into a moan as he took one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled, relishing the way she squirmed and sighed above him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. She pushed him back. "Your turn," she whispered, yanking his t-shirt over his head. Her hands roamed his chest, nails scratching lightly, sending shivers down his spine. He reached for her, but she batted his hands away. "Patience, Jackson." "Fuck patience," he growled, flipping them over so she was beneath him. He kissed her neck, biting gently, making her gasp. His hands found the waistband of her skirt, yanking it down her legs. She kicked it off, leaving her in jus
He laughed nervously, scrambling for an explanation. "Oh, that? It's... uh... a funny story, actually." She crossed her arms, waiting expectantly. "I'm all ears." Jackson ran a hand through his hair, buying time. "Well, I'm not usually this... technologically challenged. My regular phone had an unfortunate encounter with a cup of coffee this morning. Total goner. So, I had to dig out this relic from the depths of my junk drawer." Sophia raised an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced. "As for the clothes," he continued, gesturing to his attire, "I'm a firm believer in the 'comfort over style' philosophy. Have you seen the price tags on some of those designer outfits? Highway robbery, if you ask me." She studied him briefly, and then a small smile crept across her face. "Alright, Mr. Practical. I'll buy it... for now. But you better get yourself a new phone soon. This thing belongs in a museum." "Trust me, it's at the top of my to-do list," Jackson ass
Jackson stared at the ceiling, trying to process this turn of events. He'd gone from broke and broken-hearted to filthy rich and still a bit broken-hearted, but with a very pleasant recent memory to soften the blow. "So, what now?" he asked, partly to himself and partly to the voice that had upended his life. "Now, my dear boy, we shop!" "Shop? I just became a millionaire, and your first thought is... shopping?" "We can't have you wandering around looking like a lost time traveler, can we? Besides, every self-respecting millionaire needs the right... accessories." "Accessories? What am I, a Barbie doll?" "More like Ken, I'd say. But a Ken who desperately needs an upgrade." "Hey!" He protested, glancing down at his simple t-shirt and jeans. "I'll have you know these are perfectly respectable clothes." "For a college student, maybe. But for a man of your new status? We need to aim higher, darling." "Do we have to? Can't I just enjoy being r
The rain pelted down relentlessly, turning the city into a dark, watery hellscape. Streetlights struggled to pierce the gloom, their feeble beams reflected in puddles that looked more like pools of blood in the eerie glow. It was the kind of night that made sensible folks huddle indoors, leaving the streets to the desperate and the deranged. In a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of town, a man sat tied to a chair, his once-crisp white shirt now a canvas of crimson. He looked like he'd taken a swim in a vat of marinara sauce, except marinara sauce usually smelled better and didn't come with a side of broken bones. Victor sauntered into the warehouse, his polished Oxfords clicking against the concrete floor, each step echoing through the cavernous space like a twisted doorbell. His tailored suit, immaculate and pristine, seemed almost laughably out of place in the grimy surroundings. In his mid-thirties, Victor carried an air of confidence, a stark contrast to the bl