Dorian Gray stepped through the shimmering portal, the air of the Nexus Hub a crisp, metallic tang compared to the musty London alley he’d just vacated. Another dimension, another opportunity. His reflection in the polished chrome walls was, as always, flawless. The Nexus, a sprawling interdimensional crossroads, was a haven for those seeking new experiences, new pleasures.
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Dorius swaggered into the arena as the crowd roared.
The Praeco shouted, “The fourth gladiator in this final combat of our games is the Emperor’s champion! Visiting us in Hispania from distant Rome, victor of sixty battles against men and beasts, I give you Dorius Gratius!”
Dorius raised his short sword in salute.
Dorian surveyed the parlor, silently classifying people—beautiful or ordinary. As he stood in the entryway, he knew all eyes would be gazing in his direction. He was an elegant specimen of a man, blond with piercing blue eyes, porcelain, sculpted features, and a tall, chiseled form. No one could compare to his beauty.
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Beyond the laughter of the party and the company of her odious fiancé, Kytt crept through silent halls until she came to a door. There were many doors, but this one bore a Stormer & Sons detector lock. Her source was correct: Sir Dorian Gray was hiding something.
She pressed one ear to the polished wood. Nothing.
“As you can tell, the Wild West was a very fascinatin’ place,” the teenaged tour guide said with a fake cowgirl accent and a tone that sounded like she would rather be anywhere else. “And over here, you can see an original journal entry that shows just how superstitious these folks really were.”
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