Chapter 1: Cold Open
"—and for crimes against the Vampiric Council of the Greater New York Metropolitan Area, the sentence is death by exsanguination."
The voice came from somewhere above me. Deep. Formal. The kind of delivery you got from community theater actors who'd never quite made it to Broadway but refused to give up the dream.
I opened my eyes.
Wrong ceiling. Wrong hands — these weren't my hands, too pale, fingernails bitten down to the quick. Wrong everything. My wrists were bound with what looked like actual rope, which felt aggressively medieval for what appeared to be some kind of underground courtroom.
A figure in elaborate robes stood at a raised podium. Behind him, two more vampires — and they were definitely vampires, the whole pale-skin-red-eyes situation made that pretty clear — watched with the casual interest of people who had seen this show before and weren't particularly invested in the ending.
"Do the condemned have any final words?"
The condemned.
That was me. That was — okay, that was me, apparently.
Something flickered in my peripheral vision. A loading bar. An actual loading bar, like a streaming app buffering on bad Wi-Fi, hovering in the air about six inches from my nose. It read: SDPS INITIALIZING... 12%
"The condemned will speak or the sentence will be carried out."
"Just—" My voice came out wrong. Deeper than mine. Someone else's vocal cords. "Just a moment."
The robed vampire's eyebrows rose. One of the guards shifted.
SDPS INITIALIZING... 34%
"This is not a negotiation. You have been found guilty of—"
"With respect," I said, and the words felt like operating someone else's mouth, which they were, "I don't actually know what I've been found guilty of."
Silence.
The loading bar hit 67%.
One of the watching vampires leaned forward. She had dark hair piled elaborately on her head and an expression that suggested she'd been bored for approximately three centuries.
"He doesn't remember," she said. "Interesting."
"Irrelevant," the robed figure replied. "The crimes stand regardless of the criminal's—"
"I remember," I said. "I remember everything."
I didn't. I remembered dying — tripped over a goddamn cable on a night shoot, hit my head on a lighting rig, and the last thing I saw was Gary from craft services dropping his coffee cup in slow motion. I remembered watching What We Do in the Shadows, all six seasons, multiple times. I remembered falling asleep to it because the background noise was comforting.
I did not remember this body. I did not remember this trial. I did not remember committing any crimes against the Vampiric Council of the Greater New York Metropolitan Area.
SDPS INITIALIZING... 89%
"Then speak your final words," the judge said. "The Council's patience is not infinite."
The loading bar completed.
[SDPS ONLINE. WELCOME TO YOUR SHOW.]
A rush of information — no, not information, a presence. Like someone had set up a production office in my brain and started hanging whiteboards. I could see a HUD materializing in my peripheral vision: a counter reading VEP: 0/100, a health bar that seemed fine, and a flashing banner that said PILOT EPISODE in what I could only describe as aggressive serif font.
A tutorial prompt appeared. WOULD YOU LIKE TO COMPLETE THE INTRODUCTION SEQUENCE?
"No," I muttered.
TUTORIAL WILL REMAIN AVAILABLE IN SETTINGS.
"Did the condemned just say 'no' to death?" The dark-haired vampire sounded genuinely interested for the first time.
Right. Room full of vampires. Execution imminent. Panic later.
I knew this world. I knew how the Vampiric Council worked — pompous, bureaucratic, obsessed with procedure. I knew they valued entertainment almost as much as they valued blood. I'd seen enough Council scenes to understand that the most dangerous thing you could be was boring.
I stood up.
My legs almost buckled. Whoever this body belonged to had been kneeling for a while, and the circulation was not cooperating. I caught myself on the edge of the podium like it was intentional.
"My lords and ladies of the Council."
Play it like a pitch meeting. You're not begging. You're offering.
"I understand that I have committed crimes. Crimes against the ancient and honorable institution of this governing body." I had no idea what crimes. Didn't matter. Keep talking. "And I understand that the punishment for such crimes is death."
"Correct," the judge said. "Hence the proceedings."
"But I would submit — with all humility and deference to your wisdom — that death is inefficient."
The dark-haired vampire laughed. Actually laughed, a sharp bark of surprise that echoed off the stone walls.
"I'm sorry," I continued, "I don't mean to be presumptuous. But you've clearly invested significant resources in bringing me here. This room. The guards. Your valuable time. That's a substantial commitment for a five-minute execution."
Watch the room. The judge is irritated. The woman is amused. The other one — older, wearing what looks like actual armor from the 1400s — hasn't moved.
"What if I could offer a return on that investment?"
"You have nothing to offer," the judge said. "You are a human. You have no property, no standing, no—"
"I have skills."
[+12 VEP: DRAMATIC TENSION]
I felt the counter tick up. The system was watching. The system thought this was good content.
"I worked in television production," I said, which was true in the body I'd left behind. "I handled logistics for difficult clients in high-pressure situations. I am extremely good at solving problems, managing schedules, and making sure things run smoothly."
"We do not need a human to manage our schedules," the judge said.
"No," I agreed. "But you need humans to handle your affairs during the day. To interface with the mortal world. To ensure your households operate without drawing attention from authorities who might find your existence... inconvenient."
The dark-haired vampire was leaning forward now.
"You need familiars," I said. "And I am volunteering to be one."
"This is highly irregular." The judge looked to his colleagues. "The sentence has been pronounced. We cannot simply—"
"I'm entertained," the woman said.
The armored vampire finally moved. A single nod.
"Then the Council will consider commutation," the judge said, and I could hear that he hated every word. "The sentence of death is stayed pending assignment as familiar to a registered household. If no household claims the prisoner within thirty days—"
"I'll take him."
Everyone looked at the armored vampire. He hadn't spoken until now. His voice was like gravel being poured slowly into a bucket.
"Lord Afanas claims the prisoner?" The judge sounded surprised.
"No. But I know who should." The armored vampire's red eyes fixed on me with the casual assessment of something that had killed thousands and found most of them uninteresting. "The Staten Island residence. Nandor the Relentless. They've been without proper help since their familiar grew... ambitious."
[ASSIGNMENT GENERATED: Staten Island Residence - Nandor the Relentless]
The name hit me like a truck. Nandor. The vampire house. The actual setting of the show.
I kept my face still.
"The Council accepts this designation," the judge said. "Remove the prisoner. Processing will be completed by dawn."
A guard stepped forward to cut my bindings. The rope fell away, and I caught myself again — same wobble, same recovery, same pretending it was intentional.
[+34 VEP: SURVIVAL BONUS (Pilot Episode Complete)]
[TOTAL VEP: 46/100]
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: "Breaking In" — Complete the pilot episode. Reward: 50 bonus VEP]
The counter jumped. 96 out of 100.
The woman watched me as the guard led me toward a side exit.
"What's your name?" she asked.
I didn't know. This body's name, the identity I'd stolen — I had nothing. The system offered no help.
"Does it matter?" I asked.
She smiled. It was the kind of smile that made me deeply glad she wasn't the one taking me home.
"I suppose we'll find out."
The door closed behind me. Underground corridor. Fluorescent lights that buzzed and flickered. The guard walked me toward what turned out to be a parking garage — because of course even the Vampiric Council needed practical logistics.
A black van idled near the elevator bank. The guard opened the back door.
"Staten Island," he said. "You'll be met."
I climbed in. The door slammed shut.
In the darkness, I let myself breathe. Actually breathe, for the first time since I'd opened my eyes in the wrong body.
My hands were shaking. I looked at them — these stranger's hands — and watched them tremble.
"Note to self," I said to no one, or to the system, or to whatever invisible camera I was apparently supposed to be performing for. "Find out who I used to be. Before someone else does."
[+8 VEP: CONFESSIONAL MOMENT]
The van pulled out of the garage.
The address on the paperwork read like a punch line I'd heard a hundred times: Staten Island. Vampire residence. Nandor the Relentless.
I knew that address.
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