The first thing Elara Vance learned about being a Void Pirate was that the "ocean" wasn't wet. It was static.
New Seattle floated in a boundless, violet abyss. Below the jagged concrete edge of the city, there was no ground, only a swirling soup of unformed ideas, deleted scenes, and raw creative potential that looked suspiciously like grape soda.
"Captain," Aldren Vance said, stepping onto the observation deck of the Space Needle.
The Vampire Lord was wearing a plastic tricorn hat he had looted from the gift shop. He had also tied a 'Seattle Mariners' scarf around his waist like a sash.
"The starboard side of the city is drifting," Aldren reported gravely. "The wind... it smells of lavender and ozone. Also, Mr. Henderson says the Glitch-Cats are getting seasick."
Elara rubbed her eyes. She was still wearing the grease-stained hoodie. She hadn't slept in twenty-four hours, not since they severed the reality anchor and let the city drift off the map.
"We don't have a starboard side, Aldren," Elara sighed. "We have the Industrial District."
"In nautical terms, that is starboard," Aldren corrected, adjusting his hat. "I have assumed the role of First Mate. I have watched several documentaries on naval warfare while waiting for the elevator."
"The elevator works?"
"No. I walked. It was arduous. I require a juice box."
Elara looked back at the console. Elara-Zero was slumped over the manual controls of the Reality Jammer. The Industrial Espresso Machine—their engine—was chugging rhythmically, emitting puffs of steam that kept the "Null Signal" active.
"Status, Zero?" Elara asked.
Elara-Zero groaned, peeling her face off the metal panel. "Fuel is low. The ÅSSEMBLER manual burned hot, but it burned fast. We're running on fumes. If the Jammer dies, The Publisher will detect our signature instantly."
"We need fuel," Elara said. "Jen?"
Jen walked in from the stairwell, looking like a manager who had just survived Black Friday. She was holding a clipboard made of cardboard.
"Inventory report," Jen announced. "We have water—the rain still falls here, for some reason. We have shelter. But food is critical. The grocery stores were looted during the foreclosure panic. Ignis ate the entire frozen meat section of the QFC before he passed out."
"How is he?"
"Vex is with him. His wounds aren't closing. The Void... it stops time in a weird way, but it doesn't heal. He needs protein. Real protein, not magical conjuring."
Elara looked out the shattered windows. The Void Ocean stretched infinitely in all directions. Occasionally, massive shapes would drift past in the purple fog—a giant floating typewriter, a half-finished concept art of a monster, a cloud of sentient punctuation marks.
"We have to scavenge," Elara said. "This is the space between stories. There has to be trash floating around. Abandoned drafts. Scrapped pilots."
"Scavenging?" Li Wusheng limped onto the deck. His grey, stone-like arm was in a sling made of a 'Space Needle' t-shirt. "We are bottom feeders now?"
"We are opportunists," Elara corrected. "Zero, scan the horizon. Look for anything with narrative mass."
Elara-Zero adjusted the dials on the 5G antenna. "Scanning... I'm picking up a signal. Sector 7. It's... dense. Low quality, but high density."
"Visuals!"
Zero patched the feed to a monitor taped to the wall.
Through the static, a shape emerged. It wasn't a ship. It wasn't an asteroid.
It was a Living Room.
A massive, floating chunk of reality. Three walls, no ceiling. A beige couch. A coffee table. And a laugh track that echoed faintly through the void.
"What is that?" Aldren whispered, horrified.
"It's a Sitcom Set," Elara realized. "A scrapped pilot episode. Probably from the 90s. It was deleted, so it ended up here."
"Does it have food?" Jen asked.
"Sitcoms always have a refrigerator," Elara said. "And it's usually stocked with generic brand soda and oversized sandwiches."
"Helm!" Elara shouted (mostly to herself). "Hard to port! Steer us toward the Sitcom!"
Elara-Zero pulled the brake lever. The Space Needle groaned. The entire city of New Seattle tilted five degrees to the left. A skyscraper somewhere in Belltown toppled over with a distant crash.
"Gentle!" Elara winced.
"I am steering a tectonic plate with a brake lever!" Zero snapped. "You try it!"
The Away Team
They took the Generic Getaway Van.
Since the city was floating, they couldn't just drive there. They had to modify the van again. Rex Chord (who had recovered his guitar pick) rigged the hydraulics to "Jump Mode."
"We have to drift the van off the edge of the freeway," Rex explained, looking manic. "If we hit the jump at 88 miles per hour, the narrative momentum should carry us across the gap."
"That is a different movie," Aldren pointed out.
"Physics is a suggestion here!" Rex yelled.
The team piled in. Elara drove. Aldren rode shotgun (literally holding a shotgun they found in a pawn shop, though he held it like a scepter). Jen and Li were in the back. They left Ignis and Vex to guard the tower.
"Ready?" Elara revved the engine.
"No," Li said.
"Go!"
Elara floored it. The van screamed down the empty I-5 highway, heading toward the sheer drop where the road simply ended.
"Jump!"
The van flew off the edge of New Seattle.
For a moment, they floated in the violet void. Silence. No gravity.
Then, they hit the Sitcom Set.
CRASH.
The van slammed into the "Fourth Wall"—which was invisible but solid—shattered it, and landed on the beige carpet of the living room.
HAHAHAHA. (Canned laughter played from nowhere).
"We're in," Elara said, kicking the door open.
The air smelled of hairspray and dust. The lighting was flat, bright, and shadowless—the "Multi-Camera" setup.
"This place is unnerving," Aldren whispered, looking at the audience seating area, which was just a black void. "Who is watching?"
"Nobody," Elara said. "It's a dead signal."
"Check the fridge!" Jen commanded.
They ran to the kitchen set. Jen yanked the oversized fridge door open.
"Jackpot!" Jen cheered.
Inside were stacks of plastic-wrapped sandwiches, jugs of "Cola" (generic label), and a turkey that looked like it had been varnished.
"Is it edible?" Li asked, poking a block of cheddar cheese.
"It's Prop Food," Elara said. "It has no nutritional value, but it has 'Narrative Mass'. It will fuel the Jammer."
"And the sandwiches?"
"Those look real," Jen sniffed. "Probably left by the crew."
"Pack it up!" Elara ordered. "Everything that isn't nailed down!"
They started looting the set. Aldren grabbed a ugly lamp. Li grabbed a stack of newspapers that all had the same headline: LOCAL MAN DOES THING.
Suddenly, the front door of the set opened.
"Honey, I'm home!" a voice boomed.
A man walked in. He wore a sweater vest and a confused expression. His face was blurry, like a low-resolution jpeg.
The Dad Character.
"Who are you people?" The Dad asked. "Are you my wacky neighbors?"
HAHAHAHA.
"We are void pirates!" Aldren declared, brandishing his shotgun. "Surrender your canned goods!"
WOOOOOO! (The audience cheered).
"Oh, a robbery!" The Dad put his hands on his hips. "Well, that's just a pickle, isn't it?"
HAHAHAHA.
"Why are they laughing?" Li yelled, covering his ears. "I am sensing a psychological attack!"
"He's a Construct," Elara said. "He's part of the set. Ignore him."
"But he's blocking the exit!" Jen said.
The Dad stepped forward. "Now, listen here. In this house, we follow the rules. Rule number one: No spin-offs!"
He grabbed a rolled-up newspaper. He swatted Li.
BONK.
Li flew backward, crashing through a prop wall.
"My arm!" Li screamed. "He hit my bad arm! With a newspaper!"
"He has 'Sitcom Strength'!" Rex warned. "He can solve any problem in 22 minutes!"
"We don't have 22 minutes!" Elara yelled. "Zero says a storm is coming!"
Outside the set, the violet void was darkening. A massive, swirling cloud of black ink was approaching—a Plot Hole.
"If that hits us, we get retconned!" Elara shouted. "We need to leave!"
"I'll handle the Dad!" Aldren shouted.
Aldren stepped forward. He didn't use violence. He used the one thing that destroys all sitcoms.
Character Development.
"Sir," Aldren said, placing a hand on the Dad's shoulder. "Why are you smiling? Your life is a loop. Your wife is a prop. Your children are played by different actors every season."
The Dad froze. The smile faltered.
"What... what do you mean?"
"You are unhappy," Aldren whispered, his vampire eyes boring into the blur. "You feel empty. You want a divorce."
GASP. (The audience gasped).
"A... divorce?" The Dad's sweater vest unraveled slightly. "But... the ratings..."
"Forget the ratings," Aldren said. "Follow your bliss. Move to a drama."
The Dad looked at his hands. He looked at the fake window.
"I... I think I want to cry," The Dad whispered.
SILENCE.
The sitcom reality shattered. The laugh track died. The lighting shifted from flat brightness to a moody, dramatic shadow.
"He's transitioning genres!" Elara yelled. "The set is collapsing! Go!"
They grabbed the loot—crates of prop food, the varnish-turkey, and the fridge itself. They threw it all into the back of the van.
"Li! Get in!"
Li scrambled out of the wreckage of the wall, holding a stolen toaster.
Elara jumped into the driver's seat. She threw it in reverse.
"Hanging on!"
The van shot backward, crashing through the "Fourth Wall" again, launching back into the void just as the Sitcom Set imploded into a singularity of pure angst.
The Feast
They landed back on the Seattle freeway with a screech of tires.
Back at the Meow & Bow, they laid out the spoils.
"It's mostly wax fruit and empty boxes," Jen sighed, sorting through the pile. "But the turkey is real."
Ignis didn't care. He grabbed the turkey and ate it bone and all.
"Protein," Ignis groaned, color returning to his cheeks. "It tastes like sawdust and catchphrases. Delicious."
"The Prop Food works for the machine," Elara-Zero reported from the tower. She shoved a plastic pineapple into the boiler. "Pressure is stabilizing. The Reality Jammer is holding."
"We survived," Li said, leaning against the counter. He ate a real sandwich Jen had found. "But for how long? The Void is full of monsters. That 'Dad' was terrifying."
Elara walked to the window. She looked out at the violet ocean. The Plot Hole storm had passed, but in the distance, she saw something else.
Lights.
Not stars. Searchlights.
Massive, sweeping beams cutting through the fog.
"We're not alone out here," Elara whispered.
Aldren walked up beside her, still wearing his tricorn hat. "Other pirates?"
"Maybe," Elara said. "Or the Navy."
She pointed.
Drifting in the deep void was a structure. It looked like a massive, floating boardroom table. Around it circled ships made of red tape and legal pads.
"The Board of Directors," Elara realized, a chill running down her spine. "They have a blockade."
"We have to go through them?" Aldren asked.
"If we want to find the Creator," Elara said. "We have to cross the Corporate Sea."
She turned to her team. They were eating stale sandwiches, nursing wounds, and wearing looted clothes. They looked ridiculous. They looked like a mess.
They looked ready.
"Zero," Elara radioed the tower. "Keep the signal dark. We're running silent."
"Aye, Captain," Zero's voice crackled.
Elara put her hand on the hilt of her broken baguette.
"Let's go crash a meeting."