Chapter 1: The 900-Year Sunk Cost Fallacy
"Welcome back to Fangs and Films, the only podcast on the internet hosted by three immortal beings who are too tired to conquer the earth," I said into the microphone, taking a slow sip of my drink. It looked like an elegant glass of Pinot Noir. It was actually stray cat blood mixed with a little bit of pigeon. You get used to the aftertaste after the first three centuries.
"I'm your host, Tihom," I continued, gesturing across our soundproofed, basement studio. "And joining me as always are my immortal brothers in darkness, Ladab and Uhsnayirp."
Ladab leaned into his mic, yawning so wide his fangs gleamed under the studio lights. "What's up, mortals. Today we're reviewing that new superhero movie on OTT, but first... I need a nap."
"It is two in the afternoon, Ladab," Uhsnayirp muttered, aggressively rubbing his eyes. "We just woke up."
"Exactly. And I'm exhausted."
If you had told the ancient, terrifying Spirit of the Night who cursed us 900 years ago that this is what we would be doing with his dark gift, he probably would have staked us himself.
The Spirit had given us one epic, terrifying mandate: Turn the whole world into vampires. We really meant to do it, we did. But there is one massive, humiliating flaw in our immortality. We are morning people.
When the sun comes up, we are fully awake, buzzing with energy, and ready to take on the world. The problem? We are vampires. If we step outside in the sunlight, we instantly burst into a pile of screaming ash. So, we are trapped inside our house all day, staring at the walls, completely energized.
But the second the sun goes down—the exact moment we are supposed to go out, hunt humans, and build our undead army—we get dizzy. Our eyes get heavy. A wave of uncontrollable sleepiness hits us like a brick wall, and we end up passing out on the couch watching reruns of old sitcoms.
Nine hundred years of this. Nine. Hundred. Years.
"I'm just saying, the plot holes in that movie were bigger than our attempt to hunt that guy last Tuesday," Ladab said, adjusting his gaming headset.
I shuddered, nearly spilling my pigeon-blood. "Don't remind me."
Last Tuesday was supposed to be our grand return to glory. We had been surviving on rats, cats, and the occasional unlucky neighborhood dog for decades. But Tuesday was different. Tuesday was heavily overcast. The sky was a thick, beautiful blanket of dark grey clouds.
"This is it!" Uhsnayirp had yelled, pressing his pale face against the window glass. "No sun! We can hunt in the daytime! We won't be sleepy! We can finally drink human blood!"
We had hyped ourselves up. We put on our darkest, coolest leather jackets. We dramatically kicked open our front door and stepped out into the glorious, cloudy afternoon. We felt like gods. We stalked down the street, spotting a delivery guy dropping off a package. He looked delicious.
We crept up behind him. I bared my fangs. Ladab hissed. Uhsnayirp raised his claws.
And then, the universe played its cruelest joke.
A single, perfectly timed gust of wind blew across the city. The thick grey clouds parted like the Red Sea, and a blinding, magnificent ray of pure, unadulterated sunshine beamed directly onto the sidewalk.
My leather jacket immediately started smoking. Ladab screamed as his left eyebrow caught fire.
"ABORT! ABORT!" Uhsnayirp had shrieked, sprinting back toward our house faster than a cheetah.
The delivery guy turned around just in time to see three pale men in smoking leather jackets tripping over each other, screaming in high-pitched voices as we frantically army-crawled back through our front door and slammed it shut.
We spent the rest of the day putting ice packs on our mild sunburns and eating a rat Ladab found in the attic.
"Look," I said, leaning back into the podcast mic and shaking off the traumatic memory. "World domination is a young vampire's game. We've pivoted. Now, we dominate the podcast charts. Uhsnayirp, what did you think of the cinematography in the third act?"
Uhsnayirp didn't answer. A soft snoring sound echoed through his microphone.
I looked over. He was slumped in his gaming chair, fast asleep. I glanced at the clock on the wall.
It was 6:00 PM. The sun was going down. It was past our bedtime.
"Well," I whispered into the mic, my own eyelids suddenly feeling like they weighed a hundred pounds. "That's all the time we have for today. Remember to like and subscribe... and if anyone knows a good recipe for stray dog... please leave it in the comments..."
My head hit the desk, and the world went dark.