Edit Note - Nov 10th 2015: Added in scene break descriptors that people found helpful in later chapters



Part 1 - First Night Redux:



---Inside of A Coffin---



I wake up in a coffin. Mother always was a fan of tradition.



The first half-hour of my unlife is spent clawing my out of the ground. Mother’s traditions suck.



I emerge hungry, angry, and more than a little confused. Mother should be here. She isn’t. I’m in a garden full of weeds and broken statuary, but no Mother.



There’s a rudimentary tombstone on the ground near my feet. It reads “Here lies my alien, he lived for 10 minutes” with the date May 12th 1998. I snort. 10 minutes sounds about right.



Going by the sign and the date on the tombstone, I’m in Sunnydale, at the end of season... 2? I believe if my father’s memories of the show are to be believed. I’ll have to test that somehow. There are far too many fantastic opportunities just waiting to be exploited if they prove to be accurate. I don’t even try to resist the cackling laughter that erupts from me as I continue to explore.



That large stone building must be the mansion Mother was staying in with William and Grandfather. It’s far too quiet now for anyone to be home. Perhaps I slept through the big finale? That... would explain why Mother isn’t here. William must have run off with her, the bastard. William the Bloody Monopolizer of Mothers.



Then again, if he hadn’t, there’d be no world for me to wake up in. He had a point with the happy meals on legs bit. My stomach gurgles. Screw it. I’m far too hungry for philosophy.



I’m not more than three steps outside the mansion’s cast-iron gate when a woman comes jogging around the corner and runs straight into me. The rapid, rhythmic beating of her heart distracting me until she’s barreled straight into me, not quite able to stop herself in time. We go down in a tangle of limbs. She smells of lilacs and sweat and human which I can’t quite explain but she does, and it’s absolutely intoxicating.



I feel... high on life, literally. I’m flooded with warmth. I don’t even recall feeling cold, but in retrospect it feels obvious that this was just missing until now.



I don’t even register that my fangs are out until after the scent of blood floods my senses and she’s been dead for over a minute. Embarrassingly I think I’ve been sucking on her neck for that whole minute without noticing my drink was empty. I make sure to push my gameface back down before pushing myself back up onto my feet and then pulling her corpse up with me.



No one seems to be around to have noticed anything. Convenient, that, so I drag her into the mansion.



Signs of recent battle, and a sword-less Acathla statue confirm my earlier theory that I’m late to the party. The mansion is wrecked pretty thoroughly aside from the stone walls themselves and occasional surviving piece of furniture.



I dump my kill on the ground and rummage through what few pockets her jogging outfit has. The cash and keys get shoved into my pockets and then I pull out my phone to see how far away the address on her driver’s license is.



...



...



I continue to blink stupidly at the bulky Nokia brick-like phone thing in my hand. In retrospect I don’t know what I really expected. It’s not like original iPhones are almost a decade away from existing or anything, let alone sixes. I guess this is the 1998 equivalent? That’s fucking depressing.



Adapting to being a demon wearing the man I remember being like a suit? That’s easy. I suspect even father could have managed that.



Adapting to using technology almost 2 decades old? Oh fucking hell no. This sucks.



I stagger over to one of the few unbroken chairs and flop into it feeling nearly boneless. There was a brief moment of hope when I realized that magic could probably fake many of the missing bits technology couldn’t handle yet before I remembered that Grandfather ate the only techno-pagan I can name. William was right, Gramps is a wanker. I’m not sure how long I sat there before I got over the shock of seeing this museum piece in my hand. Eventually, I realized that the thing was off because the battery had drained while I was busy being a corpse and the whole topic was moot. Not like I know anyone’s phone number here in Bizarro California anyway.



Okay. I’m being ridiculous. I know it. I survived being a kid in the late nineties; I’ll survive being an ‘adult’ in the late nineties. It’s not like I have to relearn how to use DOS. I’m pretty sure Windows computers have start menus and everything by now.



It finally occurs to me to check the contents of my own pockets. I find out my Leatherman made the journey with me, which is cool I suppose. Of course the keys that were attached to it last I checked are all gone, replaced by a weird looking bottle opener, which is redundant. There’s a wallet in my pocket I’ve never seen before. No credit or debit cards in it, but I think I remember using cash more often back in ’98 and there’s a couple of twenties in it, so I guess that makes as much sense as anything else around here.



Oh! My driver’s license.



... Maybe...



In my hand is a California Driver’s License, with my face on it. But, “Who the fuck is Jack Winters? Hang on; this says I was born in 1980 so I’d be almost 18 now. How’s that work?” I’m neither 18, nor born in 1980... so... what the hell?



It takes me half an hour to find a mirror to see if I look younger now, and about 3 seconds after that to remember I’m not on the membership list for the reflections club anymore. The face on my license looks like it always did, but then again it’s been ages since I had that photo taken. Maybe I can get someone to take a Polaroid of me or something.



I keep rummaging through “my” wallet, may as well get through all the shock induced heart attacks right away. There isn’t anything else truly shocking though, just weird. Emancipation and enrollment paperwork, apparently I’m a Sunnydale High senior starting this fall, both also in the name Jack Winters.



“Well, I guess Jack’s as good a name as any. Not like I wasn’t aware that I’m technically not me anymore anyway.” The last name Winters however makes me twitchy. The slayer being a Summers makes me suspect I’m either being set up, or someone... thing... thinks they’re funny. Probably both.



---Jogger Lady's Apartment---



Has the universe ever blindsided you with something so incredibly simple that you can’t believe it surprised you? Something so very mundanely banal that despite being caught completely off guard, you can only just stare at it while thinking to yourself, “Duh. Of Course that’s a thing, how did I forget those?”



That’s me right now.



I’m a blood demon. I was literally ‘born,’ after a fashion anyway, mere hours ago. I’m animating the corpse of a man who was kidnapped from his home reality by what looked like two Greeks or Romans or whatever in actual fucking togas. Mother called them starlings, but she was already gone when I woke up so I can't exactly make her explain. I only know any of this because I ate his memories when I took over his body. Are starlings people with two faces? Or is that just what Mother calls drunken frat boys?



Anyway, I’m standing in the apartment of a woman I killed by drinking her blood within an hour of first waking up. A few moments ago I was putting on the gloves I bought at the local gas station and looting the place for valuables. Before that I was wandering around town semi-aimlessly only stopping occasionally to ask for directions. Sunnydale natives? Not so helpful when you knock on their doors at 10-11 pm. Until you explain that you’re lost and just need directions to somewhere else. It seems that the trick is to not want to come inside and eat them. Who knew right?



Currently? I’m staring slack jawed at a book on her coffee table like it’s the Holy Grail. Right now it may as well be. It’s a fucking phone book.



I was so depressed when my... err... my father’s... fuck it, he died, it’s mine. My iPhone! Mine! Which no longer exists yet. The important point is that it wasn’t in my pocket, and somehow the idea that being two decades in the past also meant that phonebooks still exist... never occurred to me. I wonder if William had one of these in the mansion already? He was always more on the ball about keeping up with ‘modern’ tech than your average vampire. Or maybe he just liked watching TV?



I flat out cackle gleefully as I begin paging through it, because it has a map. Great Grandmother would be so embarrassed by me right now but I don’t care because she’s dust at the moment and I have a phone book, with a map! Need a robot? Warren Mears’ address is in here. Need someone to cast a spell? The Madisons, Rosenburgs, Wells, Levinsons, and even that weird little magic shop with a revolving door of ownership, are all in my new book. I wish I could remember what the Pylean Dance of Joy looked like so I could do it right now. I settle for another round of gleeful cackling and celebratory arm waving.



...



Huh. There’s an idea, two actually. First: No wishing, not out loud, and not in my head either, not worth the risks. Second, I should look into memory spells. Dredge up actual details from the show so I can test them for accuracy. Wouldn’t it be sad if I made elaborate plans based on father’s memories and it turned out he was just a crazy person with delusions of precognition. Actually... speaking of my father, I wonder if I’m in... Nope, I’m not, there are no Winters listed in the Sunnydale phonebook. The street listed on my license is on the map however. I’ll have to check it out. Someone or more likely something went through an awful lot of trouble to get him here and settled in. I really ought to look into that.



Continuing to loot the place nets me some cash hidden in her sock drawer and a new watch. It’s girly, so I won’t wear it, but knowing that its 2am right now seems handy, so into my pocket it goes. I pack a suitcase full of her clothes, so it looks like she went somewhere in case my memories of the SPD’s lack of job performance prove inaccurate, and toss it all in her car’s trunk before declaring the car mine by right of conquest as well. If nothing else the socks might fit. Thinking about the watch again, I go back inside and snag her alarm clock for good measure.



---My Home, Allegedly---



I park recently deceased chick’s car at the address listed on my license. It’s a hole. As in the hole in the ground they dig for a foundation. The CRC construction sign claims someday there will be a McDonald’s there.



I’m not sure how to feel about this.



On the one hand I don’t magically have a home. On the other hand this is the first sign I’ve seen that whatever kidnapped my father may have limits to its powers. Come to think of it, I should verify if the documentation I have is legitimate or just a better forgery than I can detect... not like I have any talent at telling the difference.



Of course, it also begs the question: Was the universe trying to tell him that he’s a happy meal on legs? And Mother merely moved the lesson forward a few hours? I’m not sure how to feel about that either. Could the message have been that I’m still just a happy meal on legs? He’s gone now, but I’m still here... How would I even tell? cast ‘Summon Bigger Fish’ and see what shows up?



...



“SUMMON BIGGER FISH!”



Nothing happens. Typical, the universe needs a better GM.



---Near Angel's Abandoned Mansion---



I park the car a few blocks away and head to the mansion with my loot, minus the suitcase of woman’s clothing.



There’s a squatter in what I think was the living room when I get arrive. He’s rummaging in one of the closets as I walk through the door. I can hear his lack of heartbeat, but I can tell he’s a vampire and not a zombie by smell. That’s interesting. My nose comes with some pre-calibration.



“Hey man, you heard about the crew staying here getting cleared out by the slayer too huh?” he greets me amicably while I’m sorting out the various scents I can detect now. Newly dead chick smells like death now that it’s been a few hours. It’s not a bad smell like I would have expected either, it just... is. Maybe because the various chemicals involved aren’t bad for me anymore.



“Uh yeah, seemed like a good place to crash for the day,” I tell him, looking around like I’ve never seen the place before, but thanks to my nose I don’t really need to fake the mild confusion. “I think I’ll take one of the rooms upstairs. That okay?” I’m not sure if it’s lacking a pulse to race, or being a demon now, but either I’m a much better liar than I recall being in life... or fledgling vampires really are as borderline retarded as I remember them being depicted on TV. Either way, he agrees to my taking one of the rooms upstairs and then turns back to the closet. I cave his skull in with a broken piece of rebar that was lying nearby. Do vamps normally just... get along with each other by default? Meh, it might be paranoid, but I’m going to continue to assume most vamps act like my recollections of William the Bloody until proven otherwise. I have no intention of being forced to greet the sunshine any time soon.



Speaking of which, I had best hurry up. Sunrise is coming. I loot and then dust the intruder, before setting to work returning to the blackout curtains that were knocked down in the recent fighting to their proper places. A few of the curtains and rods are lost causes, forcing me to abandon a few of the less useful looking rooms as lost causes as well, pulling their doors closed instead.



I scrounge up some paper and a pen but my plan of spending the day plotting out what needs to be done is scuppered the moment the sun pokes out above the horizon.



I immediately feel like I’m a cup of coffee short of quota but over-caffeinated at the same time. No good will come of doing any serious planning while the ants are crawling behind my eyeballs. Daytime activities are clearly a last resort only now. Irritation rising rapidly, I flop down on the bed that still smells faintly of Mother and prepare to spend the rest of the giant yellow cancer ball’s journey across the sky unconscious.



...



I suspect I may have inherited father's insomnia. Gods Damn It.