What We Do in the Shadows

Nandor has disappeared.

Nandor?

No one has seen or heard from him in weeks. Well, not since Gizmo fired him.

Nandor?

Gave him the old heave-ho from his janitor job.

The blade of the proverbial guillotine has dropped,

and the blood of Nandor's broken dreams has pooled at Gizmo's oddly-shaped feet.

So, yeah, we've tried just about everything to find Nandor. Set traps...

Nandor?

...checked the vents, hung posters.

We have even yelled his name very loudly into the wind.

Nandor!

- Shut the fuck up! -Piss off!

You shut the fuck up.

That broody little bitch is missing.

The dude is gone.

And we can't find the fucker anywhere.

- - Five dollars seems like a lot.

- -Hey.

Ugh. I can't even look at you. Ugh.

-Any update on Nandor? -Not since you fired him.

- From the job he loved. - What a coincidence.

You have a lot of guts coming in here, you little floating traitor.

Floating away with your little bitch ways.

-Hello. Yes? - Nandor has been located.

It's the Baron, and he knows where Nandor is.

Don't tell him about the reward money.

I thought we might have a bite of lunch while we talk.

Let us see what we have here. Some punch, some jellied blood and, uh...

And, yes, the Sire prepared the finger foods.

My compliments to the chef.

Again, like I mentioned in my email, I don't eat blood,

so maybe just a crescent roll or...

-Sire? -

Would you play that tape of Nandor, please?

This was recorded by a vampire monitoring the Ether.

Enemies abound. And only I can defeat them.

I used to think ghouls were just the spirits of the dead.

But now I know they walk among the living too.

Oh, dear.

Up and down Wall Street, with their suits and their ties

and their build-your-own-salad bowls.

I watched a snail crawl across the edge of one of those things you use to shave.

-What's it called? -Razor.

- Not a knife. -He's thinking razor.

- What are those things called? -Enough.

A sharpie? No, that's not it--

Well, yikes.

Indeed.

Ugh. He used to be one of the most promising vampires in this New World.

Well, I wouldn't go that far.

But now... ...he is unrecognizable. Dangerous.

Dangerous, you say?

Yes. We are hearing reports of increasingly erratic behavior.

- Mmm. -Nandor is drawing attention.

Too much attention.

-And attention puts all vampires at risk. - Understood.

He must be stopped.

So, Nandor's here?

Yes, we traced Nandor's dispatches to that location.

Go to New Hampshire.

Retrieve Nandor

and with haste.

Okay, so we made it to New Hampshire.

The dossier said that Nandor is hiding here at the Hancock and Sons Factory.

I mean, it was the factory until you and your Cannon Capital cronies

stripped it down for parts.

Actually, a leveraged buyout is a pretty neat way for a failing business

to reinvent itself for the future--

- Shut up, Guillermo. - Shut up, Gizmo.

-Okay. -

What the hell happened here?

Stay close, my darling.

Hey, look, what if the H, A and N were missing?

-Get it? Cock and Sons. - No.

Oh. Smells like slow death in here.

- Malaria. - Nightmares.

Little dusty.

- My, my, my, my... - Nan-man, are-are you here?

Nan-man?

There is no "Nan-man" here.

There is only Nandor the Relentless.

Warrior.

Leader.

So, Na-Nandor, have you been here the whole time since you were, um--

Fired?

Yes, I have.

And, uh, why?

Vampire-only explanations. That means not you, Guillermo.

Okay.

When one is burned,

one feels most at home amongst the ashes,

which is why I came here to the husk of the Hancock and Sons factory

amongst others that had been discarded by Cannon Capital Strategies.

But what I found...

oh, what I found...

A bunch of preppy crap?

-"Preppy essentials." -Hmm.

And no. I found soldiers.

Many of the humans left when the jobs did.

Those that remained, they needed... they craved a leader.

A warrior. A commander. And they became my army.

And, uh, where is this army?

-In the field. Awaiting our next strike. - Huh.

Which reminds me, I have a war council meeting now.

You may walk with me, if you must.

Oh. Mind the shirt pins. They're fucking everywhere.

So, Nandor, this army you have raised. What is the, uh, end game?

To conquer. To take the battle, town by town,

from here to the very steps of Cannon Capital itself.

Right. But, um, why?

So that Cannon Capital will rue the day

they cast out their greatest warrior.

Ah! We are here.

Good evening, comrades.

- Fuck my old boots. - Good gravy.

-Uh. So this is your war council? - Yes.

- And who are these chaps? - My reserves.

- And what about them? - My concubines.

- Shit. - Huh.

Now, look, I really need to get on with my strategy session,

unless you have any more questions?

- I do. -No.

Are you okay?

What is he still doing here?

-Well, I drove... -You are the enemy.

An errand boy sent by greengrocers to spy on me.

-Leave. -I'm not the enemy. Tell him.

-See ya later. - Bugger off.

Okay. I will be out here.

Well, it looks like you've had quite the exciting time here, Nandor.

No one can deny that.

But what say we go home now before you freak the fuck out of anyone else?

This is my home.

The battlefield.

-Okay. - Hmm.

What is that, Major Briggs? A maneuver from the east?

Perhaps...

I think it's safe to assume he's gone absolutely mad.

Yeah, I don't like using this word, but he is crazy.

Oy! No. You do not get to use that word, you tweed demon.

He's like this because of you.

-But, yes, he is absolutely crazy. -Yeah.

Well, we can't just leave him here like this.

Unless...

Can we?

No, we cannot. He's a danger to himself.

How about we sit him down and say,

"Hey, you're nuts. Stop it. Stop being nuts."

I see someone is well-versed in psychology.

Well, let's just grab him by the neck and yank him out of this hell box.

We can't. To extract Nandor by force would be like waking a sleepwalker.

-So, what, then? - There is only one solution.

We role-play the scenario that Nandor has concocted in his mind.

In time, our presence will shine a light on the holes in his fantasy,

and he can follow that light back to reality.

So Shutter Island rules, so to speak.

- -

"We are the hollow men."

Uh. It's worth a shot.

All right.

Okay. I'm in.

Excellent.

-Fuck off. -What?

You need to go now.

- Why? -'Cause he believes you are the enemy.

-I'm not the enemy. -What're you still doing here?

- Bye, bitch. -Okay.

Bye-bye, bitch.

Keep walking, bitch.

Stop calling me bitch.

Sorry, bitch.

- - Nandor?

Bit busy.

Your army, we'd like to enlist.

- Sir. - What?

If you wish to be in my army,

then you will all address me as "sir."

-Okay, I'm out. -Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Yes, sir.

Good. So, basic training begins now.

Cannon Capital nemeedooni.

Cannon Capital nemeedooni.

[Nandor speaking Al Quolanudarian]

- You are clay. - No.

- -Soft, weak, goopy.

-But I am here to mold you... - Yes, sir!

-...to make you strong, to shape you. - Whoo.

Cannon Capital chalqoozeh.

Cannon Capital chalqoozeh.

I joined the Royal Navy a few years ago,

for the sea, the sun and mainly the sex.

But what I'm finding here is just a lot of marching...

- That's it. - ...push-ups for no reason...

30,001, 30,002.

...and no one's offered me anything that looks like a medal.

What the fuck? Shave your own head.

Okay. On your marks. Get set. Crawl, worms.

That's it.

I did not realize being in Nandor's fake army would involve