Chapter 3: Settling In
His white shirt was soaked crimson, the fabric sticking to his chest like second skin. Blood leaked from the gash across his ribs, but Sam didn't flinch. Pain was familiar now, no longer shocking. It was just data—one more signal in the storm.
The basement was chaos. Dust floated in shafts of pale light, mixing with sweat and blood as the echoes of impact reverberated off the stone walls. Grayson moved like a tactician—calculated steps, clean strikes. Every blow had purpose, every dodge read like he'd seen it a second before it happened. Their father's training lived in him like muscle memory, polished and cold.
John was the opposite—unrefined, violent, and terrifying. He fought like he was trying to break something that couldn't be fixed. And for a second, it had almost worked. His swing had been wild, reckless, but fast. Faster than it should've been.
Sam hadn't been able to dodge all of it.
The moment the claws raked across his side, he'd known. He went down hard, one knee cracking against concrete, breath caught in his throat as pain flared white-hot. But he didn't scream. He didn't even curse. He just clenched his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and braced for the next strike.
It didn't come.
Grayson was already moving—silently, precisely—like a blade sliding into the space between John's offense and the next heartbeat. Three hits, one breath, and John was down. Not unconscious, but disarmed. Grayson stood over him, chest heaving once, then still. Sam, bloodied and grounded, just watched it unfold.
"I told you not to leave your left side open," Grayson said, not looking back.
Sam wiped blood from his lips, tasting copper. "And I told you John hits like a truck."
John sat up groaning, swiping sweat from his brow. "Didn't know we were aiming to cripple the rookie."
"We're training to survive vampires," Grayson said flatly. "No second chances."
That was a month ago.
Now, the scar on Sam's side had faded to a thin line—barely visible, though he still traced it some mornings out of habit. He'd healed fast. Not magically fast, not like a vampire, but faster than he should've. The system didn't just give him missions and stats. It rewired him.
At first, becoming Sam Gilbert had been surreal. The soul merge—the blending of his old life with this one—had nearly torn him apart in the first few days. Sam Witleck and Sam Gilbert were two different people. But the system had overridden that. Efficiently. Brutally. It didn't erase either of them; it consumed one, preserved the other. Now, the memories of Mystic Falls felt just as real as the fires he'd once walked through. Grayson, John, Miranda, Elena… They weren't strangers anymore. They were his.
And that was more dangerous than anything else.
The Red Hood System wasn't passive. It demanded. It shaped. Every day brought a new directive, a new challenge. Push-ups in pitch-black woods. Navigating the town blindfolded. Interrogating townsfolk while suppressing his pulse, testing his control. More than once, he'd woken up to find one of his belongings stolen by the system and hidden somewhere in Mystic Falls with a twenty-four-hour window to find it.
Every completed task earned him something more valuable than gear: time.
Time in The Room—a mental construct created by the system. Three times faster than real time. One hour of real life gave him three inside. It had no limits. No distractions. Just him and Jason Todd, or at least, a combat A.I. built from every fight Red Hood ever survived.
Inside The Room, he bled. He broke. And he learned.
They trained in empty cities, shifting deserts, war zones frozen in eternal twilight. Enemies were simulated, but the consequences felt real. Sam couldn't die there—but he could fail. Over and over again.
Jason pushed him like a demon. Sam pushed back harder.
The body couldn't evolve in The Room, but the mind could. Reflexes. Pattern recognition. Tactical instincts. It was like sharpening a knife inside a hurricane. By the time he emerged from a session, his body hadn't changed—but everything else had.
And through it all, the system remained cold. Focused. Efficient.
But sometimes, in the silence between missions, it whispered.
Assimilation: 17%.Species: Human.Status: Stable.System Note: You are being watched.
Sam didn't like that last one.
Then again, he hadn't liked the beginner's gift either.
It had seemed harmless at first—just a slight pressure in his chest. But after ten minutes, he'd coughed up black fluid and passed out in the woods. When he woke, the system casually informed him that his blood was now a cure for vampirism.
Permanent. Irreversible. Unreplicable.
A cure no one could know about.
If a vampire even suspected what flowed in his veins, they'd rip him open for a taste. If someone he loved found out, they'd become targets. It was a secret he'd bury deep and carry alone.
Like everything else.
Grayson had begun integrating him into their family training rotations—nothing too intense. Sam had to act like the younger brother, still trying to catch up. But even Grayson was starting to notice things. How quickly Sam learned. How controlled he was under pressure. How he never blinked when knives were involved.
He was careful to downplay it. The plan wasn't to stand out—not yet.
It had only been a week since graduation. He'd played his part at the ceremony—quiet, focused, respectful. Valedictorian was already locked, but Sam still came in second. That was enough to keep the cover tight.
Afterward, they'd celebrated at the Lockwood mansion. Jenna was already three glasses deep when they arrived, her laugh echoing off the walls like it belonged there. Mason Lockwood was his usual self—half-charmer, half-predator—hovering between flirt and menace.
Sam played along. Smiled when he had to. Drank just enough to blend in.
That night, he woke up in a holding cell. Sheriff Forbes told him he'd been found tagging "KATH" on the outer wall of the Salvatore Boarding House.
He didn't remember it.
Not entirely.
But he knew what it meant.
Katherine Pierce. The ghost of a problem waiting to rise again.
One drunken slip, and he'd nearly outed himself. The guilt lingered for days.
He buried it the only way he knew how: with work.
He spent the next week immersed in calm.
Took Elena and Jeremy to the fair. Bought them overpriced ice cream. Watched Elena win a stuffed animal and pretend not to care. Laughed when Jeremy made fun of her for it. It was real, that laughter. Unforced. It grounded him.
But even then, the weight of what was coming pressed against his spine.
I can't stay here.
Mystic Falls was a powder keg. The Salvatore brothers. Katherine. Bonnie's awakening. The tomb. It was all lined up like dominoes. And when it fell, Sam needed to be more than prepared. He needed to be untouchable.
Yale was the first step. A year of study—pharmaceuticals and chemistry. The cover was academic. The purpose was war.
After that, the plan was already in motion.
Japan. England. Italy. France. Nigeria. Egypt. Brazil. Australia. Ten countries. Seven years. Each one a test. Each one a crucible. Vampires, witches, shapeshifters, hunters—Sam wanted to learn the rules they played by. Not the stories. The truth.
He would leave. He would grow. And he would return.
Just in time to stop the crash that was destined to tear this family apart.
Grayson and Miranda didn't have to die. He wouldn't let them.
He'd already prepared the Ducati Multistrada V4. Modified, armored, discreet. It was waiting for him—engine humming like it knew the journey ahead. Every morning, he checked its fuel. Every night, he ran his fingers along the leather seat, counting down the days.
And still, the system pushed.
Status:
Name: Sam GilbertSpecies: HumanTitles: [Red Hood], [Gilbert Heir]Assimilation: 17%
Attributes:Strength: 16Speed: 17Constitution: 16Dexterity: 18Intelligence: 16(10 = average human, 20 = superhuman)
Each number had been earned, carved into bone by mission after mission. Every morning, a little stronger. Every night, a little more precise.
He sat at the table with Elena and Jeremy that morning, listening to them bicker about cereal choices. The sun filtered in through the windows like it had no idea what was coming.
They were innocent now.
But the shadows were already moving.
Sam reached for his glass of orange juice, calm, quiet.
And he waited.
Because the supernatural world was watching.
And Sam Gilbert was finally ready to look back.