Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Vending Machine Justice

If I had known that a bag of sour cream chips would be the death of me, I would’ve bought the barbecue ones instead.

It all started on a Thursday—already cursed. I was standing in front of the vending machine on the third floor of the Denton Towering office complex, jamming the buttons with the force of a man scorned by the universe. My name is—was—Larry Montgomery. Thirty-two. Unattached. Mildly bitter. Professionally underwhelming. And I had one rule in life:

Don’t trust people. Trust snacks.

But even that betrayed me.

The machine took my bill. The coils spun. The chips moved forward... and got stuck. Just hanging there like a smug little criminal, half-fallen, fully mocking me.

“No,” I muttered. “No, no, no—don’t you dare.”

I smacked the glass.

I shook the sides.

People stared. I didn’t care. It was the principle. I gave it money. It owed me chips.

So I did what any proud, hungry idiot would do.

I kicked it.

And kicked it again.

The last thing I remember was a sharp groan, a creak of metal... and then the heavy groan of gravity.

The vending machine tilted.

And in a moment of pure cinematic stupidity, it crashed forward—straight onto me.

Everything went dark.

When I woke up, it wasn’t with angels singing. It was with barking.

Lots of barking.

I blinked. The world smelled weird. Like disinfectant, wet newspaper, and... meat?

My limbs felt wrong. Shorter. Hairier. I tried to sit up and hit my head on something above me—bars.

Metal bars.

Panic surged. I scrambled back and thudded into a wall. My body didn’t move the way I remembered. My hands—weren’t hands. My voice came out as a garbled yelp.

What the—

“Looks like the new one’s up,” said a gravelly voice.

I turned—twisted?—and saw a wrinkled pug staring at me from the next cage over. His face looked like it had survived a blender. His eyes were cloudy, but judging.

I opened my mouth to ask where I was, but it came out:

“Bark?”

The pug nodded solemnly.

“Yeah. That’s how it starts.”

The realization hit me like the vending machine hadn’t.

I wasn’t dead.

I was reincarnated.

As. A. Dog.

Me. Larry Montgomery. Reincarnated. In a shelter. In a cage. Probably neutered.

I flopped onto the mat, staring at the scratched-up wall across from me.

Was this a joke?

Was there some karmic god out there punishing me for refusing to donate to charity that one time?

“Hey, buddy,” the pug said again, leaning his flat face on his paw. “What’s your name?”

I tried to say “Larry.” It came out as a wheezy snort.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said. “Welcome to the pen, reincarnate. Hope you didn’t have big plans.”

I let my head fall onto my paws, my heart pounding faster than my stubby legs could keep up.

No chips. No body. No clue.

Just a new name, a furry face, and a cage that smelled like boiled liver.

If this was some twisted cosmic joke...

I wasn’t laughing.

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