Chapter 1: In the beningin
The rain had stopped about an hour ago, but the streets of London were still slick and reflective beneath the glow of the streetlamps.
It was just past two in the morning when I unlocked the door to my flat—a modest place on the third floor of a converted townhouse in Camden. The door made its usual reluctant sound as it opened, and the quiet that followed felt unusually still.
My name is Nathaniel Crowe. I'm thirty-nine years old and on the verge of becoming a partner at one of the more established law firms in the city.
The kind of job people talk about when they say someone has "made it." A salary big enough to make a difference. A title that sounds impressive when it's printed on a business card. And for the first time in years, I felt like I was about to reach that checkpoint. I should have felt proud, but it felt distant.
I slipped off my coat, which was still damp from the walk home, and dropped it over the back of the couch. The flat smelled like paper, coffee, and the faint metallic scent of radiator heat. It was the same as always, but lately the place had stopped feeling personal. I had spent too many nights here alone, working past midnight, reading legal documents while the world outside kept moving.
I loosened my tie and sat down on the bed. The room was quiet except for the steady ticking of the clock above my bookshelf. I didn't turn on the television or play music. I just sat there for a while, watching the shadows stretch across the ceiling.
When I was younger, I was fascinated by stories. I watched everything I could get my hands on—shows, movies, anime. I read constantly. My friends and I would spend hours discussing characters and plotlines, whether we were sitting on park benches or chatting online.
I still remember back in the day when my friend and I talked about some novel about a shadow slave or something...we even joked about writing our own novel.
Some people admired athletes or musicians, and I did too. I looked up to football players, basketballers, and swimmers who pushed their bodies to the limit and made discipline look like second nature. I was amazed by musicians who could stand on a stage and pour every emotion into their sound, turning chaos into art. They were larger than life, doing something that seemed impossible to replicate.
But more than anything, I admired fictional characters. They helped me understand the kind of person I wanted to be.
I admired Stiles Stilinski from Teen Wolf. He wasn't the hero with powers, but he was always there. Loyal, quick-thinking, and brave when it mattered. He supported his friends no matter how dangerous things became. That kind of steadiness appealed to me.
Then there was Harvey Specter from Suits. He was composed, self-assured, and direct. He didn't back down when he believed in something, and he knew how to navigate any room he walked into. It wasn't about being the smartest or the richest—it was about being clear on who you were and what you stood for. I saw that and thought, "That's how I want to be seen."
Oliver Queen from Arrow showed me something different. He had flaws, but he carried responsibility with him and protected the people he cared about, even when it was difficult. He wasn't perfect, but he stayed committed to what mattered to him. I respected that.
I think those characters shaped how I understood strength, loyalty, and purpose. But looking back, I never really followed the parts of them that took risks. The turning points in their lives came when they stepped outside of what was expected of them.
I never really did that.
Instead, I took the path that seemed responsible. I went to school, got the grades, and earned the degrees. I passed the SQE and started working in a field that, on paper, was everything I wanted. I genuinely enjoyed studying law. The structure of it, the clarity. I liked digging into legal arguments and picking apart the logic behind cases.
What I didn't enjoy was the environment I found myself in. The long hours, the pressure to perform, the subtle hierarchy of value that seemed to reduce people to their billing numbers or how late they stayed in the office. Over time, it wore me down. I kept climbing the ladder, but I didn't feel like I was moving forward.
Over the years, people drifted. Friends I used to talk to everyday stopped reaching out. My relationship ended because I couldn't make time for anyone outside work. I missed birthdays, weddings, even a funeral. I kept telling myself it was temporary—that once I reached a certain level, I'd get time back.
Tonight, though, that story stopped feeling true. The firm had just told me they wanted to fast-track my promotion. I should have been excited. Instead, I looked around my quiet flat and wondered how much more time I was going to give away before I started doing anything for myself.
I picked up my phone and started scrolling. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just something to distract me. I ended up watching a clip from a show I used to love. It was a scene where the main character stood in front of an audience, putting everything he had into a performance. Just focus and a kind of freedom I hadn't felt in a long time.
When I was a teenager, I used to imagine being in scenes like that. I acted them out in front of the mirror. Sometimes I wrote lines for characters of my own. My friends and I even filmed a few short clips and posted them online, just for fun. No one really watched them, but we had a great time making them. I forgot how good that felt.
I turned off the lamp and lay back, still dressed from the day. I was tired, but not from work. I was tired from not doing anything that felt like it belonged to me.
Before I closed my eyes, I said quietly, "Maybe in another life."
And then I was asleep. I had to wake up in 4 hours for work after all.
...
I opened my eyes gradually, expecting to see the familiar ceiling of my flat or perhaps the early morning light filtering through the curtains. Instead, I was met with the harsh, clinical glow of overhead fluorescent lighting, the kind commonly found in offices or waiting rooms. There was a strange lightness in my head, as if I had either overslept or not truly rested at all.
As my vision cleared, the room began to take shape. Rows of closely arranged chairs filled the space, and every seat seemed to be occupied by young individuals. Each person appeared completely focused, their attention fixed on sheets of paper they held in their hands. Most were mouthing words quietly, rehearsing lines or perhaps mentally preparing for something. Some wore wired earphones, what generation is that from bro, while others repeated phrases under their breath with unwavering repetition.
I sat up a little straighter, still trying to process what I was seeing. The last thing I remembered was getting into bed after another long workday.
Yet this place, wherever it was, clearly was not my apartment. The air smelled unfamiliar—clean but impersonal—and the atmosphere carried a kind of anticipatory tension, reminiscent of a school testing environment.
Searching for some context, I glanced to my right and noticed the phone in the hand of the girl sitting next to me. It was a small, older model iPhone, with thick edges and a single round home button. It took me a second to recognize it, but I was almost certain it was an iPhone 3. That alone was enough to make me pause. I had not seen one of those in many years.
Looking down at my lap, I noticed a piece of paper. I picked it up and scanned the text:
"Second Round Audition – Mock Script (Teen Wolf: MTV)"
At first, the words made very little sense. I read them again more carefully, hoping they might change or at least trigger some memory. "Teen Wolf" was a show I had watched years ago, but it had already ended. I was fairly certain it had wrapped up a long time ago, and no reboot or sequel had been announced.
An audition for that series made no logical sense. The timing was completely off, and the entire situation felt out of place. I could not understand why anyone would be auditioning for something that no longer existed on air.
I looked down at myself and noticed more strange details. My jeans, hoodie, and sneakers all appeared slightly unfamiliar.
My hands, too, looked different. They lacked the small wrinkles and wear I had grown accustomed to. They looked younger, more agile.
And...since when did I even have hoodies?!
I scanned the room again, hoping for something to ground me. On the far wall were a few posters—basic, printed notices likely taped up by the casting office. One displayed the MTV logo. Another featured a schedule:
"Teen Wolf Second Round Auditions. Check in with the front desk. Wait until called."
The more I looked around, the more convinced I became that this place was real. It did not have the loose logic or shifting edges of a dream. I could feel the chair beneath me, the paper in my hands. The lights above gave off that unmistakable humming noise that only fluorescent bulbs make.
Just as I began to consider standing up and asking someone where we were, my vision shifted. Not outwardly, but inwardly. It was as if something within my mind activated. A soft, blue interface appeared directly in my line of sight. It was not projected from a device, and I could not see any source. It simply floated in front of me, crisp and steady, almost like it was part of my own perception.
[SYSTEM INITIATED]
[Welcome to the WORLD'S GREATEST ENTERTAINER SYSTEM]
I remained still. For a moment, I did not even breathe. The display hovered patiently, as if expecting no particular reaction from me. There was no accompanying sound, no dramatic effect. Just the words themselves, presented calmly and clearly.
World's Greatest Entertainer System?
The phrase was unfamiliar, and yet there was something intuitive about it, like I was meant to recognize it even if I did not. I glanced around the room once more to see if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing, but everyone continued with their quiet preparations. There were no signs of confusion or shared awareness.
The screen pulsed faintly, as if acknowledging my confusion or urging me to respond. I did not speak aloud. I simply acknowledged its presence in my mind. Almost immediately, the screen faded away without sound or motion.
I was left sitting in the same chair, surrounded by young actors in what seemed to be a legitimate casting space—most likely in Atlanta, based on the signage. Everyone else appeared to understand their purpose for being there.
I, however, did not.
Despite that, I was holding a script, listed on the schedule, and now, apparently, connected to a system I did not fully understand.
Hi guys thank you so much for reading this fanfic. I actually thought a lot about how I want to plot progress. It's going to be a very slow story hope you guys enjoy, and I hope you guys like to see the main character slowly get destroyed by his own system.
...
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator