Chapter 1: The Stage Opens
The cold hit first.
Not the kind of cold that made you shiver, but the kind that settled deep, like rot in old wood or blood in unmoving limbs. Aiden's eyes snapped open as the chill crawled up his spine.
The ceiling above him was a web of cracks and water stains. Lights flickered overhead, their glow a sickly white, sputtering like they were choking on the air. One of them buzzed, giving off a pulse of static every few seconds. He blinked slowly.
Where the hell was he?
He sat up, his fingers brushing against dust-coated floorboards. The wood groaned beneath him. The air smelled wrong. Like rust. Like wet cloth left to mildew. Like something dead had whispered once in this room and never left.
His heartbeat was steady, but something inside him recoiled. He scanned his clothes. A dark button up shirt, fitted black pants, polished shoes. Not his. Clean, precise, theatrical.
He rose slowly. No wounds. No soreness. Everything around him was unfamiliar, but his mind was disturbingly clear.
A stage.
He was standing at the center of a decrepit wooden platform framed by moth-eaten red curtains. Torn theater seats lined the far wall, but the audience was long gone if it had ever been there.
No.
Something was still here.
A faint hum vibrated beneath the silence. A whisper, too quiet to name, but constantlike someone was breathing against the back of his neck.
He turned toward the curtain. Behind it wasn't backstage. There was no wall. Only black. Endless and waiting.
Then the screen dropped.
With a mechanical snap, a massive projector screen descended from above, slicing the stillness like a blade. Static surged across it, then flickered into glowing red text.
> [WELCOME, ACTOR 046: AIDEN CROSS]
His name. On the screen.
> [STAGE CALIBRATION: COMPLETE]
[INITIAL PERFORMANCE SCORE: UNRATED]
[SYSTEM LOADING… PLEASE PREPARE FOR ROLE INSERTION]
He didn't move. Didn't speak. But his jaw set slightly.
A click echoed through the room, followed by the hum of unseen gears turning in the walls. Then a voice.
Not mechanical. Not quite human.
A layered whisper, like too many mouths speaking through one throat.
> "Actor 046: Aiden Cross. Status: Conscious. Emotional response: 31 percent. Reaction: Passive. Survival probability: 41 percent. Recommendation: Adjust."
He frowned. "Adjust what?"
No answer.
The lights snapped to life, flooding the ruined stage with a golden wash like dying sunlight bleeding through rotted velvet.
A mirror rose from the floor, perfectly polished.
His reflection stared back.
For a moment, it smiled before he did.
> "You are currently logged into the Scripted Performance System."
"This system will monitor your progress, track your decisions, and calculate your Viewer Index Rating."
"Viewer," he muttered.
> "Yes. You are being observed. Your performance will determine your reward."
The screen shifted again.
> [ACTOR: AIDEN CROSS]
[RANKING: UNRATED]
[COINS: 0]
[ROLE SLOT: EMPTY]
> "Each script is a closed performance. You will be assigned a role. You must act. Failure to perform within character parameters will result in Role Collapse."
"Which means?"
> "Immediate script failure and termination."
He didn't respond. He understood what that meant.
"Viewer engagement determines your Coin payout. Creativity is encouraged. Survival is optional."
His reflection in the mirror flickered. Mouth too wide. Eyes too still. Then it snapped back to normal as if nothing had changed.
He took a step back, the floorboards creaking beneath his heel.
"System shop: locked."
"Inventory: empty."
"Unique trait detected: Emotional detachment from fellow actors."
"Effect: Unknown."
Aiden snorted under his breath. "You really are watching everything."
> "Performance predicted: Low interest."
He tilted his head. "Then I'll just have to raise the bar."
The system went quiet.
But the silence didn't last.
💨💨💨💨💨
It came gradually first like static under the skin, then like whispers in the dark.
Not from the system.
Not from speakers.
Real. Too real.
> "He's colder than the last one."
The voice came from beyond the curtains. From under the stage. From nowhere at all.
> "Do you think he'll scream?"
"He won't. He'll watch the others die and keep walking."
He didn't respond. He knew better than to feed the ghosts.
Instead, he moved down from the stage, toward the shadowy rows of chairs. The theater was lifeless. Mold. Dust. Torn cushions. But the air had changed.
He wasn't alone.
From the back of the room, past the last row, something flickered.
A white face. Just a hint. No eyes. No features. Then gone.
He turned again. A mirror now stood where nothing had been before.
Its surface was cracked. Words scrawled in uneven red ran across the glass.
> Don't trust the boy in green. He kills first.
Aiden stared.
Not part of the system.
No prompt. No alert. No sound.
Just a whisper someone wanted him to hear.
> A viewer.
A ghost trying to spice things up.
He muttered, "If you want me to take the bait, make it less obvious."
No response. But the mirror cracked down the center with a single brittle line.
He left it behind, walking back to center stage without a glance.
The system didn't register the writing.
Because it couldn't see it.
That was the rule.
Viewer messages never came through the system.
They slipped in around it. In dreams. In reflections. In voices you weren't supposed to hear.
And they were always watching.
uthor's Note Chapter 1: The Stage Opens
Welcome to Scripted to Die, a horror story where the stage is a trap, the audience is already dead, and the only way to survive is to perform.
This chapter introduces Aiden Cross, a man who wakes up in a role he never auditioned for, caught in a world that blurs the line between performance and punishment. From the moment he opens his eyes, he's being watched by a system that rewards drama and ghosts who crave blood over closure.
This isn't a game he can win by brute strength or blind trust. He's apathetic, analytical, and dangerously indifferent to the fates of others... but in this world, that might be his greatest weapon or his downfall.
Thank you for reading. The real show begins in Chapter 2.
And remember: the Viewers are always watching.
🌸 [sky_xyn]