Vince opened his eyes in the darkness, instantly alert.
Something was wrong.
Or different.
He hadn't heard his alarm, but a quick glance at his phone showed it was 4:47 AM—thirteen minutes before it was set to go off.
That wasn't what woke him.
It was the soft blue glow illuminating his face.
Floating approximately eighteen inches from his face was a translucent, rectangular screen.
The edges were crisp, the blue background both vivid and somehow not blinding in the darkness.
Silver borders framed the impossible apparition.
White text in a clean, modern font displayed a message that made no sense:
HOLLYWOOD SYSTEM ACTIVATION COMPLETE. WELCOME, FUTURE SUPERSTAR.
Vince stared at it, unmoving.
"What the—" he whispered, then jerked backwards.
His body, already at the edge of the mattress, found only air.
He tumbled to the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, his elbow striking the ground first and sending a shock of pain up his arm.
Across the room, Marcus's form shifted under his blankets, mumbling something unintelligible before settling back into rhythmic snoring.
Vince scrambled to his feet, heart hammering against his ribs.
The blue screen remained, now hovering at eye level, as if politely adjusting to his new position.
He reached out a hesitant hand, expecting to feel cool glass or plastic.
His fingers passed straight through the display.
No resistance.
No sensation.
Just... nothing.
"I'm hallucinating," he whispered to the empty air.
He blinked rapidly—once, twice, fifteen times in quick succession.
The screen remained, perfectly stable, perfectly impossible.
"I'm losing my mind," he concluded, voice barely audible even to himself.
The floating interface shifted, as if responding to his distress.
The welcome message faded, replaced by what could only be described as a menu.
Five options appeared in neat, white text: PROFILE, QUESTS, SKILLS, INVENTORY, HELP.
In the bottom right corner, a small icon pulsed gently, drawing his attention.
NEW USER TUTORIAL AVAILABLE
Vince glanced quickly at Marcus, still sleeping soundly.
"Can you see this?" he whispered toward his roommate, who responded with a particularly resonant snore.
Vince tentatively reached toward the display again, this time with a pointed finger.
He hesitated just before passing through the "PROFILE" option.
What if this was some elaborate VR prank?
What if he had actually lost his mind?
What if...
He tapped the profile section.
The menu dissolved, replaced by a detailed data display.
*NAME: Vincent Carter
AGE: 18
LEVEL: 1 (Aspiring Actor)*
*CURRENT STATS:
Acting: F+ (12/100)
Singing: D- (23/100)
Dancing: F (8/100)
Charisma: C (45/100)
Physical Fitness: C+ (52/100)
Networking: F (5/100)*
*SPECIAL TRAITS:
Naturally Photogenic (+5 to headshot quality)
Movie Quote Encyclopedia (Eccentric but memorable)
Method Acting Tendency (Can boost performance but may cause issues)*
Vince stared at the stats, a strange mixture of offense and resignation washing over him.
F+ in Acting?
That was generous, considering the 847 rejections.
And D- in Singing?
He couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it.
But the "Special Traits" section...
That was unnervingly accurate.
His tendency to quote movies when nervous was something only his closest friends noticed.
And his habit of staying in character even after auditions had earned him more than a few strange looks.
"This isn't possible," he said, louder this time.
The blue screen flickered, as if acknowledging his disbelief.
Vince backed up until his legs hit the bed frame, then sat down heavily.
He reached for the "HELP" option, finger trembling slightly.
As soon as he touched it, a voice spoke inside his mind.
Not through his ears—inside his thoughts.
"I am the Hollywood Achievement System," said a calm, gender-neutral voice. "I exist to guide talented individuals toward entertainment industry success."
Vince glanced wildly around the room, looking for speakers, cameras, anything to explain this.
"You have been selected based on your determination and natural potential," the voice continued, as if reading his confusion.
"Can Marcus see you?" Vince asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"No," came the immediate response. "I am visible only to my assigned user."
Vince looked toward his sleeping roommate again, confirming that Marcus remained oblivious to the bizarre light show and conversation.
"Are you real?" Vince asked, feeling ridiculous even as the question left his mouth.
"I am as real as your ambition, Vincent," the System replied, which wasn't an answer at all.
Vince's analytical side kicked in, searching for explanations.
Sleep deprivation.
Stress-induced hallucination.
Carbon monoxide poisoning?
The apartment's ancient heating system was suspect, after all.
"How do you know my stats?" he asked, latching onto something concrete. "Like my singing ability. Or my...special traits."
"I have analyzed your performances, social interactions, and potential based on observable data," the System replied smoothly.
"Observable data? Have you been watching me?"
The System didn't answer directly.
Instead, the interface shifted again, displaying a new screen labeled "QUESTS."
*STARTER QUEST: "PROVE YOUR WORTH"
OBJECTIVE: Impress an audience of 20+ people within 48 hours
CURRENT PROGRESS: 0/1 Performance Completed
REWARD: +1 Acting Skill Level, Unlock "Stage Presence" ability
FAILURE CONSEQUENCE: System remains locked for 30 days
TIME REMAINING: 47 hours, 23 minutes*
Vince read the quest details twice, then a third time.
Forty-eight hours to perform in front of at least twenty people?
When he could barely get an audition for a commercial?
"This is insane," he muttered.
The quest timer continued its silent countdown: 47 hours, 22 minutes.
His eyes drifted to the red duffel bag by the door.
The bus ticket inside it.
The exit strategy.
His mother's voice echoed in his memory: "There's no shame in coming home, Vince. Los Angeles isn't going anywhere."
Except something had changed.
Maybe it was this impossible System floating before him.
Maybe it was his own desperation finding a new form.
Maybe he really had lost his mind.
But whatever the reason, Vince felt a familiar spark that had been missing for months.
Curiosity.
Challenge.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
The Greyhound website loaded slowly, the customer service number displayed at the bottom of the page.
Vince glanced at the quest timer again.
47 hours, 21 minutes.
He tapped the number and brought the phone to his ear.
"Greyhound customer service, how can I help you today?" a tired voice answered after three rings.
"Hi, I need to cancel my ticket for the 6:30 bus to Columbus this morning."
"Name on the reservation?"
"Vincent Carter."
The sound of typing filtered through the phone.
"I see your reservation here, Mr. Carter. You understand there's a cancellation fee of forty dollars?"
Forty dollars he couldn't really afford to lose.
"Yes, that's fine."
"Your remaining balance will be credited back to your original payment method within 5-7 business days. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, that's all. Thank you."
The call ended, and Vince stared at the phone in his hand.
What had he just done?
His safety net was gone.
If this System thing was some kind of hallucination, he'd just thrown away his last chance to leave with dignity.
And yet, the blue interface continued to hover before him, the quest timer still counting down.
46 hours, 58 minutes.
Vince stood up and moved to the tiny bathroom, splashing cold water on his face.
The mirror showed dark circles under his eyes and a day's worth of stubble.
He didn't look like someone about to start a grand new adventure.
He looked like someone who hadn't slept properly in weeks.
When he returned to the main room, the blue interface followed, maintaining its position relative to his line of sight.
Like a video game HUD that wouldn't go away.
He sat on the couch, opened his laptop, and began to search.
"Open mic nights Los Angeles"
"Performance opportunities no experience"
"Places to perform in front of audience LA"
The System hovered silently as he scrolled through the results.
Comedy clubs with open mic nights that required months of waiting.
Poetry slams that had closed submissions.
Student film projects looking for unpaid actors, all with audition dates weeks from now.
Nothing that would fit his 48-hour window.
The sun began to rise, pale light filtering through the single window of the apartment.
Vince hadn't moved from the couch in over an hour, various tabs open on his laptop, the blue interface of the System a constant companion in his field of vision.
Behind him, the sound of Marcus's alarm blared briefly before being silenced.
Shuffling noises, a yawn, then footsteps approaching.
"Dude, what are you doing up?" Marcus asked, voice thick with sleep. "And why aren't you on a bus right now?"
Vince turned to look at his roommate, who was scratching his head, hair sticking up at improbable angles.
Marcus's eyes narrowed as he studied Vince's face.
"Bro, you're starting to worry me," he said, moving closer. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Vince glanced at the blue interface, still visible only to him.
"Change of plans," he said simply. "I'm staying. For now."
Marcus blinked, processing this information with his sleep-addled brain.
"What about the ticket? And Ohio? And all that 'I'm done with LA' stuff from last night?"
"I reconsidered."
Marcus stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged.
"Okay, weirdo. I'm glad you're staying, but damn, you're hard to keep up with sometimes."
He shambled toward the kitchen area, opening the fridge and peering inside.
"We're out of milk," he announced. "And pretty much everything else."
Vince barely heard him.
His attention was fixed on the System interface, which remained unchanged.
The quest timer continued its relentless countdown.
46 hours, 32 minutes.
Whatever was happening—hallucination, miracle, or mental breakdown—he was committed now.
The bus to Ohio was leaving without him.
He was staying in LA.
And somehow, he needed to perform in front of at least twenty people in less than two days.
This was either the beginning of something amazing or the start of his complete unraveling.
Either way, Vincent Carter wasn't going home today.