GASP!
Grayson Stratham woke to silence.
Not the kind of silence you get in a studio after the director yells cut, but a more oppressive quiet. He blinked, groaning, reaching for the ache in his back and immediately gagged at the stench in the air. The smell of Wet Soil and A faint, metallic tang that reminded him of a butcher shop left uncleaned too long.
"Ugh....what the hell is that smell?" he muttered, pushing himself up.
His palms sank into dirt, not the plywood flooring and fake grass of the stage he was Oh-so familiar with. He stared at the dirt in his fingers then blinked again, squinting through dim shafts of sunlight filtering through thick, tangled branches overhead. He was lying in a forest, dark, dense, and entirely way too real to be misunderstood as a prop for the low budget movie he was an extra in.
For one brief, hopeful moment, Grayson thought it was just another set. Studios loved forests. Cheap, atmospheric, easy to build with fake life-like trees and some fog machines. Maybe he'd passed out during filming, and the crew had dragged him here to use as a background corpse. Wouldn't be the first time his body was only useful as a prop.
Or maybe… maybe it was a dream. Yeah. That had to be it. Too much stress, not enough sleep. He'd wake up in his dingy apartment to the smell of stale takeout soon enough.
But the pain in his back from the hard ground, the throbbing at his temples, and that nauseating stench told him otherwise. He quickly recollected his thoughts and remembered that he had been sucked into something from the stage.
"Yeah....This ...This is way too detailed for a dream," he mumbled.
Just as he was Shuffling through his thoughts and what to believe a sound Gripped his attention ...
DING!
A translucent screen blinked into existence in front of his face. Not floating cardboard. Not a badly projected effect. A glowing, hovering rectangle of light.
Grayson flinched back, nearly tripping over a root.
[Installation complete]
[HOLLYWOOD SYSTEM is now Active]
[Assessing Experience...]
[Assessing components...]
[Assessing Potential...]
[Assessing Audience score...]
[Assessing View Rate...]
DING!
[You have awakened the ultra-rare Class: SSS-Rank Actor.]
[Your survival depends on your ability to perform.]
Grayson blinked. "...What?"
The letters didn't go away. He swiped at them, but his hand passed straight through the glowing screen.
"No, no, no." He laughed nervously, looking around. "Okay, very funny. Where's the director? Who's running this gag? You got me. Holograms? Augmented reality? Am I wearing some kind of headset?" Grayson Mocked as he togged on his head thinking he'd take of a VR headset.
No response. Only silence and the low whisper of wind moving through the trees.
Grayson cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey! Director! Wardrobe! Any of you kids messing with me? I don't do improv without pay! Come on!"
Nothing.
Another line of text appeared before him:
[Tutorial Mode Initiating...]
[As an Actor, you will be assigned roles to play.]
[To survive, you must embody them.]
[Your Quality of performance will aid you tremendously.]
Grayson's laugh cracked. "...Oh, come on. This is insane. This is like… like a video game. Some kind of weird fantasy genre, huh?. Except I haven't played video games in a long while, Director, I need the script! I can't improv for this."
The screen pulsed.
[Trial Role Assigned.]
[Role: Yakuza Thug (C-Tier)]
[Traits: Fearless. Ruthless. Loyal to Brotherhood. Honour Bound.]
Grayson squinted at the words. "Yakuza? C-Tier? What The hell....what does this even...."
A rustling sound cut him off.
From between the trees, three small figures emerged. Green-skinned, hunched, their yellow eyes glinting with hunger. They carried crude wooden clubs and jagged knives. Their snarling faces made their intentions pretty much clear to Grayson.
Grayson's Heart stopped for a second.
"uhhh....Go-..Goblins?" he whispered.
The goblins screeched in reply, charging forward with terrifying speed.
Grayson stumbled back, heart hammering. "No no no no no no , this isn't happening"
Another message appeared, sharp and urgent.
[Warning! To survive, do not break character.]
[You must fully immerse yourself in your role.]
Grayson's jaw went slack. "Break character? FUCK THIS! This isn't a stage For Christ's sake!"
[Role: Yakuza Thug (C-Tier).]
[Traits: Ruthless. Fearless. Honour Bound.]
Fear clamped around his chest like a vice. His legs shook so badly he could barely stay upright. A voice in his head screamed run, but the glowing text lingered in his vision, taunting him.
And then, he remembered.
The auditions he'd failed. The gangster films he'd tried out for. The casting director who'd told him, "You don't have the face of star, Stratham. You don't have the face of a man that can commit to the important roles."
Well. He always wanted to prove that director wrong, and if he could commit to any role then it would be now when his life depended on it. He had no choice.
Grayson straightened, forcing his knees to stop shaking. He spat on the ground and growled in the deepest, roughest voice he could muster.
"Oi. Ch-Chotto matte!. You little punks think you can mess with me? Ya!?"
The goblins hesitated. Grayson swaggered a step forward with the exaggerated swagger of an Otaku that grew up watching Gangster themed animes. puffing out his chest like the actors he'd once envied.
"You're lookin' at Stratham-san, Oyabun of the East Side Triad. Attack one of my Kyodai and you answer to all of us. You want a fight? You'll get a bloodbath, You baka yaro!!!"
A chime rang.
DING!
[Role Gauge: 10%]
Then another message:
[Prop Activated.]
With a shimmer of light, a knife appeared in mid-air before him. Sleek and Sharp. A sashimi knife, the kind he'd seen chefs use in sushi restaurants.
Grayson blinked at it.
"A… cooking knife? I couldn't get a gun instead!?"
[Sashimi Knife Prop: +10% Speed.]
The goblins growled and advanced. Grayson, with no other choice, grabbed the knife. His hands stopped trembling as soon as his fingers wrapped around the hilt. A strange calm washed over him, like slipping into someone else's skin.
The Yakuza skin.
[Role Gauge: 20%]
His voice came out steadier this time, lower, darker. "Come closer, little shits. I'll cut you up so thin, they'll serve you with wasabi."
The goblins faltered, their snarls quieter now, as if sensing something unnatural radiating off him.
Grayson blinked. He wasn't even sure he was the one talking anymore. His fists felt steadier. His stance firmer. His chest swelled with a confidence he hadn't felt in decades.
He hadn't felt this genuine in an acting Role in ages.
Hope rose in him. Maybe, just maybe, he could survive this.
Then the nearest goblin shrieked and leapt forward, club swinging.
The blow smashed across Grayson's shoulder. White-hot pain exploded through him, dropping him to his knees. The illusion shattered.
"AAAGH! Son of a-...!"
The sashimi knife slipped in his sweaty grip. He flailed, pure desperation taking over, and hurled it with all his strength.
By dumb luck, the blade spun and buried itself in the goblin's chest. The creature screeched, stumbling back before collapsing in the dirt.
Grayson's eyes widened. He'd killed it. He'd actually....
Then the other two goblins roared and lunged.
Panic surged. Fear trampled over his yakuza mask. He turned and bolted, sprinting through the trees with the two goblins crashing after him.
[Character immersion breaking...]
[ -17%]
[Role Gauge: 3%]
[Prop retracted]
The sashimi knife disappeared from the goblin 's body but Grayson didn't wait around to notice it,
Branches whipped his face, roots threatened to trip him, but adrenaline pushed him forward. His only thought: run, survive, run, survive, run, survive.
Because right now, Grayson Stratham , The Z-list background extra, realised once again that this was more than just acting.
This was a fight for his life.