Michael was exhausted, so many young men had come and gone. Normally for a role like this, an audition of this scale wouldn't even be necessary but it just so happened that this minor character manages to shift the trajectory of the movie to where it needed to be.
The role of Eliot Parker had already been typecasted for Samuel Mines, the young actor had just had his big break from Titan Films latest project which was Vanguard, a Titan superhero comic adaptation into live action, and he played the role of Wavelength, Ollie Tran, a high depressed geeky character with Electromagnetic powers.
Samuel Mines was highly praised for the role, and was very attractive to, coupled with the minor surgeries he had here and there he was damn near a Greek god to teenage girls.
He was just what the role needed, until Titan Films had immediately followed up with the shooting of another adaptation and he was casted to play a cameo so Samuel ditched this role goodbye and now here there where.
Scrawling through whiny 30 years olds that think they're the next big thing.
Micheal massaged the bridge of his nose.
The head director, Michael Hurst, watched Ethan Cole from behind the camera, his steely gaze never wavering.
He'd seen hundreds of actors come through this door, each one with the same nervous energy, the same desperate hope in their eyes.
But something about Cole was different. He wasn't the polished, perfect type they usually cast—no, Cole had rough edges, flaws that seemed to make him real, more believable.
Although the young man was a little on the uglier side, that was already a write off for him for the role, as the character wasn't exactly meant to be this ugly.
Michael wasn't sure if it was the way his eyes darted nervously or how his hands twitched at his sides, but there was something about him that made Michael annoyed.
Which Michael found interesting because geeky people usually did that to him.
"Alright, Mr. Cole," Michael said, his voice steady but sharp, "whenever you're ready, take it from the top. Let's see what you've got."
Ethan nodded, his expression unreadable, but the slightest tremble in his hands gave away the tension he was fighting to keep hidden. Michael wasn't concerned.
Actors always came in tense, most of them cracked under pressure. But the ones who made it through—those were the ones who fought their nerves, who found a way to turn their discomfort into something raw, something real.
This was it. The moment that would either make or break Ethan Cole.
System, use card.
[Trigger word is burn card. Assimilating host with F tier card ordinary background officer, assimilation complete]
He didn't know what he was expecting it to feel like but not this.
I… I am sad? Yes, yes, it makes sense that I'm sad.
"I want to go home," Ethan said, his limpid eyes somehow looking even more pitiful than they usually did yet they held a kind of acceptance with it.
"Excuse Mr. Cole?" Michael asked. Was this another junkie? He really didn't have enough caffeine in his system for another junkie.
Ethan buried his hand in his pocket and tilted his head to the side. "I…. Should go home now, right? Go home to cook, maybe clean cause my dog Martha pissed the floor already, Martha likes pissing on my damn floor, even though I got her that fucking fancy litter box,"
I… I don't have a dog, do I?
"And watch Love Region, then I'll be back here tomorrow morning," he swallowed. "Again, and again, again, you kinda forget that you're hurting when you drown yourself in the pitifulness of everything else life puts in front of you. You forget that there was somebody out there who wouldn't want you to be so pitiful… "
Michael's brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what to make of Ethan's sudden shift in tone. The audition had started like all the others—nervous energy, fidgeting hands, the usual.
But this… this was different. The words weren't just lines; they were bleeding out of him like they were part of his skin.
Michael had seen plenty of actors deliver the same lines, but Ethan didn't seem like he was pretending. No, this was real. Too real. It was like watching a man crack open, piece by piece, exposing his soul to the world.
Ethan's voice was low, almost too quiet. He spoke as if he didn't care whether anyone was listening, like the words were a reverberation of a conversation that had been going on inside his head for too long.
"And sometimes you wonder," Ethan continued, his gaze slipping downward as if he was lost in thought, "if it's even worth getting up at all. People tell you that tomorrow is another day. But… why? To live another day of… this?" He swept his hand in a vague gesture, as if pointing to the whole of his life—his cramped apartment, his forgotten dreams, and all the disappointments that had piled up over the years.
Michael sat up straighter, leaning forward slightly. There was something in Ethan's voice now, something that dug into him.
It was familiar. He'd heard it before—in the quiet corners of his mind when he thought no one was listening. It was the sound of hopelessness, masked by deflection and wit.
"I'm tired, I'm tired of pitifulness, because it's mundane, it's draining, and it's slow. I'm tired of love because it burned me, it hurt me, and it's the reason I'm too cowardly to be anything but pitiful. Are you like me…. Are you tired of love, Clara?"
He watched Ethan's lips press together, like he was biting back whatever had come next. It was the way he held himself, as if the words were fighting to get out but he wasn't sure if he should let them.
The director sighed. He had dealt with this kind of rawness before—hell, he'd lived it himself at one point—but it was rare to see it so completely in a newcomer.
For a long moment, Michael didn't say anything. The studio room was silent except for the faint hum of the lights above them.
Ethan, however, didn't seem to notice the stillness. His eyes were distant now, caught in a private world, too lost to even acknowledge the tension in the air. He cleared his throat, almost apologetically.
"Sorry. Got a little carried away," he muttered, wiping a hand across his face, as though trying to shake off what he had just shared.
Michael cleared his throat, his voice more measured now. "No. You're fine. I think… you've got it."
Ethan blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "What?"
"The role." Michael leaned back in his chair. "You've got it. Just… try not to make it too real next time, alright?"
Ethan's eyes widened, his disbelief palpable. "You're serious?"
Michael nodded, pinning him with an intense gaze. "Yeah. But remember, it's not the real you we're looking for, just the version of you that fits Eliot Parker."
Ethan stood there for a moment, looking like he might faint, but then he blinked and gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "Guess I'm going to be someone else again." He ran a hand through his hair, still looking dazed. "Alright, alright. I'll… figure it out. But, uh, I might need a couple of practice runs on this whole 'acting' thing. This wasn't exactly a normal audition, huh?"
Michael smiled faintly, watching Ethan begin to pace, his movements still jerky as if he was figuring out the reality of what had just happened.
He had seen plenty of actors go through the motions after a successful audition—some giddy with excitement, others stunned into silence. Ethan, though… Ethan seemed like he was waking up from a dream, still half-convinced he wasn't supposed to be here.
Michael gestured to the door, his voice softening a little. "You'll do fine. Get some rest, Cole. Tomorrow's a new day. We'll start rehearsals then."
Ethan's smile was shaky, but genuine. "Thanks… I guess. Just, uh, don't expect me to really figure it out right away. I'm still working through my own script."
As Ethan left, Michael watched him go, shaking his head with a low chuckle.
He had no idea what to expect from this guy, but that was part of the thrill. He'd seen a lot of actors, but there was something different about Ethan Cole. Something that just might make him the right fit for Eliot Parker after all.