Ethan stood in front of the mirror in the dressing room and stared at his reflection.
His eyes were sunken, and his face was still somewhat blurry from the aftereffects of Seth. Strange.
He knew he wasn't supposed to be Seth anymore, but this stuttering, the searching for words-it didn't feel like himself.
It was as if a part of him had remained in that mute, blind, soulless body. And now, here he was getting ready for another scene, another moment in front of the camera.
His mind strayed once more to the stars. Comments, weird names, weird language-it was some kind of game, but what was real? Who were these stars? Aliens?
Ghosts? Some kind of freaky government experiment? Just didn't add up. There was something creepy about it all. But he didn't have time now to think about that. He had a scene to shoot, and the clock was ticking.
The phone on the table jingled, tearing him from his thoughts. Riley's name flashed across the screen.
Ethan," Riley said with a note of cheer, "I know you are busy, but just wanted to call and wish you the best of luck on today's scene. You got this, man."
That frustrated Ethan once again, unable to utter the words as he would like. Opening his mouth, Ethan felt heavy at his tongue; his head was in chaos.
"Thanks," he said, shaking. "I will try.
Riley didn't seem to catch the strain in his voice. "Good, good. Also, I need you to come to my girlfriend's sister's birthday party later, you know, after the shoot. She's been asking about you. Anyway, good luck, Ethan. You're killing it!"
Before Ethan could even utter a word, the line went dead. He let the phone slip from his hand and fall onto the couch.
Another damn thing he had to deal with. Birthdays, parties-he couldn't even figure out how to speak properly, and now he was supposed to show up at some party and act normal?
His head throbbed, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He felt like his brain had to adjust all the time.
The disorientation from Seth's assimilation wasn't just physical-it was mental, too.
He thought of the struggle to talk with people, to express himself, even to act like he wasn't totally out of his depth.
The stars-they seemed to be in a hurry to tell him something. They were observing him, commenting in their own peculiar way on each of his movements. But he did not know if it was good or bad.
Perhaps they were just teasing him, finding it humorously entertaining when he was suffering. Or else, maybe they were just hoping he'd pull it together somehow.
He let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. Like he had any other choice. He needed to keep going. He needed to get through, even when he had absolutely no notion of what happened.
Giving a final glance at his reflection, Ethan walked out of the dressing room and onto set.
The director, Michael, was already there, clutching his clipboard and considering the scene breakdown. "Ah, Eden! Finally! You're up," he said to Michael with an energetic thumbs-up. "Let's do this. You know how this goes, correct?"
Ethan nodded absent-mindedly, half his brain still foggy. "Yeah," he mumbled, trying not to acknowledge just how hoarse his voice went when speaking.
The scene was simple, just a few lines. He was supposed to play the role of an office worker, a nobody, with no power or say in anything. A boring background character, he would do what he was told and nothing more.
"Alright, we're gonna start with you sitting at the desk, looking all dead inside. You are an office worker, remember? Depressed, like you do not even care. Then when Clara walks in, you grab those papers and go deliver to Mr. Dominic," Michael explained.
Ethan tried to focus. It was a two-line scene. No big deal. Just act like he didn't care. Just act like it was normal. But there was something wrong. Maybe it was the aftershocks of Seth, or maybe it was the overwhelming frustration. But as the camera rolled, Ethan knew something was wrong.
The first take started, and he was sitting at his desk, looking down, his hands folded together.
Clara came in, just as she always did, and he was supposed to stare back at her with his usual blank, disinterested stare.
But this time… it was different.
Ethan looked at Clara, and what was reflected upon his face was not just indifferent; it was terrifying. That usual pitiful, dead stare had transformed into something much darker, much unsettling.
He could see it in her eyes, the way she stiffened when she locked eyes with him. It wasn't just the character he was supposed to portray. It was him. It was all him.
The camera stopped.
"Cut!" Michael shouted. "Elijah, what's going on? That was… uh, a little intense. You need to act like you're not about to murder someone, okay?
Ethan's heart pounded in his chest. What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't get the look off his face. It was like Seth's influence had seeped into his very bones. He didn't want to look like that. He didn't want to be that person.
Michael waved his hand, looking at the crew. "Alright, let's reset. Take two, Eza. Try not to look like you've just been possessed, okay?"
They did the scene again, but Ethan tried to reset himself-to leave behind the weight of Seth-but it just wasn't happening.
The aura was there, still buried but no matter how he tried to hold it in, spilling out unbidden. Cold. Empty. Suffocating. Like there was no way out.
"Alright, take two," Michael called, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. "This time, remember, deadpan. You're not supposed to care."
Ethan nodded mechanically, but the weight on his chest didn't lift. He wasn't acting anymore. It was all bleeding together—his mind, his body, his emotions.
Then the stammering came, his mind going around and around as he tried to remember the lines. He had been through this a thousand times, but today it was as if everything seemed to slip away. The words were simply hard to grasp.
The instant Clara came into the room, he raised his eyes to her. It wasn't the empty stare of last night. His cold and hollow gaze had now transformed into something else.
Something that scared me. It was no longer just his character; it was Ethan, or Seth, or someone entirely different.
He watched Clara's face buckle and her expression falter as a tension seemed to rise between them, a weight in the air, heavy with indecision before she took the next step further into the scene.
"Cut!" Michael shouted, frustration lacing his voice. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking at Ethan with confusion. "Elio, what is going on with you? That's not… that's not the look we're going for. Try to dial it down. You're an office worker, not a demon."
Ethan said nothing. He had nothing to say. He couldn't say anything, anyway, not the way he wished he could. The aftereffects of the B+ rank card still hung heavy on him, and the more he tried to force his way through it, the worse it got.
Another take. He sat there again, trying to act normal, to blend in. But no matter what, he couldn't get rid of the terrifying aura that seemed to surround him.
This time, as Clara walked into the office, he lifted his gaze toward her. His dead stare, his usual apathy, had transformed into something far worse.
Her eyes spoke volumes of fear, telling him all he needed to know: she wasn't just uncomfortable; she was afraid.
Apparent was the feeling in cameramen, in the director, even in makeup artists. The set was smothered with thick silence.
"Cut! That's a wrap for today," Michael said quickly, his voice strained. He stepped forward, glancing at Sarah, who had flinched when Ethan had looked at her. "What the hell, Ethan? You're terrifying everyone. What's going on with you?"
Ethan's chest tightened. His mind was a mess. He didn't know how to fix this. He couldn't fix this.
His heart was racing, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. The scene was a disaster-the final scene, the one that was supposed to show his range, had just turned into a nightmare.
As the crew began to pack up, Ethan sat down in the corner, head in his hands. He had no idea of how long he'd been there.
All his thoughts jammed up, and with every passing second, he was a little further away from himself.
The screen flickered right in front of his face.
Babayaga101: "Lol, who let this guy on set? The only thing scary about him is his acting. Creep."
Internally, he let out a sigh-the comment cut a whole lot deeper than it should. The loudest part was the silence of the stars around-just no newer comments, nobody anything else, just this one, pulling him down.
Fucker….
Ethan's hands fisted, frustration brewing and brimming over. He wanted to scream, to throw something, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything anymore.
He felt like he was running out of time.
A voice called his name, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. It was Michael again. "Ethan, we'll pick this up tomorrow. Get some rest."
Ethan didn't respond. He just stood up, nodding stiffly, as he walked toward the exit, his mind still reeling from everything.
As he stepped out of the set, he felt the weight of the day press down on him, like he couldn't breathe.
A new comment flashed across the screen; this one from another viewer.
Thehangingman: "You're stuck so deep within Seth's head that you just can't let go. You are too afraid to accept what it means to completely be the character. You either commit or walk away. And right now, you're lost.