Just as he was figuring out how to linger on set a little longer—hoping the lead actor, Mark, might drop a few more attribute orbs—a voice stopped him.
"Hey! You! Asian kid!"
Cassius tensed up. He thought he was about to get chewed out again.
He turned around. It was the Latino PA from earlier. Standing next to him was a tall, lanky white guy wearing a headset. He looked like an Assistant Director (AD).
"You died pretty peacefully back there. At least you didn't twitch," the AD said, looking him up and down.
Cassius: "..."
Is that a compliment?
Ignoring the awkward silence, the AD spoke fast:
"Next shot. I need a background cross. I need an Asian face that looks like it has a backstory but won't steal focus. You just walk past the mouth of the alley. Three seconds."
"Twenty bucks. Cash. You in?"
Twenty bucks!
Cassius's heart gave a pathetic little jump.
Back home, that was two or three days' pay for playing a corpse. Here, he could make it in three seconds.
"I'm in."
Cassius didn't hesitate. His voice even sounded a little booming.
"Cool. Follow me. Let's get you set."
They brought Cassius to the alley entrance. The AD pointed vaguely:
"Walk from here to that dumpster. Keep it natural. Then turn the corner and exit. Got it?"
"Got it."
While they tweaked the lighting, Cassius quickly scanned the environment.
At the same time, he was running the numbers on the stats he just picked up.
[Gravitas] allowed him to stand there without looking like a nervous wreck.
He had also picked up [Reaction]. That stat contained subtle understandings of body control. Maybe he could apply that to his gait.
"Background, action!" the AD yelled.
Cassius took a deep breath and stepped out.
He didn't walk stiffly like a normal extra. Subconsciously, he engaged his core muscles—a trick from the [Reaction] stat—giving his steps a slight, weary heaviness.
Meanwhile, [Gravitas] kept his gaze level.
He didn't look at the lead actor, nor did his eyes dart around nervously. He looked like a man walking through a familiar alley toward a specific destination.
Three seconds. Blink and you miss it.
He smoothly reached the dumpster and vanished out of frame.
"Cut! Good!"
The AD's voice came over the radio, sounding satisfied. "Alright, kid, you're done. Go see finance for your cash."
---
Holding a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, Cassius stood on the street corner under the setting sun.
This wasn't just twenty bucks.
This was the first step toward turning his life around.
He didn't go straight home. He took a detour to the local community grocery store and raided the discount bin.
A pack of chicken breast nearing its expiration date.
A few bell peppers that were going soft.
And a big bag of the cheapest spaghetti.
He wanted to do something with his "first bucket of gold."
He walked through streets covered in graffiti and entered an apartment building with peeling paint.
The place smelled like a permanent mix of weed and bleach. The motion-sensor lights in the hallway only worked when they felt like it, so he had to use his phone flashlight to avoid tripping over the neighbors' bikes.
Click.
The key struggled in the lock for a few seconds before the door finally gave way.
The "living room" was basically just a widened hallway. It was piled high with cardboard boxes, old magazines, and two beat-up suitcases.
The air smelled like dinner.
"You're back?"
A female voice drifted from the tiny open-plan kitchen, accompanied by the clang of a spatula hitting a pan.
That was Shen Man.
His classmate from USC (University of Southern California) and his only roommate.
They shared this old apartment near Koreatown. It had one real bedroom and a storage closet converted into a human-sized pigeon coop.
They lived here for one reason: it was cheap.
"Got lucky today. Landed a background spot where my face actually made the cut!"
Cassius shook the grocery bag, trying to keep his voice light. "Bought some groceries. We're feasting tonight."
Shen Man poked her head out of the kitchen.
She had her hair in a sharp ponytail, sweat beading on her forehead. She wasn't wearing makeup, but you could still see she was naturally pretty.
However, the sharp, ambitious edge she had as a top student at USC had been ground down by reality. All that was left was exhaustion.
"Not bad, Cass. Finally graduated from playing dead bodies?"
She smiled, took the bag, and expertly inspected the ingredients. "Ooh, organic? Is this a celebration?"
Cassius didn't answer.
He noticed two taped-up cardboard boxes sitting next to the stove. The living room was missing half of Shen Man's stuff.
A bad feeling settled in his stomach.
"What's with the..."
Shen Man went back to stirring the fried rice—made from leftover ham and onions. She paused, her back turned to him, her voice muffled.
"Flight's the day after tomorrow. To Shanghai. I'm done. I'm tapping out."
Cassius went silent.
He walked into the so-called living room and collapsed onto the secondhand sofa, which groaned under his weight.
Shen Man's resume was way shinier than his.
USC Directing major. Award-winning student films. Fluent English. Smart as a whip.
But once she got to Hollywood, she learned that this town used geniuses and dreamers as fuel.
She had run errands on sets. Handed out resumes. Worked for free.
In the end, just like Cassius, she was surviving on day-player gigs and temp PA work.
A high-achieving directing grad, spending her days fetching coffee and organizing continuity logs that nobody looked at.
"My OPT visa is about to expire, and that sketchy shell company that was sponsoring me went under."
Shen Man plated the fried rice and quickly whipped up a stir-fry with the chicken and peppers Cassius bought.
"I sent out over a hundred resumes. They either disappeared into a black hole or I got the standard email: 'We admire your talent, but unfortunately...'"
"Dammit! Hollywood's 'regrets' are more punctual than my period."
She carried the plates to the old coffee table that served as their dining area and sat cross-legged on the rug.
"Look at us. USC. Sounds impressive, right?"
"But out here? We're fighting for twenty-dollar gigs against guys who didn't finish high school."
"And we have to pray the union reps don't audit the set, or we don't even get the twenty bucks."
Cassius picked up his fork and poked at the rice.
Shen Man was a great cook; she could make cheap ingredients taste like home. But right now, the food felt like sawdust in his throat.
"My parents called again yesterday."
Shen Man chewed her rice, her eyes losing focus.
"They asked what I'm still holding on for. They talked about how good the industry is back now. Who's directing web series, who got hired by the big studios..."
"I told them I was chasing a dream in Hollywood. They asked me, 'How much is your dream per pound? Does it cover next month's rent?'"
She looked up at Cassius, her eyes rimmed with red.
She tried to force a smile, but it cracked.
"I thought about it. I didn't have an answer."
"Cass... I don't think my dream is worth the six hundred bucks for this room anymore."
Cassius felt a lump in his chest.
He wanted to say something encouraging. Hang in there. The big break is coming.
But looking at the light fading from Shen Man's eyes, those words felt cheap.
Wasn't he in the exact same boat?
If that "System" hadn't popped up today...
He would probably end up worse off than her. At least she had a degree and a way out back home.
What about him?
Go back and be an extra at the studios there? That place was even more cutthroat—a literal meat grinder.