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CHAPTER 1 – "Cut to Reality"
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He didn't open his eyes all at once.
There was a sense of silence—too clean, too soft. Like the room itself had been wrapped in velvet. Then light pressed against his eyelids. Warm, golden, steady. No flicker of fluorescent tubes or buzzing city glare.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
The second was the smell. Subtle cologne, real lavender, and… expensive air. He couldn't describe it better than that. The kind of air that had been filtered four times and infused with confidence.
When Leng Feng finally opened his eyes, he met a ceiling he didn't recognize. White panels edged in brass. Crown molding carved into feathered shapes. Recessed lighting glowed like morning sunlight—but it wasn't coming from the ceiling.
The real sunlight was pouring in through a floor-to-ceiling window across the room, gilding the marble floor in honey-colored waves.
He sat up fast.
Bad idea.
His shin cracked into the corner of a glass coffee table that—wait. Why was there a coffee table at the foot of his bed? And why was the bed so large? So high? The sheets smelled like hotel-grade fabric softener, and the mattress had actual bounce.
This was not his apartment.
In fact, he'd never owned anything remotely like this. He was an actor. A struggling one. His last apartment had exposed wiring and a toilet that coughed.
This? This was a showroom suite.
He stood, gingerly, checking himself for dizziness. But his legs moved with a grace he didn't expect. Lean. Smooth. He looked down at his hands. Skin taut. No calluses. No ink stains from old sides. His fingernails were clean, even buffed.
Something else was off.
He crossed the room to a tall vertical mirror leaned against the wall. The frame was black matte, designer-looking, and clearly placed there for drama. He looked.
The face staring back was… his.
But different.
The same bones, yes. Same almond-shaped eyes, same crooked left brow.
But the flaws were gone. His jaw had been trimmed just enough to look sharper. The under-eye shadows he was used to seeing each morning were softened out. Even his posture looked straighter—like a celebrity version of himself.
And yet he could feel the muscles behind it all. Nothing felt artificial. It felt like him. Just… upgraded.
"Okay," he said softly. "I'm dreaming. Or dead. Or—"
A melodic chime rang out.
Not from the room.
From inside his head.
[Welcome to the Entertainment System.]
Leng Feng stiffened. The voice was warm, bright, female-coded—but mechanical. Cheerfully impersonal, like a synthetic hostess who'd done this introduction hundreds of times before.
"Who's there?" he said aloud.
[You are now a registered Performer in the Entertainment Expansion Universe. Congratulations.]
He spun around. Nothing. No speakers, no source. But as he turned, something flickered in front of his eyes.
A translucent UI hovered midair. Sleek and neon-lined, with softly pulsing icons. Stats. Inventory. A floating "Live Status" bar.
[Initializing baseline assessment… Complete.]
[Physical parameters: Enhanced. Memory sync: Partial. Neural map: Stable.]
"What the hell…" he whispered.
The UI responded.
[Please do not be alarmed. You are experiencing the standard boot process of the Performer Interface.]
"Interface? Performer?"
[Your previous life was concluded as part of the casting rotation. You have been selected to inhabit a premium protagonist frame. This world will serve as your live audience simulator.]
Leng Feng blinked.
"What?"
[Skill upload in progress. Primary Role Specialization: Activated.]
"Wait—activated? I didn't agree to anything—"
[First Talent Assigned: Murderer Mastery.]
Everything stopped.
The UI brightened. A glowing red card flipped into view. Elegant serif font. Digital bloodstains. Too theatrical to be real, and yet—
[Skill: Murderer Mastery]
You now possess the complete behavioral, psychological, emotional, and tactical toolkit of a high-functioning killer. Use for dramatic immersion, interrogation realism, or premium suspense content delivery.
Leng Feng stared at it.
"What the fuck?"
[Please note: Murderer Mastery is designed for acting purposes only. The System is not liable for public misinterpretations.]
His heart rate spiked. He reached out instinctively and swiped the screen—nothing. His fingers passed through the UI like mist.
"This is a joke. Some kind of prank. VR experiment. Hidden camera show."
*[Current genre flag: Psychological crime-thriller with comedic meta-threads. Audience targeting: 18+.]
"You're kidding me."
He closed his eyes. Counted to five.
Opened them again.
Still there.
A faint glow pulsed near the bottom of the UI. A status effect: [Passive Skill: Composure – Auto-Enabled]
And suddenly, just like that, the rising panic eased. Like someone had dimmed the volume on his anxiety. His breathing slowed. Muscles loosened. His head cleared.
It was unnatural.
And kind of amazing.
He flexed his fingers. Sat down. Then he noticed something lying on the glass coffee table—something small and black.
A knife.
No. A prop knife.
He picked it up. Balanced it in his palm.
Suddenly, without thinking, he shifted his weight, tilted his wrist, and stabbed the air with the kind of fluid grace only professional fight choreographers could teach. His body just… moved.
The angle. The control. The expression in his eyes—cold, focused, calculating.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror mid-pose and froze.
He looked like a man who had killed before.
He looked like someone who enjoyed it.
A sharp knock broke the silence.
Then a second.
He flinched, almost dropping the knife.
[Proximity Alert: Civil Authority Detected]
"What?"
[Two police officers outside. Estimated suspicion level: 4/10. Smile recommended.]
Leng Feng swore under his breath and set the prop knife down. His hands were shaking, but Composure kept his face eerily calm.
He approached the door and peeked through the peephole.
Two uniformed officers. Male, mid-30s. One leaned slightly toward the door. The other was writing on a tablet.
"Can I help you?" Leng Feng called through the door.
"Sir," one replied. "There was a noise complaint from your neighbor. Something about… screaming?"
Leng Feng's mind raced. Was it the System? Him shouting earlier?
"Sorry about that," he said, twisting the knob slowly. "Bad dream. I, uh… moved in recently. Jet lag and all that."
He opened the door just enough to show his face.
The taller officer squinted at him. "ID, please?"
Leng Feng patted his pockets. No wallet.
[Use Passive Bluff: Activated]
He smiled with faint embarrassment. "I'm still unpacking. But I can log into the resident portal—"
"No need," the shorter officer said, peering past him into the apartment. "You just… looked familiar."
Leng Feng tilted his head. "Actor, maybe? I get that a lot."
"Yeah," the cop said slowly. "One of those crime dramas, right?"
Leng Feng gave a small nod.
The officer didn't blink.
"…You're good."
"I try."
The taller one cleared his throat. "Right. Well, keep the volume down."
"Of course."
They turned and walked away. As soon as the door clicked shut, Leng Feng stumbled backward and collapsed onto the couch.
His breathing returned.
Then the UI flickered again.
[First Scenario Detected: Crime Drama Audition – Serial Killer Role]
[Uploading sides. Emotional baseline adjusted.]
Leng Feng stared up at the ceiling, laughter leaking out like a deflated balloon.
"I haven't even unpacked."
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END OF CHAPTER 1
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