Ethan Blackwood was floating. Or maybe he wasn't.
The sensation was impossible to describe—weightless yet heavy, present yet absent. It was as though he existed without truly existing, his form neither here nor there. And around him… nothing.
A void, stretching infinitely in all directions. No horizon, no sky, no ground beneath his feet. Just an endless abyss of blackness, thick and suffocating. It was neither warm nor cold, just empty.
He blinked, or at least he thought he did, but it made no difference. Darkness remained. He tried to move, but his limbs felt disconnected, like they weren't part of him anymore.
Then the fear came, creeping in like frostbite, slow and numbing.
Where am I?
His mind was sluggish, the edges of his memories blurred. He remembered… his apartment. The dim light. The feeling of exhaustion so deep it felt like his soul had turned to lead. Then… what? Had he fallen asleep? Had something happened?
His breath hitched. Or at least, it should have*.
He felt nothing. No air filling his lungs, no heartbeat in his chest. Just a hollow awareness of self. The realization sent panic clawing up his throat.
Was this… death?
His thoughts churned, grasping for any sense of reason, any explanation. Maybe this was just some strange dream, a deep unconscious state. But something about it felt too real. Too final.
A cold dread settled into his bones—if he even had bones anymore. He was alone. Utterly, completely alone. There was no sound, no voice, no presence other than himself. Just silence, stretching into infinity.
Ethan clenched his fists—or at least, he tried to. The action felt distant, unresponsive, as though he were disconnected from his own body. The thought terrified him. How long had he been here? Minutes? Hours? Days? He had no way of knowing.
His voice cracked through the stillness. "Hello?"
Nothing. The sound didn't echo, didn't travel. It was swallowed instantly, as if even the void itself refused to acknowledge him.
A new kind of horror crept in, more suffocating than the darkness itself. Is this it? Is this all there is? Just me? Just nothing? His chest tightened, a desperate, instinctual fear clawing at his mind. If this was death, then it was the cruelest kind—not the release of suffering, but an endless, empty purgatory.
His thoughts spiraled, panic rising. I can't stay here. I can't—
Then, something shifted.
A flicker. A pinprick of light in the distance. So small, so faint, he thought he had imagined it. But then it grew, pulsing gently, expanding outward in delicate ripples. A low hum filled the void, not quite sound, not quite sensation—just a presence, deep and resonant, vibrating through the emptiness.
Ethan's breath caught, or would have if he could breathe. He stared at the growing light, unable to tear his gaze away. It was mesmerizing, surreal, alive. The darkness recoiled from it, curling at the edges like ink dispersing in water.
Then, without warning, the void shattered.
A shockwave of golden light erupted outward, illuminating everything and nothing at once. Ethan flinched as his senses were overwhelmed. A booming voice thundered from the very core of existence, shaking the fabric of whatever reality this was.
"WELCOME, ETHAN BLACKWOOD."
The words hit him like a tidal wave, reverberating in his very being. The void trembled under the force of that proclamation, the light intensifying until it was all-consuming. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the brilliance dimmed, and the voice spoke again—this time, softer, smoother.
"System initializing… Booting up… Man, this void is depressing. I don't know how you lasted this long."
Ethan blinked. "What?"
The golden light pulsed, crackling like static. More words appeared, floating in the air before him.
{ Initializing... 10% }
Ethan stared. The text flickered, shifting upwards.
{ 35%... 67%... 98%... Loading complete! }
The golden orb pulsed brighter, then spoke—but this time, the voice had changed. No longer a god-like proclamation, it now carried a distinct personality—smooth, rich, and annoyingly smug.
"Alright! That took long enough. Welcome, Ethan Blackwood, age 24, aspiring actor, consistent failure—"
Ethan scowled. "Hey—"
"Attempted career highlights include: standing in the background of a police procedural, getting cut from a deodorant commercial, and delivering the critically acclaimed line: 'Your coffee, sir.'"
Ethan groaned. "Oh, come on."
The voice chuckled. "Oh, lighten up. I'm just reading off your stats. It says here, uh…" The text flickered. "Cause of death: Unconfirmed. Ominous. Tragic. Probably embarrassing."
Ethan's stomach twisted. "I don't remember how I died."
"Oof. That's awkward." The System didn't sound even remotely sympathetic. "But hey, look on the bright side—oh wait, you died. Not much of a bright side there."
Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. "So what are you? Some kind of afterlife AI?"
The orb pulsed. "I prefer the term 'System,' thank you very much. And no, this isn't the afterlife. You're not stuck here."
A flicker of hope sparked in Ethan's chest. "You mean I can leave?"
"More than that." The voice took on a dramatic, theatrical lilt. "Ethan Blackwood, you have been chosen for the ultimate second chance! Congratulations, you lucky, miserable bastard."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "...That sounds suspiciously like a scam."
"No refunds," the System quipped. "You see, Ethan, the powers that be have deemed your life to be tragic and underwhelming. So, here's the deal: you're going back."
His breath caught. "Back?"
"Mmhmm. Back to your life. Right before you bit the dust. You'll get another shot. A chance to finally stop being a walking disappointment."
Ethan swallowed hard. A second chance? To live? To fix everything? It sounded impossible.
He hesitated. "And what's the catch?"
The orb flickered, as if grinning. "Oh, just a few minor obligations. You'll have missions, of course. Acting challenges, career-building exercises. Fail too many, and, well… let's just say I don't come with a safety net."
Ethan's stomach dropped. "Meaning?"
"Meaning if you screw up too badly, you could lose skills, memories… or, y'know. Die for real this time."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Then, the System's voice brightened. "But don't worry! I'm here to help! Think of me as your talent manager. Only instead of negotiating contracts, I'll be shaping your destiny. No pressure."
Ethan exhaled slowly. This is insane. But as he glanced at the void around him, he knew the alternative—an eternity of nothingness—was worse.
He looked at the glowing orb and clenched his fists. "Fine. I'll do it."
The System pulsed, radiating satisfaction. "Good choice."
Then, with a rush of golden light, everything disappeared.
And Ethan Blackwood woke up. Alive.