PART 2:
465 Words
INT. GROCERY STORE – THREE DAYS LATER – EVENING
Neil counted pennies in the frozen aisle. Rent was due next month. And prices of milk and eggs had doubled. And his “big break” was used to settle old debt and pay last year’s rent.
“Excuse me?”
A woman in a cashmere coat blocked his path, her teen daughter hiding behind her legs. “You’re him, aren’t you? From Revenge?”
Neil’s grip tightened on his basket. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong-”
She thrust her phone in his face. The viral photo. His own eyes-exhausted, stared back.
“Sign this,” She shoved a receipt and a pen at him. “For my daughter.”
The pen felt alien in his calloused grip. Neil Swansmann, he scribbled, the name foreign even to himself.
EXT. NEIL’S APARTMENT – THE FOLLOWING NIGHT
His phone buzzed nonstop. Fan edits. Memes. A clip of his scene, resurrected and remixed with dramatic music.
“Neil?” His mom peeked into his room. “Golden Fame Agency called. They want to meet you.”
He stared at his reflection- a delivery boy turned urban legend.
What’s the worst that could happen? Famous last words.
Neil stared at his phone, the voicemail from Golden Fame Agency still playing on loop. “We see potential in you, Mr. Swansmann. Let’s discuss your future.” His mom hovered in the doorway with tears of joy.
“You should go,” she said softly. “This could change everything.”
He glanced at the peeling wallpaper, the flickering kitchen light, and the stack of unpaid bills. Change everything. The words felt like a threat and a promise.
THE NEXT DAY – MORNING
Outside, rain blurred the city into a watercolor of neon and shadow. Neil pulled his hood up, the same frayed one he’d worn in the viral photo, and stepped into a downpour.
The bus ride to Golden Fame’s downtown tower took 30 minutes- he counted every second.
The lobby doors hissed open, swallowing him into a world of marble floors and glass elevators.
A receptionist eyed his soaked sneakers, her smile sharp enough to cut.
“Mr. Swansmann,” she purred. “They’ve been expecting you.”
As the elevator ascended, his reflection stared back. Somewhere below, Jason Vance scrolled through the #WhoIsTheAlleyActor hashtag, his jaw tightening with every click.
The elevator doors dinged. Neil stepped out – Straight into a room where Victor Cruz waited, a contract gleaming under sterile lights.
“Sign here,” Victor said, “and the world becomes yours.”
Neil’s pen hovered. The contract smelled like ink and possibility.
Somewhere below, Jason Vance watched his viral clip on loop, fingers tightening around his phone, as his phone screen cracked under his grip.
- Writer
