A breakthrough
Words: Approx. 2.5k
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The glowing screen shimmered, and I tapped the option: [Unlimited Money].
The moment I made my choice, the screen flickered, and a new prompt appeared.
[Unlimited Money activated. Withdraw funds at will. Discretion advised. Mismanagement may result in complications. Suggested: Establish a credible source of income.]
A small box popped up beneath the text, labeled [Withdraw], with a blinking cursor. Beneath that was a warning:
"High-value transactions flagged for review. Create a legitimate front to avoid legal scrutiny."
I blinked, staring at the message. Of course, nothing in life—or the afterlife, apparently—was truly free. Even infinite wealth came with strings attached. My first instinct was to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Who would've thought that even in a new life, I'd have to deal with taxes? But the advice made sense. Even with infinite resources, the world had its watchdogs. The IRS didn't take kindly to random construction workers suddenly driving Ferraris.
"Alright, System," I said under my breath, "you win. Let's do this your way."
Another screen materialized, offering suggestions for credible income sources. Each option glowed faintly, accompanied by short descriptions:
[Business Owner: Start a small, manageable business and grow over time.]
[Freelancer: Monetize skills in whatever job you want.]
[Investor: Use funds to buy stocks, real estate, or other assets.]
[Entertainer: Capitalize on creative talents—music, acting, or writing.]
One option caught my eye almost immediately: [Entertainer: Writing.]
It wasn't just the practicality of the idea. It was the opportunity to use something from my past life. If the internet was as unfamiliar as I suspected, I could tap into the vast trove of stories and ideas from my previous world. It was the perfect combination of creativity and strategy.
"Scriptwriting, huh?" I said, grinning to myself.
I rushed home, my earlier exhaustion forgotten. The apartment was still a disaster, but the glimmer of opportunity made it feel less suffocating. I dug out the dusty laptop buried under old clothes and turned it on. The screen flickered to life with an irritating hum, but the connection to the internet was surprisingly stable.
What I found blew my mind.
The movies, TV shows, and cultural phenomena I had known didn't exist. No Star Wars, no Marvel, no Breaking Bad. Even the classics were absent... The Godfather, Titanic, Pulp Fiction. But the celebrities were the same. Tom Hanks, Leonardo DiCaprio, Meryl Streep, they all existed, but their filmographies were barren compared to what I remembered.
"Bingo!" I whispered, my fingers already itching to type.
I had the upper hand now. With my memories of groundbreaking stories, I could create a backlog of screenplays and scripts that would revolutionize the industry. Every blockbuster, every award-winning drama, every indie masterpieces... I could write them all.
I opened a blank document and started typing. The first story that came to mind was a crowd-pleaser: Forrest Gump. A heartwarming tale with universal appeal. Nostalgia filled me as I wrote, the words flowing effortlessly. This was it. My golden ticket.
Hours passed in a blur. By the time I finished the draft, the sun had set, and my body was screaming for rest. But I couldn't stop now. I needed a plan to break into the industry.
The System chimed in as if reading my thoughts:
[To establish credibility, begin by submitting to small competitions or freelance platforms. Build a reputation before targeting major studios.]
I nodded. Made sense. I couldn't just waltz into Warner Bros. and toss them a script. I needed to build a name first. A quick search online led me to freelance platforms and competitions for aspiring writers. The opportunities were endless, but one caught my eye: a scriptwriting contest hosted by a local production house. The prize was modest—$10,000 and a chance to pitch to producers but it was a start.
I hit "submit" on my newly polished Forrest Gump script and sat back, a satisfied grin on my face.
"Here's to the first step," I said, raising an imaginary toast to myself.
The days that followed were kinda exhausting. By day, I endured the grueling labor of the construction site. The rhythm of plastering walls, hauling bricks, and dodging the foreman's gruff glares became muscle memory. The work was mind-numbing, but it served its purpose: it kept up appearances. Nobody would suspect a struggling construction worker of moonlighting as a scriptwriting prodigy.
At night, my apartment transformed into a creative workshop. Fueled by instant noodles and newfound ambition, I poured my energy into writing. With the System's unlimited funds, I withdrew just enough to pay my overdue rent and stock the fridge with real food, not moldy leftovers or stale sandwiches, but actual groceries. It was the first time in weeks that I'd eaten something that didn't make me gag.
I kept my withdrawals modest, careful not to raise suspicion. A few hundred dollars here and there were enough to keep the landlord off my back and give me a semblance of stability. I even splurged on a secondhand ergonomic chair and a cheap but functional desk. No more hunching over the laptop on the mattress. Oh, I also upgraded my laptop to a cheap and affordable one.
Between shifts at the site, I submitted scripts to every competition, platform, and freelance gig I could find. The System's advice proved invaluable, nudging me toward lesser-known contests where the competition wasn't as fierce. My first win came faster than I expected: a short script called Life in a Day, inspired by the mundane yet profound beauty of everyday life, snagged a $500 prize and an honorable mention.
It wasn't just about the money, though. The recognition was a confidence boost, a reminder that my memories and creativity could be valuable in this new world. Each success built on the last. The small production house that hosted the competition reached out with interest in seeing more of my work, and freelance clients began to trickle in.
I didn't limit myself to scripts. Armed with my knowledge of movies, shows, and even viral trends from my past life, I posted as much as possible and posted on almost all known platforms. My pseudonym, "A. Wilson," began to circulate in local writing circles.
Despite my growing success, I kept my construction job. It was a hassle, but it provided a vital cover story. I wasn't about to take unnecessary risks. As far as anyone knew, I was just a hard-working kid trying to make ends meet.
"Wilson, you're slow today," the foreman barked one afternoon as I hauled a load of bricks. "Move it or lose it!"
I gritted my teeth and increased my speed. The pain was brutal on the body, but it was something that reminded me of what I was working towards constantly. With each aching muscle, I was even more determined to escape this life.
By the end of every day, I could hardly think. But once I reached my apartment, my mind sprang to attention. Scripts flowed: comedies, dramas, thrillers. Some scripts were passion projects, others were purely for profit, but each one brought me closer to my goal.
A month after I had submitted my Forrest Gump script, I received an email that nearly made me drop my coffee:
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Subject: Congratulations!
From: Brightstar Studios
Dear A. Wilson,
We are thrilled to inform you that your script has been selected as one of the top entries in our competition. You are invited to pitch your work to our producers at an exclusive event next month. Please confirm your attendance at your earliest convenience.
Warm regards,
The Brightstar Team
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My heart pounded as I reread the email. This was it... the chance I'd been waiting for. Winning the competition had been a long shot, but getting invited to pitch my script to actual producers? That was the stuff of dreams.
I confirmed immediately, my fingers trembling with excitement. The pitch session was a month away, giving me just enough time to polish my presentation and prepare for the opportunity of a lifetime.
...
The days before the big presentation felt like a never-ending rush of getting ready. After I got my final paycheck from the construction job, I didn't look back. I was finished carrying bricks and dealing with the boss's harsh commands. The money I earned was enough to pay for my basic needs for a month, which gave me the time and space I really needed to focus completely on the presentation.
I worked hard every day to make my pitch perfect. I practiced in front of the mirror, improving how I spoke until I felt confident and comfortable. I practiced every word, every pause, and every change in my voice. I wanted to sound like I truly belonged in the room with Brightstar's producers—not just like someone who got lucky with a good script.
My research consumed the rest of my time. I dove deep into Brightstar Studios, memorizing their past projects, their style, their successes and failures. If I was going to pitch to them, I needed to show that I understood their brand and how my script fit into their vision. This wasn't just about selling a story; it was about selling myself as a reliable, creative professional.
Then there was the script. Forrest Gump was already in great shape, but I went over it carefully once more, adjusting the conversations, making the scenes more concise, and making sure every part stood out. I didn't want the producers to see a single flaw. And then I had to maintain my own appearance. I bought a suit for the event. It wasn't that expensive, but good enough for me. Now, I won't look like some broke guy.
The day of the pitch arrived sooner than I expected. I woke up early. Truth be told I was excited and nervous as hell. But fuck it! I slapped my cheeks. No time to feel nervous. It's time to change my life. I put my suit on and left my apartment.
The event was held at a big building in NY. I went inside and looked around. Other contestants were sitting in the lobby while some were walking around, clutching folders and tablets, their faces a mix of determination and anxiety. I checked in at the front desk and was given a badge with my name or rather, my pseudonym: "A. Wilson."
The waiting area was full of nervous people. Every now and then, someone was called into the meeting room, and I could hear bits of their presentations through the slightly open doors. Some sounded confident, while others struggled, but each one reminded me of how important this was. When my name was finally called, my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might jump out of my chest.
The conference room was spacious but intimidating. A long table stretched before me, occupied by a panel of producers. Their expressions ranged from neutral to mildly curious, their sharp eyes scanning my every move. I took a deep breath, walked to the front, and began my presentation.
"Good afternoon," I said, trying to sound as confident as possible. "I'm Alex Wilson, and I'm here to talk about Forrest Gump, a story about a man whose kindness and positive attitude change the lives of everyone around him."
I started my presentation, moving through the story points with energy and care. I highlighted the big ideas, the feelings it would stir, and how the story would stay relevant over time. As I talked, I kept an eye on their reactions. A raised eyebrow here, a nod there... it wasn't much, but it made me think I was keeping them interested.
When I finished, there was a brief pause. One of the producers, a woman with a strong presence and a serious look, leaned forward.
"This is... compelling," she said, her voice thoughtful. "The character is unique, and the story has heart. But tell me, why do you think this script will resonate in today's market?"
I had anticipated this question. "The heart of Forrest Gump is something that will always matter," I said. "In a world that seems more negative and distrustful, people want stories that show how important it is to be kind and never give up. Forrest's story proves that even someone who seems ordinary can make a big difference in the world."
She nodded, and the others quietly agreed. More questions came up about the pacing of the story, the characters, and who might watch it and I did my best to answer each one, using what I knew about storytelling and movies. By the time the meeting ended, I felt tired but excited.
The main producer stood up and held out her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Wilson. We'll contact you soon."
I shook her hand, trying to stay calm as I walked out of the room. Once I was in the hallway, I let out a shaky breath. It was over. All the hard work, all the late nights, had brought me to this point. Now, all I could do was wait.
The next few days were excruciating. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart would leap, only to sink when it was a spam call or a random notification. I threw myself into work to keep my mind occupied. A zombie thriller script- Shawn of the Dead or maybe Godfather... I began to write to avoid obsessing over the producers' decision. Surprisingly, I was able to write it as if... How to say it? Natural... I guess the System is helping me by clearing my thoughts. Well, lucky me.
On the third day, just as I was about to dive into another writing session, my phone rang. The caller ID was unfamiliar, but my gut told me this was it. I grabbed the phone, my hands trembling.
"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound calm.
"Mr. Wilson?" a familiar voice asked. It was the lead producer from Brightstar Studios. "This is Vanessa Harper. I wanted to personally inform you that we're very impressed with your script."
I gripped the edge of my desk, my heart racing. "Thank you, Ms. Harper. That means a lot."
"We'd like to move forward," she continued. "We're offering you a deal to produce Forrest Gump. There's a lot to discuss, including revisions and your involvement in the process. Are you available to meet with us next week to finalize the details?"
"Yes! Absolutely, I'm available," I said, barely able to contain my excitement.
"Excellent. I'll have my assistant email you the specifics. Congratulations, Mr. Wilson. Welcome to Brightstar Studios."
The call ended, and I stared at my phone, the words replaying in my head. They wanted Forrest Gump. My script. My story... Fine, not mine. But hey, in this reality it's mine, right? Hehe. I don't care what anyone says or thinks. And before I knew it, I was laughing like a madman.
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Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[10 advance chs] [3 chs/week] [All chs available for all tiers]
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AN: 2 more chs on MC with fast-paced and time skips. Then starting Ch: 6, we will see 2 Broke Girls.