Chapter 1 – The Cycle of Failure

The room was a mess, the kind of mess that told a story. Empty food containers sat on a cluttered desk, buried under a pile of unorganized papers, bills, and half-scribbled notes. Clothes, both clean and dirty, were draped over the back of a chair, while the floor was littered with socks, crumpled receipts, and an overturned cereal box spilling its contents onto the worn-out carpet. The curtains were half-drawn, allowing slivers of morning light to cut through the dimly lit space. The faint hum of city noise filtered in from the closed window, blending with the rhythmic beeping of a digital alarm clock flashing 7:00 AM in flickering red numbers.

Ethan Cross lay sprawled on the bed, tangled in his sheets like a man fighting unseen enemies in his sleep. His face, buried half into his pillow, showed no urgency, no sign of stirring. The alarm screamed for attention, but Ethan had mastered the art of ignoring it.

A pale hand finally emerged from under the blanket, lazily reaching out. His fingers fumbled over the snooze button, missing it once, twice, before finally silencing the noise. The room fell into quiet again.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, with a slow, reluctant groan, Ethan's eyes fluttered open.

They were bloodshot, the result of yet another late night spent staring at his phone, scrolling mindlessly through job listings he had no hope of getting. His unshaven face, the dark bags under his eyes, and the slightly greasy mess of hair all painted the picture of a man long acquainted with failure.

"Five more minutes won't kill me…" he mumbled to himself, pulling the blanket back over his head.

But five minutes stretched into ten, then fifteen.

Then—

His eyes snapped open. Something was wrong.

Panic jolted through him as he sat up, suddenly awake. His gaze darted to the alarm clock. 7:43 AM.

"Shit!"

Ethan scrambled out of bed, tripping over a pair of jeans he had left on the floor the night before. He barely caught himself before crashing into his desk. Frantically, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his heart hammering in his chest.

8 MISSED CALLS – UNKNOWN NUMBER

1 UNREAD MESSAGE: "Mr. Cross, your interview is scheduled for 9:00 AM. Please be on time."

His stomach twisted.

Today was important.

Today was his last shot.

Ignoring the mess around him, he dashed to the tiny bathroom connected to his apartment, splashing cold water onto his face. The mirror reflected back someone who barely resembled a man ready for a job interview—disheveled, exhausted, and already half-defeated.

"You can fix this. You still have time," he told himself, but even he didn't sound convinced.

He grabbed his one decent dress shirt, a wrinkled white button-up that had seen better days, and attempted to smooth it out before throwing it on. His tie was missing. His blazer? Somewhere in the chaos of his room.

"I can't be late again."

Because if he was…

This time, there were no second chances.

The corporate office building stood tall, a glass-covered monument to success. It reflected the bright morning sun, standing in direct contrast to the man walking toward it—rushed, out of breath, and very much out of place.

Ethan reached the front doors and yanked them open, stepping into the cool air-conditioned lobby. The receptionist at the front desk barely glanced at him before her lips curled into a judgmental smirk.

"You're late."

Ethan forced a smile, still catching his breath. "More like… fashionably delayed?"

The receptionist said nothing, simply gestured toward the waiting area. Ethan swallowed hard as he approached.

The other candidates sat in a row of sleek chairs, all dressed in perfectly pressed suits, polished shoes, and an air of confidence that made Ethan's stomach sink. They held pristine leather-bound folders, their resumes carefully tucked inside.

Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out his own resume—crumpled, slightly torn, and featuring a faint coffee stain in the corner.

He sighed. "'Creative problem-solver' sounds better than 'fired three times,' right?"

Before he could second-guess himself, a voice called out.

"Mr. Cross?"

Ethan looked up. A tall, gray-suited man with sharp eyes stood by the interview room door.

"Come in."

Ethan took a deep breath and followed.

Inside, the atmosphere was even colder than the lobby. The interviewer sat behind a spotless desk, his fingers drumming against a polished nameplate that read Jonathan Reaves – Hiring Manager. He gestured for Ethan to sit.

Ethan did, trying not to let his nerves show.

Reaves skimmed over his resume, barely looking at him. "So… Ethan Cross. You've had quite a few jobs."

Ethan forced a chuckle. "I like to stay… adaptable."

Reaves raised an eyebrow. "You were let go from your last three positions."

"I call it 'early retirement.'"

Silence.

The air between them grew heavier as Reaves continued flipping through the pages.

Ethan felt his confidence shrinking. This was already over, wasn't it?

"I mean," Ethan scrambled to salvage it, "isn't resilience important? I've bounced back from so many failures—proof I don't give up!"

Reaves finally looked at him. Expressionless. Unmoved.

Somewhere in Ethan's mind, a flashing "MISSION FAILED" sign appeared.

Reaves sighed, closing the resume. "We'll be in touch."

Ethan felt the weight of rejection before the words had even left his mouth.

By the time Ethan stepped out of the building, the weight of the morning had settled in his chest like a rock.

Another rejection.

Another step closer to complete failure.

He checked his phone, hoping for a distraction, but instead, a bank notification popped up:

BALANCE: $0.87

OVERDUE BILLS: 3

He exhaled sharply.

"Maybe I should just sell a kidney."

Before he could process the thought, a shadow passed overhead.

SPLAT.

Something wet and disgusting landed on his shoulder.

Ethan closed his eyes. Took a slow, deep breath.

Then looked up.

A pigeon sat on the streetlight above, blinking at him like it had just done him a favor.

Ethan wiped at his shirt, muttering, "Of course."

The universe wasn't done screwing with him yet.

As he sighed, his gaze lifted to a massive LED billboard across the street.

"SUCCESS STARTS WITH YOU!" it read in bold, glowing letters.

Ethan scoffed. "Yeah? Well, I'm screwed then."

He turned away, starting the long walk home, unaware that in just a few hours, his life was about to change forever.

End of Chapter 1