I'm a struggling, C-list actress. Gigs were rare, so I had to take on side hustles to survive. Like playing a zombie NPC in an escape room. The problem: my performance was too convincing. I terrified the customers so badly they ran out and demanded refunds, leading to my immediate firing. Good news: I was invited to a major reality TV show. Bad news: They invited me to play a Zombie NPC. Before the premiere, the delicate, innocent starlet cooed to the camera: “I’m a really slow runner, I hope the production team will be gentle with me.” Then, she caught sight of my half-decayed face and instantly turned into an Olympic sprinter, clocking a half-mile in sixty seconds. The comments section exploded: “A woman driven by the wind.” The cool, unsmiling A-list actor was so startled by me that he passed out cold, forcing me to cry while giving him chest compressions. The comments section: “Girl, please just back away. He’s only going to faint again when he wakes up.” That night, I was trending: “Investigate Leo Vance. He’s not acting.” 1 I'm a D-list actor, constantly struggling to land a role. When I did, they were mostly non-speaking background parts. The pay was so low I could barely afford groceries. To survive, I had to find side gigs. That $2,000 rent was a real nightmare. So, in my spare time, I decided to deliver food. The result: I’m directionally challenged. I ended up losing more money than I earned. Next, I tried setting up a street stall to sell jewelry and bags. The result: I was chased away five times in three days. Just as I felt small, alone, hopeless, and depressed. A newly opened escape room caught my eye. “Now Hiring: Zombie NPC. Work 4 hours a day, 2 days off per week. Salary: $4,500/month. Requirements: Open to all genders, excellent stamina, must be fast runner, preference for scary appearance, acting skills a plus.” My eyes lit up instantly. Was this job custom-made for me? I was a former college athlete who had studied dance for years. Not only could I run fast, but I could act my butt off. I could even touch my foot to my forehead. Crucially, I was a die-hard zombie fan. I'd watched dozens, if not over a hundred, related movies and TV shows. My "experience" was abundant. 2 I rushed to the owner immediately. After I explained why I was there, he just lifted an eyebrow. He didn't seem convinced at all. He said lightly: “Okay, show me something then.” Granted permission, I took a deep breath. Time for my performance. I stood still, head bowed. My entire body seemed to melt like a pile of mud. I collapsed softly onto the floor. Then, under the owner’s increasingly bewildered gaze, my upper body pulled my lower body, and I rose smoothly. The owner’s eyes widened. I extended my hand and slowly approached him. The muscles in my face twitched unsettlingly. My limbs swayed erratically, moving as slowly as a toddler taking its first steps. The whole scene was unsettlingly like a creepypasta “flesh-suit.” The owner held his breath, terrified. However, the agonizingly slow speed suddenly shifted to a motor-driven pace. In the blink of an eye, I was right in front of him. He instinctively shoved me. I fell backward, then executed a smooth, fluid recovery, completing the movement with a terrifying, bloody-mouthed snarl. The owner shrieked: “Stop! Stop! That’s enough, you’re hired! Tomorrow—no, tonight—you start!” I screamed internally, Yes! Finally, no more scraping by! 3 This job was a godsend, and I loved it. Every time I put on my detailed makeup and my costume. Watching the cocky customers scatter and run for their lives was pure bliss. It was the most fun I’d had in ages. I approached my work with serious dedication, never half-assing it. I aimed to give every customer the right to scream their lungs out. I aimed to give every customer a memory of clutching their heads and running wild. No one leaves disappointed. No one leaves disappointed. Then I noticed that a lot of first-time customers weren’t coming back. Some of the five-star reviews even read like this: “Truly immersive horror atmosphere, absolutely amazing. I will never return.” Me: "…" I had a bad feeling. Sure enough, after less than a month, the owner gave me the final word. “Don’t come in tomorrow. Or ever again. Your month’s pay has been transferred.” I was completely confused. “Why, Boss? Was my performance not good enough?” He sent me several video clips. I opened them: it was me chasing customers, mouth agape, ready to bite. Mid-run, I tripped, but just kept going on all fours, crawling and scrambling. The customers were running and crying. Now it was the owner's turn to cry. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t come back. This is a small business; we can’t handle this kind of chaos.” 4 Losing my favorite side gig made me incredibly sad. Life was tight again. Thankfully, my agent was a trooper. She was still relentlessly submitting me for roles. Bless her heart, I could cry. It would be even better if fewer of those roles were for corpses. Until that day, when she excitedly told me: “Leo Vance! You’ve been invited to the reality show, The Deep Dive!” My head exploded. I thought I misheard her. “Are you talking about the live-streamed, super-hit horror reality show that only A-list celebrities get invited to?! The national phenomenon?!” My agent was even more thrilled than I was: “Yes! I submitted your resume and thought there was no chance, but the director replied the next day! He wants you to audition right away! He must be drunk, so you better seize this opportunity!” I was ecstatic. Finally, a director saw my talent. Of course, a big-name show like that would require an audition. The Deep Dive was a show that blew up the moment it premiered. Everyone was desperate to get on it. This time, only five main cast members were invited. Including me, tee-hee. All were the hottest celebrity traffic, except for me, sob. There was still a week until the premiere, and the official social media comments section was already flooded. The two most prominent threads were about the cool, unsmiling A-list actor, Liam Thorne, and the delicate starlet, Lily Ray. “So excited to see the unshakeable, mountain-moving Liam Thorne on a horror show!” “Waaah, what will happen to our sweet Lily? Production, please be nice to her!” I looked at the comments, tears streaming down my face, and comforted myself: It’s okay. I’ll be famous after this show! 5 My beautiful dream was shattered. “Wait, you invited me to play a Zombie NPC?” The director nodded, looking quite impressed. “We watched the video attached to your resume. You have immense potential. That’s why we extended the invitation. Our show typically doesn’t invite non-celebrities, but Ms. Vance, you are truly exceptional…” I thought I heard wrong: “Non-celebrity?” Then I remembered: I accidentally attached the escape room owner’s video to my professional resume. The sadder truth: Three years into my career, I was still being mistaken for a non-celebrity. Just as I was sinking into self-pity. The director spoke again: “If your performance is as exciting as the video, we’re prepared to offer you $10,000 per episode. How does that sound?” I was stunned: “Ten thousand?!” How many corpses did I have to play to earn that much?! The director nodded: “We can increase the rate later if your performance exceeds our expectations.” I stepped forward and grabbed the director’s hand: “Thank you, Director. It’s a pleasure to work with you. I absolutely will not let you down!” The premiere day finally arrived. Everyone was giving their pre-show interviews. The camera zoomed in on the starlet, Lily Ray. She shyly covered her face: “I’m a really slow runner. I hope the production team can be gentle with me.” I felt sorry for her. What an innocent, pure soul. I’ll chase her slowly later. The camera moved to the movie star, Liam Thorne. He was still a man of few words: “Mmm. I can handle it.” I nodded approvingly. Good backbone. I’ll chase him first.
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