The world froze around me momentarily. I watched in morbid fascination as the system was struggling to adjust to my newly acquired agency. I guess answering anything apart from weepy begging, ‘Stop,’ and ‘Are you insane?’ was too much for this particular shitty engine to handle.

I had ample time to stand up and shake myself off. I offhandedly noted that my clothes were different from scene to scene, but my standards had dropped the moment I heard the first few lines of the script. I leaned in to observe the ‘male lead’, noticing the wax-like skin texture, odd shadows and overall obvious AI engine mistakes.

It was odd how two separate reels can have such a difference in quality. I wasn’t sure how these shorts were made in the first place, but the side-by-side comparison was staggering. This generic high school, generic NPCs, generic stepbrother- that by the second looked more and more like… Henry Cavill?... all made me miss the forest of Avaria and Caelian.

The system apparently finished buffering, and between one blink and the next I was in the cafeteria, tray full of at least six burgers and a glass of orange juice before me. There were no utensils.

Guess we were on to episode two of this shitshow. I belatedly realised I had no idea of the stepbrother’s name. Not that it mattered. It would be something like Aiden, Hunter, Luca or Leo. I wondered why no one in this generic world was named Steve. I’d have liked to meet a Steve.

As I looked down at my lunch, which morphed into a plastic-looking fried egg, a girl walked towards me with a glass of orange juice. Mine was gone. She was wearing a cheerleader’s uniform that looked more like a slutty Halloween costume than what should be allowed in school. Perfect makeup, perfect hair. Looking like she was twenty-five.

I now noticed the text boxes. They popped out briefly next to each character when they first appeared. I must have had one along with the stepbrother, but I was too busy recovering from a swirl through Willy Wonka’s Existential Tunnel of Hell to pay attention. This particular one specified the girl as Brittney, Hunter’s girlfriend and Cheer Captain.

Brittney placed the glass of orange juice next to my food and smiled at me.

“You must be thirsty after all that practice. Here, have a drink of water.”

Babes. No water looked this neon orange. Also, there was an obvious pill at the bottom of the glass, ominously sizzling. I guess this was the prevalent liberal use of aphrodisiacs and/or poison that somehow made it into every reel.

Needless to say, I didn’t touch the cursed thing and looked up at her blank plastic face.

“No thanks. Not thirsty.”

She didn’t seem to react to my words. It was then that I noticed my hand moving against my will once again, forward towards the glass.

The stupid engine wasn’t going to let me off, was it?

I tried to mouth my tongue twister again and again, but the stupid hand had a mind of its own. I closed my mouth, trying to turn my head away from this spiked drink. I must have done something right, because instead of drinking it, I spilt it all over my shirt.

Brittney looked shocked, albeit with a freaking thirty-second delay, when the cafeteria doors exploded with a bang so loud I thought a bomb went off.

My stepbrother Hunter stood there, teeth clenched, looking over my juice-stained shirt that immediately became see-through. My hair and face were wet as well, even though the glass was nowhere near them at the time.

He stomped forward, upturning tables, chairs, unsuspecting NPCs and chucking them to the ends of the room like they were ragdolls. He stood before me, panting heavily, his eyes roaming my body like he fucking owned it. The bastard.

“Hunter! Babe! This bitch tried to spill water on me! You have to protect me!” Brittney interposed between us and cooed at the wild beast. I was equally thankful and worried for her. Apparently, she didn’t understand when a raging bull was about to charge.

I heard cracking coming from below. Hunter was clutching his hand so tight that the smartphone he was holding cracked in two.

Holy shit. Superhuman grip strength. Brittney, it was not nice knowing you. But every man for himself.