The blue-white glare of a laptop screen was the only star in Leo Vance's dingy universe. It painted a mask of professional success over his face, hiding the ramen-grease sheen on his chin and the desperate exhaustion in his eyes. He leaned forward, flashing a smile that had been practiced a thousand times in a smudged bathroom mirror.
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the power of a paradigm shift," he announced, his voice a smooth, confident baritone that was completely at odds with his stained t-shirt and the pile of dirty laundry serving as a secondary chair. "You aren't just building a store; you're architecting a freedom-funnel. You're leveraging synergistic opportunities to disrupt your own financial stagnation."
He gestured with one hand, a motion of magnanimous wisdom. With the other, hidden below the webcam's view, he expertly used a plastic fork to shovel a clump of lukewarm instant noodles into his mouth. The flavor was "Vaguely Chicken-Flavored Salt."
He glanced at the viewer count in the corner of his screen. A proud, unwavering '3'.
His audience was an elite cohort. There was 'Kev_TTV,' who had only typed "poggers?" in the chat twenty minutes ago and gone silent. There was 'GrandmaJoan,' who periodically asked where the button was to make his voice louder. And finally, 'xX_BladeSlayer_Xx,' who was almost certainly a fourteen-year-old who'd clicked the wrong link.
Still, Leo was a professional. He was performing for an auditorium of thousands.
"Forget the nine-to-five grind. That's the old model. We are in the age of the digital nomad, the e-commerce titan," he said, swallowing his mouthful of processed carbs. "My course, the '7-Figure E-Commerce Empire NOW!,' isn't just a series of videos. It's a key. A key to unlock the life you've been dreaming of."
He clicked a button, and a large, gaudy graphic filled the screen: "BUY NOW! ONLY $499! (Previously $1999!)". The urgency was practically dripping from the pixels.
"For the price of a cup of coffee a day," he lied smoothly, conveniently forgetting that coffee at that price would need to be brewed with unicorn tears, "you get lifetime access to my proprietary methods. The same methods that built my success."
He paused for dramatic effect, allowing the monumental value of his offer to sink in. The chat remained silent. The viewer count remained a stubborn '3'. He could almost hear the crickets chirping over the hum of his ancient laptop fan.
The webinar ended. The professional smile evaporated from Leo's face, leaving behind the weary, 24-year-old college dropout he actually was. He stared at the screen, waiting for the tell-tale notification.
A small pop-up appeared. Webinar Sales: $0.00.
A familiar, bitter taste filled his mouth, and it wasn't the noodles. He slammed the laptop shut with more force than necessary. The screen went black, and his own pathetic reflection stared back at him from the dark mirror.
Ping.
An email notification appeared on his phone. The subject line was a cold dagger. RENT OVERDUE: FINAL NOTICE.
Leo groaned, slumping back in his chair. It was always the same story. His dropshipping store for "Artisanal Dog Wigs" had failed. His NFT project, a series of poorly drawn "Crypto-Badgers," had netted him a grand total of zero sales. And his brief, disastrous foray into cryptocurrency had consisted of him sinking his last two hundred dollars into something called 'DogeMoonShibaInuCoin' twelve hours before its creators performed a rugpull so blatant it was almost art.
He was a master of the theory, a connoisseur of buzzwords, but the execution always ended here, in this room, with the taste of failure and cheap sodium.
"Damn it all," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "Why can't life have an easy mode? A cheat code. Just… one good exploit is all I need." He stared at the ceiling, a cracked and water-stained map of his misery. "A world full of gullible idiots with too much money. Is that too much to ask?"
As the words left his lips, a strange flicker caught his eye.
In the middle of his room, the air seemed to… glitch. A thin, vertical line appeared, shimmering like heat haze on asphalt. It looked like a dead pixel in the fabric of reality. It widened into a crack, not of light or darkness, but of pure, visual static. A low hum filled the room, vibrating through the floor and rattling the empty noodle cup on his desk.
Leo stared, fork halfway to his mouth. "Is that a… bug in the simulation?" he joked weakly, a cold knot of genuine fear tightening in his stomach.
The crack didn't respond to his wit. It violently ripped open, the hum escalating to a deafening roar like a thousand dial-up modems screaming in unison. An irresistible force seized him, pulling him from his chair. His feet left the ground. Papers, laundry, and empty food containers swirled around him in a chaotic vortex.
"TF--!" he yelped, a completely involuntary burst of meaningless jargon.
The last thing Leo Vance of Earth saw was his half-eaten cup of instant noodles tipping over the edge of his desk, a sad, slow-motion cascade of broth and regret.
Then, the world squeezed, the static consumed him, and everything went black.