America: From a Fallen Child Star to the Head of the University of the West

The following day, at 10:00 AM Los Angeles time.

The makeshift press conference at Vandenberg Space Force Base was set up on a spacious concrete platform, with a SpaceX Falcon rocket in the background, its body reflecting a cold, austere light under the California winter sun.

Today's protagonist, Sean, stood in a tent backstage, peering through the gaps at the gradually gathering crowd outside.

Musk's team's efficiency is nothing short of astonishing. In less than 24 hours, they set up a venue that could accommodate 500 people and broadcast it globally via the X platform.

According to staff, more than two million people are waiting online.

And the audience at the event was exactly as Musk had promised—hostile.

Seated in the front row were a dozen or so representatives of the Avalon Foundation's victims, mostly middle-aged people in their fifties and sixties, their faces etched with anger. Behind them were reporters from major media outlets: CNN, Fox News, The New York Times, The Washington Post—almost all the mainstream media were present.

At the very back were some ordinary citizens holding signs that read things like "Scammers get out of California" and "Fuck your mother and give me my money back."

"Mr. Sean."

Just then, a voice sounded behind him.

Sean turned around and saw a young girl standing at the tent entrance. She was in her early twenties and was holding a crumpled poster.

Her eyes were red, as if she had just been crying.

"You are..." Sean looked at her, the system display showed the number [72] above her head.

"My name is Amy," the girl's voice choked with emotion. "I grew up watching your shows. I know you're in a terrible situation right now, but I still believe in you. But... but those people outside, they hate you. If you say the wrong thing, they'll tear you apart."

She took a few steps closer, and then tears began to fall.

"Please, don't go on stage. Elon Musk just wants to use you; he doesn't care if you live or die. You can run away, go anywhere, as long as you live."

Sean looked at the girl and could feel her sincerity. In a world where everyone wanted to see him fail, there was actually someone who cared about his safety.

Although idol worship is not advisable, and although she was worried about the spirited original owner of this body, he still walked over and gently patted her shoulder.

"Amy, thank you. But I can't run away."

"Why?" The girl looked up, tears blurring her vision.

"Because if I escape, those who want me dead win. They'll use the same methods on the next person, and the next. This game will never end." Sean looked at the crowd outside the tent.

"Are you worried I'll say the wrong thing? Don't worry, I can say anything."

Sean laughed and said, "I don't care. Whether they're the far left, the far right, the most radical, or the most conservative, I can communicate with them."

"But……"

“No buts,” Sean interrupted her. “You know, the truth is the cheapest and most expensive thing in the world. Cheap because it costs nothing, expensive because saying it can be deadly. But today, I’ve decided to say it.”

He turned and walked toward the stage entrance.

"If I die, at least I'll die standing up."

As Amy watched his retreating figure, her favorability rating jumped to [85].

……

When Sean walked onto the stage, the audience erupted in boos and curses.

"fraud!"

"Give me my money back!"

"Get out!"

Sean stood at the podium, not speaking immediately, but quietly observing the crowd below. His gaze swept over every angry face, over the hands holding signs, and over the victim representatives sitting in the front row.

He saw a middle-aged woman wearing an inexpensive coat, clutching a black and white photograph tightly in her hand.

The woman's favorability rating towards him is -38, which doesn't seem too low.

He saw the reporters again, their expressions full of anticipation, anticipating his embarrassment and his breakdown.

[12], [8], [-5]...

Only Musk, sitting on the side platform, looked at him expressionlessly, with the number [42] above his head.

Seeing this, Sean finally walked up to the microphone.

"Men, I know you hate me." His opening remarks were direct. "I know many of you have lost your pensions, your homes, and your hope for the future. And all of this is because I lent my name to a bunch of swindlers."

The boos from the audience grew even louder.

"So today, I'm standing here not to apologize."

The moment those words were spoken, the atmosphere at the scene instantly became even more tense.

Sean saw the numbers start to drop dramatically.

[-45] became [-52].

[-38] became [-46].

Even Musk's number dropped to [38].

Clearly, either he was wrong, or he misread it. But generally speaking, the former is more likely than the latter.

But he didn't panic; at least he knew what they hated, didn't he?

So he continued:

"I won't apologize because an apology solves nothing. What you need isn't my tears, or me kneeling and begging for forgiveness. What you need is the truth, justice, and for those who should truly be held responsible to pay the price."

"You know my name, Sean Penn. But you don't know my origins; it's a story so old that I've almost forgotten it myself."

He had done his homework thoroughly, of course, about the original owner of this body.

"I was born in a small town in Pennsylvania, which was once the heart of the American steel industry and is now a rusty ruin. My father was a steelworker and my mother was a supermarket cashier. They both died in a car accident when I was ten years old."

Sean's voice became more melodic and rhythmic.

"Then I was placed in foster care. The family treated me very well, but they were also very poor. So when a Hollywood talent scout approached me and said I could act in TV series and make a lot of money, I agreed."

"As everyone knows, I started filming TV dramas when I was young, and officially debuted at the age of eleven. Through the recommendation of a talent scout, I starred in a sitcom called 'Our Town.' That show was very popular, and I became what is known as the nation's son. Everyone loved me, and everyone wanted to be me."

"But nobody told me that Hollywood is a meat grinder. It lifts you up to the sky and then tears you apart when you're at your most vulnerable."

He looked at the audience below the stage.

"When I was eighteen, my show was canceled. My agent told me that the audience was tired of me. I was no longer valuable. So, one by one, those who used to surround me left."

"I started drinking heavily, I started smoking marijuana, I started hurting the people I loved and the people who loved me, and I started doing all sorts of stupid things. I thought this would fill the emptiness inside me, but in fact, I was just accelerating my own destruction."

"Then, the people from the Avalon Foundation contacted me. They said that if I lent them my name, I could get back in the spotlight. I could prove that I still had value."

"I agreed. Because I craved to be needed, I craved to prove I could still do something." Sean laughed self-deprecatingly. "But I was wrong. I became their tool, a facade they used to deceive you."

He paused for a moment, then scanned each unfamiliar face in the audience with a devout gaze.

"So I will never apologize. But it's not because I don't feel guilty, but because apologies are too cheap. They won't get your pensions back, and they won't make you believe in the world again."

"What I need to do is bring down those who should really be held accountable for this."

At this moment, those numbers began to rise slowly.

[-52] became [-48].

[-46] became [-40].

Musk's number has returned to [42].

Sean knew he had finally found his rhythm. That's how this cheat code works!

"Do you know where the money from the Avalon Fund went?" His voice grew stronger. "It didn't disappear. It went to Washington, to those politicians in suits, to those who make the rules on Capitol Hill."

"They use your money to fund their campaigns, to buy mansions and yachts, and to maintain their corrupt system."

"And when all of this fell apart, they pushed me out. They said it was Sean Penn's fault, it was that fallen child star's fault."

"But I want to tell you today that this is not my fault, nor is it your fault. It is the fault of this system."

This time, Sean's every word became impassioned and passionate.

No one can judge him guilty, not even God.

"This country once had a dream. It was called the American Dream. It said that as long as you work hard and follow the rules, you can have a good life. Your children will be more successful than you, and your grandchildren will be more successful than your children."

"But that dream is dead."

"It died from the greed of Wall Street, from the corruption of Washington, and from the indifference of the elite."

"Now, there are only two kinds of people left in this country. One is those who sit at the top of the pyramid, they set the rules, they manipulate the market, they decide who can succeed and who must fail."

"The other kind is us. Those who are abandoned by the system, those who are told 'you are not working hard enough,' those who are forced to choose between two bad apples."

We were told it was our fault. We weren't smart enough, hardworking enough, or lucky enough.

"But we all know it's a lie."