The air in Martin's office buzzed with an energy I'd come to associate with genuine excitement. Not the manufactured hype of a marketing campaign, but the real deal. Martin, , was practically vibrating. He'd pulled out all the stops, setting up this meeting specifically to talk movies, and honestly, I was just as keen.
I mean, he already knew I was a wizard when it came to games. Silent Hill and Space Marine? Their sales figures and sheer popularity spoke volumes, practically screaming my name from the top of every digital chart.
But then there was the other stuff. The novels. Fifty Shades of Grey, Terminator, The Walking Dead, Percy Jackson, and, of course, Harry Potter. Dropping those into the market like a bomb, and watching them not just top the bestseller lists but completely dominate their respective genres? Yeah, that proved my talents weren't confined to pixels, boardrooms, or even a killer beat.
I was, and I don't say this lightly, a walking, talking repository of pure, unadulterated art. And the Jurassic Park script I'd handed over to Martin and Jose Caseras? That had been the real kicker.
The way they looked at me after reading it, the way they treated me… it was different. Like I wasn't just some lucky kid who stumbled into success. I was the real deal. A certified, gold-plated, bona fide movie hitmaker. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that they wouldn't dream of trying to push me into changing a single comma, they knew the game, and they knew what I and Meteor Studio can bring to the table.
When they understood the magic of Jurassic Park – the sheer brilliance of the storytelling, amplified by my… well, my popularity, and the backing of Meteor Studio, fully funded by me. Success wasn't just guaranteed; it was practically a foregone conclusion. This was going to be epic, the first of its kind in movie world.
Martin smoothed a hand over the script, his expression one of pure, unadulterated adoration. "Sael, seriously," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "thank you. I've read a lot of scripts in my time…. A lot. But this… this is the best I've ever read…The best I have ever seen. It's… it's a masterpiece."
Jose, standing beside him, nodded vigorously, his eyes practically sparkling. "I'm with Martin on this one, Sael. I couldn't sleep last night, just picturing it all on screen. Seeing it come to life. It's going to be… incredible."
'Of course, it was… it a big movie back on my earth' I gave them a slow, easy smile, leaning back in the plush chair. The hum of the ventilation system was a gentle counterpoint to the thrum of my own quiet satisfaction.
"Well, that's all good to hear," I said, keeping my tone light. "So, the hard parts done…. Now all that's left is for you guys to actually make the movie."
Martin beamed, then he cleared his throat, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. He fiddled with a pen on his desk.
"Absolutely, Sael. Absolutely. We're all systems go on that front. But, if you don't mind me asking," he hesitated, glancing at Jose, who offered a reassuring nod, "do you have any actors or actresses in mind for the roles? Anyone specific you envisioned when you were writing it?"
Jose chimed in, his own nervousness palpable, "Yeah, Sael. We were just… curious."
I let out a soft chuckle, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet sophistication of the office. "Honestly, guys, you know me…. I'm more about the big picture. The story. The vision. You two are the professionals when it comes to the casting side of things. Just… go with what feels right. Trust your instincts. I'm not going to interfere. As long as you stick to the script, my script, then you've got my full support…. Do what you do best."
A collective sigh of relief seemed to wash over them. Martin's shoulders relaxed visibly. "Oh, thank God," he breathed. "Seriously, Sael, you have no idea how much that means."
"Yeah," Jose added, running a hand through his hair.
"It's just… well, with a script like this, and knowing you're putting in the full investment… the norm, you know? It's usually a nightmare. People wanting to shove their favorite actors in, making all sorts of changes to suit their own agendas. It's… it's the usual song and dance."
I leaned forward, a playful glint in my eyes. "So, you guys were worried I'd be a helicopter parent when it came to casting? Trying to force my own personal favorites onto your vision?" I chuckled again, a richer, deeper sound this time. "Come on, now. I'm not that much of a control freak. Yet."
Martin managed a weak laugh. "Well, it's just that… you've got such a massive reputation, Sael. And your hits… they're untouchable. We figured you'd have a name or two you wanted attached."
"Look," I said, my tone shifting slightly, becoming more earnest.
"The reason I know those stories work so well is because I've let them breathe…. I've seen how they were meant to be. And sure, I have my preferences, but my main goal wasn't to cast a bunch of A-listers just for the sake of it. It was to make this story, Jurassic Park, shine. And to do that, it needs the right people, the best people for the roles. That means trusting your judgment. You guys discovered Wayne West, didn't you? You know talent when you see it…. So, go find me the perfect Alan Grant, the perfect Ellie Sattler, the perfect… well, you get the idea. Impress me… But more importantly, impress yourselves. Make this movie something truly legendary."
Jose's nervousness seemed to dissipate, replaced by a renewed spark of enthusiasm. "You know what, Sael? You're right. We've got this. We will find the perfect cast. We'll make this Jurassic Park a film people will be talking about for decades, just like your other… creations." He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
"Your other creations, Sael... the novels... Harry Potter... The Walking Dead... they're all so wildly different, and yet each one is a phenomenon. It's like you have a Midas touch, but for every genre imaginable."
Martin nodded, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and a healthy dose of strategic ambition. "It's true, Sael. We've all been talking about it. The games, the novels, your music… now movies. It's… it's astounding. Honestly, if you ever decide you want to branch out into, say, theme park attractions based on your novels…"
I held up a hand, a wide grin spreading across my face. "Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. One dinosaur-sized franchise at a time, okay? Let's get Jurassic Park off the ground first. Then we can talk about, I don't know, a magical school for gifted young wizards." I winked. "Or maybe a zombie apocalypse survival guide."
They both laughed, the tension completely evaporated. The energy in the room had shifted from cautious anticipation to genuine collaborative spirit. It felt good. It felt… right.
This was exactly the kind of partnership I was looking for. People who understood the vision, who respected the art, and who were just as hungry as I was to bring these incredible stories to life.
"Alright," Martin said, clapping his hands together with renewed vigor.
"So, casting. We've got a few ideas already brewing. Nothing concrete, but… we're thinking big. Really big. And as for the script, not a single word will be changed, Sael. I promise. This is your baby, and we're just honored to help it take its first steps onto the silver screen."
Jose echoed his sentiments, a serious look in his eyes. "This is more than just a job, Sael. This is a chance to be part of something truly special. We won't let you down."
I stood up, extending a hand to each of them. Their grips were firm, filled with a shared purpose. "I know you won't," I said, my voice resonating with quiet confidence.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very important, and rather delicious, lunch to get to. But I expect regular updates. And remember," I added with a sly grin, "no one ever ruined a masterpiece by adding too much awesomeness. Just… try not to add too much of your own awesomeness without checking with me first."
They chuckled, a little nervously this time, but with the understanding that I was serious about the script. As I walked out of Martin's office, the polished floors reflecting the bright, almost sterile, lights of the Panamic Vision headquarters, I felt a familiar sense of exhilaration. It wasn't just about the money, or the power, or even the sheer joy of seeing my creations brought to life.
Honestly, walking into Panamic Vision's headquarters felt… familiar. Not in a good way, either. It smelled like stale ambition and desperation, the kind of scent I'd picked up on in my old life, back when I was just some schmuck with a controller and a dream. Hollywood, man. The stories you heard about that place? Messy. Investors wanting their buddies in, writers demanding their pet plot points, directors pushing their own agendas like they were gospel. And in this world? With the added spice of a hyper-sexualized, VR-obsessed society and a government breathing down everyone's neck about reproduction? Yeah, I figured the chaos would dial up to eleven.
Martin, bless his slightly-too-slick suit, cleared his throat. "So, Sael, we've been discussing the… the potential casting. We have a few individuals in mind, of course."
Jose, who'd been nodding along with the enthusiasm of a bobblehead doll, chimed in, "No big names yet, mind you. But very promising."
They both glanced at me, their eyes doing that weird little dance, trying to read my expression. I just kept my face neutral, "Actors," I stated, my voice even. "Have you got a list of who you're considering?"
Martin beamed, as if I'd just asked him to explain the very meaning of life. He practically shoved a sleek tablet into my hands. "Right here, Sael. Please, take a look."
I scrolled through the names, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Huh. This is… interesting."
The names that popped up were a trip down memory lane. Dr. Alan Grant? Johnny Deep. Dr. Ellie Sattler? Christina Hendricks. Dr. Ian Malcolm? Bradley Cooper. Ray Arnold? Samuel L. Jackson. These were A-listers, icons from my old life. Here, in Hollywood, they were apparently just… obscure talent. It was like seeing legendary figures relegated to community theater. The irony wasn't lost on me, not one bit.
I handed the tablet back to Martin, my gaze still steady. "Okay. Good names. But are they talented?"
Jose leaned forward, his voice taking on a persuasive, almost pleading tone. "Sael, they are incredibly gifted. Truly…. They might not have the household recognition yet, but their performances… they have a raw quality that can bring this story to life. They can make these characters sing."
I let their conviction wash over me, picturing the actors in question. They were right, in a way. These weren't just faces; they were actors who, in another life, had poured their souls into these roles. And here, in this slightly warped reality, they were just waiting for the right vehicle.
A slow smile spread across my face. "Alright," I said, a hint of amusement in my voice. "If you're convinced, they've got the chops, then by all means, move forward with it. Let's see what these 'C-listers' can cook up."
The meeting continued, a whirlwind of budgets, marketing strategies, and projected earnings that felt simultaneously mundane and crucial. Martin and Jose, energized by my apparent approval, dove into the specifics, their rapid-fire explanations punctuated by excited gestures. I mostly listened, my mind occasionally drifting.
I thought about the 'C-listers' they were so excited about. Johnny Deep. Christina Hendricks. Bradley Cooper. Samuel L. Jackson. In my old world, these names were synonymous with box office success, with critical acclaim.
Here, they were the underdogs, the potential breakout stars waiting for someone to take a chance. It was a strange echo of my own situation, really. I knew what these stories were worth, what these actors were worth, even if the suits in this city didn't quite grasp it yet.
"And the marketing," Martin was saying, tapping a holographic display that shimmered with animated graphics. "We're thinking bold. Edgy. Something that screams 'experience' rather than just 'film'."
Jose nodded vigorously. "Exactly. We need to tap into the VR aspect, of course. Immersive trailers. Maybe even short, interactive experiences leading up to the release."
I propped my chin on my hand, observing them. They were eager, full of ideas. But I also sensed a underlying nervousness. The stakes here were incredibly high. Panamic Vision, like any major studio in this… vibrant entertainment landscape, was looking for the next big thing, the guaranteed hit that would keep the money flowing. And they were betting on me, on my ability to breathe life into concepts that, to them, were still abstract.
"What about the… thematic elements?" I asked, my voice casually probing. The world of Hollywood was deeply entrenched in its own brand of 'freedom of sexual indulgence,' as the brochures so charmingly put it. Any major production here would have to navigate those waters carefully, or dive headfirst into them.
Martin's eyes flickered, a slight shift in his demeanor. "Ah, yes. We've… taken that into consideration. We believe the narrative has… ample opportunities for exploration in that regard. We're confident we can deliver something that resonates with the current cultural pulse."
Jose jumped in, perhaps sensing Martin's momentary hesitation. "Absolutely. We see the potential for… significant audience engagement. The story demands it, wouldn't you agree, Sael?"
I did agree. The stories I'd brought with me, the ones I was planning to 'reimagine' for this world, certainly weren't shy about their mature themes. In fact, they often leaned into them. It was one of the things that made them so compelling, so human.
"It does," I confirmed, my gaze sweeping over their expectant faces.
"But it needs to be handled with a certain… finesse. It's not just about titillation; it's about the characters, their desires, their connections. The… intimacy needs to feel earned, not just tacked on…. As long as that was properly ensured… I am okay with everything…". I let that hang in the air for a moment, watching their reactions. They seemed to be taking it in, nodding along, but there was still that subtle tension, that unspoken negotiation.
"You're… you're serious?" Martin finally managed, his voice a mix of relief and awe. "You approve it? The full package? The C-Listers, the reallocated budget… all of it?"
I took a sip from the ice-cold can of coke they'd given me, the fizz sharp and sweet on my tongue. "It's a solid plan... I like it."
Jose shook his head, laughing softly. "Mr. Sael, you are an amazing man. Truly altruistic. Most writers would have thrown a fit. To trust your first major script—a script this good—to a cast of… well, to actors who aren't exactly A-List…"
"Is that what you think this is?" I asked, setting the can down on a polished coaster. The condensation left a perfect wet ring on the dark wood. "Altruism?"
Martin leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "Frankly, yes. This script… it's brilliant. It deserves the biggest names in the business. We know that. And we're confessing to you now, Panamic Vision… we're in a tight spot. A rough patch, financially. This decision, as radical as it seems, is born from necessity. We need a hit, but we can't afford the usual price tag."
I nodded slowly, letting the information settle. It made sense. The industry was brutal.
"Here's the thing," I said, my voice calm and level. "I'm not being altruistic. I'm being confident…. So confident in that script that it literally didn't occur to me that it would fail. Not with you two steering the ship." I looked between them, meeting each of their gazes. "
You don't want to fail. And you're confident the actors you picked can lead this movie. Right?" The look on their faces was something else. Touched wasn't even the word. They looked like I'd just handed them a winning lottery ticket and a puppy.
"Right," Martin said, his voice thick with something that sounded like gratitude. "Absolutely right. Thank you, Sael. This vote of confidence… it means everything."
"It's nothing," I said with a casual shrug. "Just don't make me regret it."
Jose, ever the opportunist, saw the opening. "To show our gratitude… would you consider a cameo? In the film? A quick walk-on, perhaps?"
"Meh," I made a face. "Not really my scene."
"Have you ever wanted to act?" Martin pressed, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
I chuckled. "Personally? Kinda. Who hasn't? But not now. I'm far too busy right now…. So, Ask me again in five years?"
"What about adapting your other work?" Jose jumped back in. "That 'Fifty Shades' manuscript you casually mentioned last week… now that has potential."
Both of their eyebrows shot up in perfect unison. It was almost comical.
"You've read it?" I asked, amused.
"We… may have glanced at the treatment your assistant sent over," Martin admitted, a sly smile playing on his lips. "It's… incendiary. The GRMD would fast-track that thing so fast it would break the sound barrier."
"It would, wouldn't it?" I said, a slow grin spreading across my own face. I leaned in, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial level. "And just so we're crystal clear on the vision from the very start… if anyone is going to be Christian Grey, it's going to be me."
Martin's eyes didn't just shine; they practically became supernovas. "If that project were to open," he breathed, "It wouldn't be a hit…. It would be a global seismic event."
"Oh, definitely would… hahaha". Jose laughs, but agreed that if 'Sael VT' were to appeared on rated movies, that movie would guarantee to become the biggest movie of all time.
******************
The formal business was done. Contracts were as good as signed. The atmosphere shifted from a high-stakes boardroom negotiation to something resembling a bunch of guys shooting the shit after work. Martin had broken out a ridiculously expensive-looking bottle of whiskey, and both brothers were now working on generous glasses of the amber liquid. My half-finished coke can seem pretty pathetic by comparison.
Martin swirled his glass, the ice cubes clinking softly. "It's a desert out there, Sael. A creative desert….. Everyone's just… recycling. Remaking, rebooting, rehashing. It's all the same tired plots with a new coat of hyper-saturated paint."
"I've noticed," I agreed, stretching my legs out under the massive desk.
"The current landscape is… obsessed. It's like the entire industry got the memo that the only thing anyone cares about is the bump-and-grind. Plot, character, tension… it all gets sacrificed at the altar of the five-minute sex scene."
Jose pointed at me with his whiskey glass. "Whoa, hold on. Let's not be dismissive. Those scenes are crucial. They sell. The audience wants to see them. They expect them. It's a fundamental part of the market."
"I'm not saying they aren't," I conceded, holding up a hand.
"You're right. They sell…. Martin's right, it's all recycled. The truth is somewhere in the middle. You can't just have sex for two hours. Well, you can, but that's a different kind of film. A good story has to happen around it. The sex has to serve the story, not the other way around. That's the balance. That's why you loved the Jurassic Park script. The story is the engine. The… thrills… are a feature, not the entire operating system."
Both brothers nodded thoughtfully, the wisdom of the ancient Earth box office numbers I was parroting hitting home.
"Exactly," Martin said. "The story is king."
In my mind, I was already doing calculus. The Jurassic Park I knew didn't need it, but the Jurassic Park in this hypersexualized world? A world where the GRMD literally had quotas? I'd have to get creative.
Maybe a simmering tension between Grant and Sattler that finally boils over in a supply closet as a T-Rex roars in the distance. Sex scene NEED to be in a movie no matter what. It's the law of the land. People loved to see it, and they wanted to see it. It was just a new parameter to design around, like budget or special effects. A challenging, incredibly weird parameter, but a parameter nonetheless.
As time went on the single bottle of whiskey had become two. Martin and Jose were well on their way to finishing both, their words starting to slur just a little, their laughter coming easier.
Meanwhile, my lone can of coke was still only three-quarters gone, the ice long since melted into a watery, brown dilution. That's how little I'd had a chance to drink from it. The questions just kept coming. They were picking my brain about everything. Story structure, character arcs, music licensing, marketing angles
"I have to tell you, Sael," Martin said, his words slightly thickened by the alcohol. He leaned in close, his expression turning seriously earnest.
"I truly believe it now. I believed it before, but now I know. You're a genius. A bonafide creative genius."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "That's a strong word, Martin. Why the sudden epiphany?"
"It's not sudden!" he insisted, sloshing his whiskey a little.
"That first livestream you did. With Millie. For 'Silent Hill: First Fear'. I was a fanatic…... My whole circle was. We were obsessed. So, I hosted a viewing party. Not just my usual friends. I invited… hell, I invited a psychiatrist, a professor of media studies, a cognitive scientist. We analyzed you. Your choices, your music, the way you built the atmosphere."
I just blinked. "You had me psychoanalyzed via livestream? That's a new one."
"And they all said the same thing!" he barreled on, his eyes wide.
"A once-in-a-generation genius. Your creative music… it wasn't just background noise. It was a character. It made that game the scariest, most addictive thing any of us had ever experienced. You built a nightmare and made us want to live in it."
Jose nodded vigorously, adding, "And the ending! Don't get me started on the ending! When the ghost of Lisa and her child… that moment of peace, of gratitude to the player… Perfection. I've never seen anything like it."
Martin pointed a wobbly finger at me. "Do you know how many directors in Hollywood are green with envy? They're frustrated. They're tearing their hair out that 'Silent Hill' is a game and not a movie they can put their name on…. They know they couldn't have done it better."
I just sat back in my chair, a quiet, bemused smile on my face. There was nothing to say. What could I say? Thanks, but I stole it all from a team of brilliant Japanese developers from another dimension?
So, I just laughed, a soft, genuine sound. I picked up my watered-down coke, the aluminum can now slick with warm condensation, and finally took a long, final drink. It tasted like victory, and it was surprisingly sweet.
****************
The heavy glass door of the conference room sighed shut behind me, finally cutting off the sterile, air-conditioned atmosphere. I leaned against the wall for a second, the cool drywall a relief against the back of my head. Two hours. It felt both longer and shorter than that. Now, fatigue was starting to seep into my bones. I pushed off the wall and headed for the elevators, my mind already clicking through the next hundred things I needed to arrange.
The best part? The absolute cherry on top of this whole surrealistic sundae? Jose, Martin, and every single employee in this gleaming tower of glass and ambition had no idea. They didn't have a clue that their paychecks, their health plans, the very coffee in their breakroom, technically all flowed from me.
I owned Panamic Vision. Lock, stock, and barrel. The paperwork was signed, the money was moved, and they were blissfully, wonderfully ignorant. And I intended to keep it that way. No need to rock the boat until I'm good and ready to steer it into a hurricane.
My thoughts drifted from corporate espiracy to casting. My mind's eye flickered through the faces of my Jurassic Park: Ben Kingsley's wise, twinkling eyes as John Hammond. Jack Black's chaotic energy perfectly contained for Dennis Nedry. The young, terrified brilliance of Jacob Tremblay and McKenna Grace as the Murphy kids. Idris Elba's intense command as Muldoon. Bill Hader's weaselly charm as Gennaro. Natalie Portman's intelligent grace as Dr. Wu.
A killer lineup. Legends, every one of them. Or, they were, back on Earth. Here, they were all C-Listers. Talent just sitting on the shelf, waiting for someone to dust it off.
The door of my car thunked shut, muting the distant hum of the city above. In here, it was just me and the quiet. Well, me and the most advanced AI on the planet, currently housed in a sleek tablet resting on my lap. The soft, ambient glow of the screen illuminated the cockpit.
"Sunday," I said, my voice echoing slightly in the confined space. "Priority task. I need deep-dive profiles. Everything you can find. Ben Kingsley, Jack Black, Jacob Tremblay, McKenna Grace, Idris Elba, Bill Hader, and Natalie Portman. Career history, agent info, current projects, personal scandals, the works."
"Acknowledged, Sael," her voice responded, calm and melodious through the car's speakers.
One by one, their faces popped up on the display, accompanied by cascading walls of text. "Compiling dossiers now," Sunday confirmed. "The initial summary is… revealing. Each possesses a significant body of work, demonstrating considerable range and technical skill."
"But?" I prompted, already knowing the answer.
"But none have achieved A or B-Lister status. Their critical receptions are generally positive, yet their marketability is consistently rated as low by industry standards."
"Why?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that, too.
"The primary factor appears to be this society's prevailing aesthetic and commercial requirements for leading performers," Sunday explained, her tone utterly neutral, like she was reading a weather report.
"The data indicates an overwhelming bias toward performers who meet a very specific, overtly eroticized standard of physical beauty. Their talent is noted, but it is consistently deemed… insufficiently titillating for major studio investments, particularly for projects requiring sexualized scenes. They are 'good, but not popular enough,' as the industry parlance goes."
I let out a short, dry laugh. "Right. Because nothing says 'box office gold' like hiring a great actor who doesn't look like they're permanently seconds away from starring in a porn parody."
"A crude but accurate assessment," Sunday replied, and I could almost swear there was a hint of amusement in her synthetic voice. "The correlation is statistically significant."
"So, basically," I said, leaning my head back against the rest, "I'm about to become the reason they become superstars. I'm gonna pluck them out of bargain-bin oblivion and make them the household names they were always meant to be."
"An accurate summation. Your intervention is the calculated variable that will disrupt their current career trajectory."
"Have you analyzed their acting? Their potential?"
"Thoroughly. I have reviewed available footage—lead roles, supporting parts, independent features. I have cross-referenced their performances with critical metrics from our previous world's databases. My analysis concludes that each possesses the innate talent and potential to mirror, and potentially exceed, the career heights of their Earth counterparts. The probability of them achieving equivalent 'star potential' upon receiving the correct vehicle is approximately ninety percent."
Ninety percent. Those were damn good odds. A warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the car's climate control. This wasn't just about building an empire; it was about vindication. It was about proving that real talent mattered more than just looking good on a casting couch.
"Perfect," I murmured, a slow grin spreading across my face. I stared at the faces on the screen—Kingsley's gravitas, Black's manic glee, Portman's fierce intelligence. They had no idea what was coming.
"Shall I begin drafting outreach communications to their representatives?" Sunday asked.
"Not yet…. We will be making move through Meteor Entertainment… for now you just keep an eye for them…"
"Noted, Sael". Sunday replied.
It was time to make the first move.
I reached out and tapped the center console. "Call Cassandra. Mobile."
The line connected after half a ring, the car's immersive audio system making it sound like she was sitting right next to me.
"Sael? Everything alright?" Her voice was crisp, professional, but with an underlying current of concern. She wasn't used to calls from the car; it usually meant something urgent.
"Everything's perfect, Cass. Better than perfec…t. I just emailed you a list."
I could almost hear her shift into high gear. There was a brief pause, probably her pulling up her data pad. I stared out the window at the towering megastructures flashing by, their neon signs bleeding streaks of color across the Navara's darkened glass.
"Okay… got it. A list of… actors and actresses?" she said, her tone shifting from concern to curiosity. "Panamic's stable?"
"Some are. Some… are about to be. I need you to dispatch our best scout agents…. Immediately. They're to operate under the Meteor Entertainment banner, full discretion. I want them approached, assessed, and contracts drawn up. Priority ones are at the top: Idris Elba, Natalie Portman, Johnny Depp, Bradley Cooper, Jack Black."
The other end of the line went silent for a beat. Then, the rapid, percussive tap-tap-tap-tappity-tap of fingers flying across a keyboard filled the car. It was a sound of pure efficiency.
"…Right. Okay. Elba… Portman… Depp, got his name spelled wrong here… Cooper… Black." She read them back, her voice laced with a growing perplexity.
"Sael, I've pulled their profiles. I'm looking at their current market valuation, their credits… these are all C-listers. Most of them are barely working. Are you… sure about this?"
I couldn't help but smile. This was the best part. "I have never been surer of anything in my life. I want them. …Get them now, before someone else does and they get expensive."
Another pause, longer this time. I could picture her perfectly—leaning back in her ergonomic chair in our high-rise office, one perfectly manicured eyebrow arched, staring at the holoscreen as if it were playing a joke on her.
"You're going to make them stars," she finally said, and it wasn't a question. It was a statement of dawning realization, tinged with her characteristic, dry amusement.
My grin widened. "I'm going to make them A-listers. The kind whose names alone open funding streams and sell out global premieres. I'm going to hand them scripts that will melt people's brains and give them roles they'll be remembered for a thousand years from now."
A low, throaty chuckle came through the speakers. It was the sound of Cassandra smirking. "Alright, boss. You're the visionary. I'll mobilize the scouts. We'll have preliminary reports by end of day. Meteor Entertainment is going hunting for… 'barely working C-listers.'"
"That's the spirit. Talk soon, Cass."
"On it."
The call disconnected, leaving the car in silence, broken only by the faint whisper of the tires on the road. I let my head fall back against the headrest, closing my eyes. In my mind, I wasn't seeing the grimy, dystopian skyline of Hollywood. I was seeing red carpets, flashing cameras, and the faces of legends—real legends, not the manufactured celebrities of this broken world—lighting up silver screens for the very first time, all because of me.