The Maker: Hollywood

The clock on the wall of Miller Studios’ new office ticked with a newfound weight. It was Monday morning, and the final accounting for 12 Angry Men had just landed in Daniel’s inbox. The theatrical run was officially over. A ninety-thousand-dollar film had clawed its way through the industry, defying every projection to reach a staggering total box office of $29.5 million.

Daniel sat at his desk, staring at the figure. After the $750,000 advance and Horizon’s distribution fees, his 45% cut of the profit was landing in the Miller Studios account like a tidal wave. For a man who was living on instant noodles and hope six months ago, seeing several million dollars in a bank balance was surreal.

Horizon Pictures was ecstatic. Mark Solomon had called Daniel three times in the last forty-eight hours, practically begging to host a massive success party at the Chateau Marmont.

”Daniel, the industry is buzzing!” Mark had shouted over the phone. ”People are calling it the ’ROI of the Century.’ We need to capitalize on this. And the OTT rights? Netflix and HBO are in a bidding war. They want to stream it while the word-of-mouth is still at a fever pitch. We need to talk numbers!”

”Soon, Mark,” Daniel had replied, his eyes fixed on the Star Wars script on his desk. ”Let me finalize my next partnership first. The crew deserves the party, and we’ll have it. Just give me a few more days.”

Daniel knew the importance of staying relevant. In Hollywood, you were only as good as your last hit, and while 12 Angry Men was a masterpiece, it was a ”small” masterpiece. He needed to prove he could scale.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. The familiar golden interface of the System shimmered into view.

[MISSION UPDATE: THE DEBUT – FINAL CALCULATION COMPLETE]

Project: 12 Angry Men

Investment-to-Profit Ratio: Exemplary (Tier: S)

Cultural Impact: High

[REPUTATION POINTS (RP) CREDITED: 140 RP]

[NEW SYSTEM FUNCTION UNLOCKED: TIER 1 GACHA]

Description: A low-level probability engine to assist the User’s growth.

Cost per Draw: 20 RP.

Success Rate: 40% (60% Chance of Null Result).

Daniel stared at the 140 points. He didn’t know if it was a lot, but after the monumental effort of the last few months, 140 felt... modest.

”Funny,” Daniel muttered to the empty room. ”Even the system wants me to gamble. The House always wins, doesn’t it?”

With a mental shrug, he decided to burn the points. He didn’t have any other use for them yet, and he was about to walk into the most important meetings of his life. He needed every edge he could get.

[Initiating Tier 1 Gacha... 7 Draws selected.]

Draw 1: [Result: NULL] — ”Better luck next time, Director.”

Draw 2: [Result: NULL] — ”The void stares back.”

Draw 3: [REWARD: Skill – DIRECTOR’S LENS (Tier 1)]

Effect: Passive ability to visualize the final edited frame in real-time. Reduces post-production time by 15%.

Draw 4: [Result: NULL] — ”A swing and a miss.”

Draw 5: [REWARD: Consumable – MONEY VOUCHER (Tier 1)]

Effect: [Description Hidden – Use to Reveal].

Draw 6: [Result: NULL] — ”Empty pockets.”

Draw 7: [REWARD: Consumable – NEGOTIATION VOUCHER (Tier 1)]

Effect: Can sway a negotiation in the User’s favor, provided the opposing party is already 70% inclined to agree but is hesitating due to logic or risk-aversion.

Daniel felt a jolt of electricity as the rewards integrated into his mind. Director’s Lens was a practical godsend, but the Negotiation Voucher? That was a literal cheat code. And just in time too. He looked at the clock. It was time to go.

---

The first meeting. Lionsgate Headquarters, Santa Monica

The conference room at Lionsgate was sleek, modern, and filled with executives who looked like they were trying very hard to be ”cool.”

”Daniel, we loved the movie,” said Jim, a senior VP of production. ”But let’s talk turkey. We want the Miller brand. We’re thinking a five-picture deal. Low budgets, high tension. We give you $5 million a pop, total creative control over the casting, and we put the Lionsgate engine behind you.”

Daniel placed the Star Wars pitch deck on the table. ”I appreciate the offer, Jim. But I’m not here for a five-picture deal of small thrillers. I’m here for this.”

Jim opened the folder and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. ”A... Space Opera? Daniel, you just did a courtroom drama. This budget estimate is... $150 million? Are you kidding?”

”The genre is dormant, Jim,” Daniel said firmly. ”People are tired of gritty realism. They want escapism. They want myth. Star Wars isn’t just a movie; it’s an intellectual property goldmine.”

Jim sighed, sliding the folder back. ”Look, we love you. But Lionsgate isn’t in the business of risking the entire studio on a ’what if.’ If you want to do a sci-fi thriller for $12 million, we can talk. But this? This is for the Big Five, and frankly, even they wouldn’t touch this without a major star attached.”

Daniel stood up. ”I understand. Thank you for the coffee.”

---

The second meeting. A24 Offices, West Hollywood

The A24 meeting was quieter. The office smelled like expensive incense and indie credibility.

”It’s poetic, Daniel,” the lead programmer said, flipping through the script. ”The themes of the ’Force,’ the father-son duality... it’s very Jungian. But you’re asking for a blockbuster budget. We don’t do blockbusters. If you can scale this down—make it more psychological, maybe set it all on one planet with a cast of five—we could do something special. We could make it an ’Elevated Sci-Fi.’”

”Scaling it down kills the soul of the story,” Daniel replied. ”This needs to be grand. It needs to be a spectacle. If it’s ’elevated,’ it becomes niche. I want this to be for every ten-year-old in the world.”

”Then you’re in the wrong office,” the programmer said with a sad smile. ”We don’t make movies for ten-year-olds. We make movies for people who want to feel miserable in a beautiful way.”

Daniel nodded. ”I respect that. But Star Wars is about hope.”

---

The third meeting. Legendary Pictures, Burbank

The atmosphere at Legendary was different. This was the house that had helped build CGI masterpieces like The Blackhole and Nessie. They understood scale. They understood monsters.

Daniel sat across from Thomas Tull’s successors and a panel of high-level producers. On his right sat Tom, who looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin.

”Ninety thousand to thirty million,” said Corie, a shark-like executive at the head of the table. ”That’s the most impressive jump I’ve seen in a decade, Miller. But now you’re asking us to pivot from that to... what is this? ’Tatooine’? ’Death Stars’?”

”It’s a space opera,” Daniel said, leaning forward. ”But at its core, it’s a Western. It’s a Samurai film. It’s the Hero’s Journey in its purest form. You’ve seen the ROI on 12 Angry Men. That wasn’t luck. That was an understanding of how to manipulate an audience’s emotions. Now, imagine that same precision applied to a world-building epic.”

Corie flipped through the concept art—designs Daniel had painstakingly described and Sarah (his cinematographer) had helped storyboard. ”The designs are... unique. But the risk is gargantuan. Science fiction is currently considered ’poison’ at the box office unless it’s a known IP. You’re asking for $150 million for an original story about space wizards.”

”They aren’t wizards,” Tom chirped in, then went red and went quiet.

”They are icons,” Daniel corrected. ”The risk isn’t in the genre; the risk is in the execution. I’ve already calculated the VFX costs. We won’t use traditional methods. I have plans for practical effects and new matte painting techniques that will keep the budget from ballooning.”

The room went into a hushed discussion. Daniel could see it. They were tempted. Legendary loved big swings. They loved ”spectacle.” But $150 million was a ”kill the studio” kind of number if it failed.

”Daniel,” Corie said, her voice softening. ”We want to work with you. We really do. But the board... they’re going to want to see a major lead. We’d need to cast someone like Joseph Hamilton or Rory Roberts to even consider this. And you’ve listed ’Unknowns’ for the lead roles.”

”The story is the star,” Daniel insisted. ”If you put a mega-star in the cockpit of the Falcon, it becomes a ’Joseph Hamilton movie.’ I want the audience to see Luke Skywalker. I want them to believe the world is real.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Corie looked at her colleagues. They were hovering. They loved the script—the ”System” guaranteed the script was a 10/10—but the commercial fear was holding them back.

Daniel felt the [Negotiation Voucher] pulse in his mind.

Target Identified: Legendary Pictures Executives.

Inclination: 72%.

Triggering Effect…

Daniel took a slow breath. ”Corie, look at me. Everyone in this town is playing it safe. They’re making sequels to movies that weren’t even good the first time. The audience is starving for something new. Legendary’s brand is about ’The Epic.’ If you pass on this, and I go to Universal or one of the other big five’s and they say yes, you aren’t just losing a movie. You’re losing the next twenty years of cinema history.”

”I know it’s a lot to ask for,” Daniel said in a somber voice, ”But you saw what I did with twelve men in a room. Imagine what I can do with a galaxy. Please put your trust in me.”

The air in the room seemed to shift. Corie blinked, as if a fog had cleared from her mind. She looked down at the concept art of the Millennium Falcon, then back at Daniel. The ”Negotiation Voucher” had smoothed over the jagged edges of her doubt, leaving only the raw excitement for the project.

”It’s a crazy jump,” she whispered. ”The craziest I’ve ever seen.”

”The best ones always are,” Daniel replied.

Corie looked at the other producers. They all nodded, almost in a trance-like state of sudden conviction.

”We won’t give you $150 million for the first installment,” Corie said, her voice now sharp and decisive. ”But we will greenlight a $100 million production budget with a $40 million marketing spend. We want a three-picture option, and Legendary keeps a significant portion of the merchandising rights.”

Tom let out a breath that sounded like a punctured tire.

Daniel didn’t flinch. In Earth-199, merchandising was where George Lucas made his real billions. He would have to fight for those later, but for now? He had the greenlight.

”I can work with $100 million, and we can talk about the merchandising rights later,” Daniel said, standing up and extending his hand. ”But, I want final cut privilege. And Miller Studios retains 20% of the licensing.”

Corie hesitated for a split second, then gripped his hand. ”You’re a shark, Miller. Deal. Let’s build your galaxy.”

---

The walk to the elevator felt like walking on air. Tom was literally trembling.

”One... hundred... million,” Tom whispered as the doors slid shut. ”Dan, we just went from sandwiches to steak for life. We just got a hundred million dollars from Legendary Pictures.”

”We got a chance, Tom,” Daniel corrected, though his heart was racing. ”Now we have to actually build it. We need to find our Luke. Our Han. Our Leia.”

”And the party?” Tom asked. ”The 12 Angry Men success party?”

Daniel smiled. He had used all his reputation points for the negotiation voucher, but he had gained a galaxy.

”Call Mark Solomon,” Daniel said. ”Tell him the party is on for Friday. And tell the crew to get their passports ready. We aren’t staying in Burbank for this one.”

As they stepped out into the bright California sun, Daniel felt the Director’s Lens skill activate, overlaying the world with invisible grids and focal points. He looked up at the sky, and for a fleeting second, he didn’t see the blue of Los Angeles.

He saw the twin suns of Tatooine.

”The Big Leagues,” Daniel murmured. ”Here we come.”

-----------------

A/N: This weeks goals for power stones

300 for 1 extra chapter which will be posted along with the daily chapter of Sunday

500 for 2 extra chapters, same as above. It’ll be posted along with Sunday’s daily chapter.

Throw me them power stones :?

Read ahead on Patreon: /AmaanS