The Maker: Hollywood

A few hours before the launch of the Vice City game trailer.

The Culver City office of Miller Interactive smelled like cold brew coffee and heavily worked electronics.

Daniel sat in the main conference room on the third floor, leaning back in a mesh chair. He had his laptop open, staring at a video call on the screen. On the other end of the line was Gabe Newell.

”The store page is completely scrubbed and ready on our end, Dan,” Gabe said, adjusting his headset. ”The backend is set up to handle the initial traffic spike. We’ve got the bandwidth allocated. I still can’t believe you managed to keep this entirely under wraps so far.”

”NDAs and keeping the dev team isolated in this building,” Daniel replied, taking a sip from a bottle of water. ”I appreciate you fast-tracking the certification process, Gabe. It’s important to me that PC players get their hands on this exactly when the console players do.”

Gabe chuckled. ”You’re preaching to the choir. The fact that you’re skipping the standard twelve-month console exclusivity window is going to make you a god on our platform. The community is going to eat this up. Just give us the green light when you post the trailer, and we’ll flip the switch to make the Steam page public.”

”Will do. Thanks, Gabe.”

Daniel closed the video call. Almost instantly, his cell phone started vibrating on the wooden conference table. The caller ID showed a Los Angeles area code, but the contact name was a high-level executive at Sony PlayStation.

Daniel let out a short breath and picked it up. ”Hey, David.”

”Dan, please tell me you haven’t pushed the button yet,” David’s voice came through the speaker, sounding slightly out of breath, like he was pacing around an office. ”I know we talked about this last month, but my board is practically begging me to make one last pitch. The PS6 is launching next year. We need a system seller. We will literally double the upfront cash offer for a one-year timed exclusive. Just one year, Dan. Name your number.”

”David, we’ve been over this,” Daniel said casually, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. ”The answer is still no.”

”Dan, be reasonable,” David pleaded. ”Every major third-party studio does timed exclusives. It’s free money. You keep the IP, you get a massive cash injection from us, and you still sell the PC and Xbox copies a year later. It’s industry standard.”

”I’m not doing it,” Daniel said flatly. ”I’m not gatekeeping a massive sandbox game behind a single plastic box just to pad your launch lineup. My fans aren’t going to wait a year to play a game because they bought the wrong console. We launch on PlayStation, Xbox, and PC on day one. Everybody plays at the same time. I don’t even know why we are having this talk again. I’d much rather not release it on PS at all if you keep this up.”

David sighed heavily into the phone. ”You’re leaving tens of millions of dollars on the table out of principle, Dan.”

”I have enough money,” Daniel said. ”The trailer goes up in ten minutes. Make sure your digital storefront is ready for the traffic.”

Daniel hung up the phone and tossed it onto the table.

Rowan, the lead developer for Miller Interactive, walked into the conference room. He didn’t look panicked or stressed. He just looked highly focused.

”Backend is solid,” Rowan reported, pulling up a chair and tapping his tablet. ”AWS servers are scaled up. We ran the simulated load tests last night. When the pre-order link goes live, the traffic routing is going to dynamically split the load. We can handle about ten million simultaneous pings without the storefront crashing.”

”Good,” Daniel nodded. He knew exactly what kind of chaotic web traffic this game was going to generate. The world in 2030 had open-world games, sure, but nothing on this scale, and absolutely nothing tied to a cinematic universe they already loved. He wasn’t about to let a crashed server ruin the launch day momentum.

”You ready to drop it?” Rowan asked, looking at the main wall monitor which displayed the Miller Studios Twitter and YouTube accounts.

Daniel checked his watch. It was prime time for social media traffic.

”Hit it,” Daniel said.

Rowan tapped his tablet.

Without a countdown clock, without a teaser image, and without any warning to the gaming press, a single tweet went out from the official Miller Studios account.

It was just a YouTube link. The caption simply read: Welcome back to the 80s.

For about three minutes, the internet was quiet. People scrolling their feeds saw the tweet, clicked the link, and waited for the YouTube video to buffer.

The video opened with a shot of neon pink text buzzing to life against a pitch-black screen. It read:

GRAND THEFT AUTO: VICE CITY

Official Gameplay Trailer. Captured in-engine.

The fans of the Vice City movie, the ones who had obsessed over Al Pacino’s performance as Tommy Vercetti, collectively stopped breathing. Nobody had leaked this. Nobody even knew a game was in development.

The trailer didn’t start with a boring cinematic cutscene. It cut straight to raw, unadulterated gameplay.

A digital, perfectly rendered Tommy Vercetti walked out of the Ocean View Hotel. The camera sat comfortably behind his shoulder, showing the completely clean, minimal UI. He walked down the sun-drenched sidewalk of Washington Beach. The pedestrians reacted to him, moving out of the way. He walked up to a parked Cheetah sports car, smashed the window with his elbow, pulled the driver out, and hopped in.

The radio clicked on. A heavy 80s synth track blasted as Tommy slammed on the gas, drifting into oncoming traffic.

The trailer showcased everything in rapid, fluid cuts. The physics of a speedboat bouncing over the ocean waves. A massive shootout inside a neon-lit nightclub with fully destructible environments. The player flying a helicopter over the sprawling, massive city at night, the neon lights reflecting perfectly off the wet streets below.

It ended with the release date, boldly stating: Available Day One on PlayStation, Xbox, and PC (Steam).

The internet absolutely exploded.

It wasn’t a slow build. It was an instant, viral tidal wave. Twitter trended the hashtag #ViceCity instantly. The YouTube video rocketed to a million views in less than twenty minutes.

Daniel pulled his phone over and opened Reddit. The r/gaming subreddit, usually a cynical, hard-to-please place, was in a state of absolute euphoria.

Subreddit: r/gaming

Megathread: GRAND THEFT AUTO: VICE CITY - OFFICIAL GAMEPLAY TRAILER

u/RetroGamer99: WAIT HOLD UP. Are you telling me they’ve been secretly making a Vice City game this whole time?! The movie is my favorite film of the decade. I am literally hyperventilating right now. I need this injected into my veins.

u/PixelJunkie: Did anyone else catch the title? The movie was just called Vice City. The game is called GRAND THEFT AUTO: Vice City. Grand Theft Auto implies a franchise name. Does that mean there are gonna be other games? Like a New York one or a Los Angeles one?! Bro I am losing my mind.

u/FrameRateSnob: Can we talk about the fact that they just dropped two minutes of pure, raw gameplay? No CGI bullshit. No fake pre-rendered cutscenes. You can see the actual aiming reticle and the mini-map. Studios NEVER do this anymore. Dropping actual gameplay on day one is such a massive flex.

u/PCMasterRaceBro: DAY ONE ON STEAM. He isn’t doing the classic studio bullshit where they make us wait two years to port a console exclusive just to double dip on sales. He’s putting it everywhere at once. Dan is officially the goat of the industry along with Gabe.

u/MarketingGuyLA: So let me get this straight. Daniel Miller gets caught in a massive tabloid scandal, has literally the entire planet searching his name and refreshing his social media pages to see if he apologizes, and he uses that exact moment of peak internet traffic to drop a video game trailer? What can this man NOT do? He writes, directs, acts, and apparently plays the entire marketing industry like a fiddle. Absolute genius.

In the conference room, Rowan was watching a live analytics dashboard on his laptop. The line graph tracking digital pre-orders on the Steam and console storefronts looked like a vertical wall.

”Servers are taking the hit,” Rowan said, a massive grin breaking out across his face. ”The load balancers are working perfectly. We aren’t dropping any requests. Dan, we just crossed a million pre-orders across all platforms. In thirty minutes.”

Daniel smiled, leaning back in his chair. ”Told you they’d want it.”

”At this rate,” Rowan calculated, typing quickly, ”we are going to recoup the entire future development budget by dinnertime. It’s a total sweep.”

Daniel stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. ”Keep monitoring the servers, Rowan. If Sony or Microsoft call complaining that their storefronts are lagging, tell them to buy better servers. I have a movie to finish.”

The drive from Culver City to the San Fernando Valley lot took about forty minutes. Daniel listened to an entertainment radio station on the way. The DJs weren’t talking about his dating life anymore. They were entirely focused on the fact that Hollywood’s biggest director had just dropped the most anticipated video game of the decade out of nowhere. The pivot had worked flawlessly.

Daniel parked outside Soundstage 4 and walked inside.

The vibe on the Return of the Jedi set was totally different from the heavy, emotionally draining work they had been doing over the last few months.

Principal photography was in its final week. In fact, this specific shoot had been significantly shorter than A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back. Because Daniel had planned the entire trilogy out from day one, he had maximized his locations.

Today, they were just shooting the final, celebratory Ewok village ending.

The set was massive, built like a sprawling treehouse out of real timber. Extras in heavy, furry Ewok suits were wandering around the stage, drinking from water bottles and trying to stay cool.

The core cast was gathered around a cluster of canvas chairs near the craft services table. They were in costume, just hanging out while the camera team adjusted the lighting for the final wide shot.

Christian Bale was leaning back in his chair, his Han Solo vest unbuttoned, laughing at something Sebastian Stan had just said. Florence was sitting next to them, her hair done up in the elaborate braided loops of her Endor look.

And standing in front of them, wearing the full, massive, yak-hair Chewbacca suit minus the headpiece, was Jack Black. He was sweating profusely, wildly gesturing with his hairy arms.

”I’m telling you, it’s the perfect capstone to the trilogy!” Jack was practically shouting, completely in his element. ”We rent out that massive bar down on Sunset. When everyone is a few drinks in, the lights go out. A single spotlight hits the stage. And boom! It’s me, in the full Wookiee suit, behind a massive drum kit. I rip into a ten-minute rock solo. The crowd goes wild.”

Sebastian was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. ”Jack, you’re going to pass out from heatstroke after thirty seconds of drumming in that suit.”

”It’s breathable mesh!” Jack argued, pointing a furry finger at him. ”And I’ll put a fan behind the stool. Come on, Christian, back me up here. Han and Chewie, rock and roll.”

Christian took a sip of his coffee, offering a dry, totally deadpan look. ”If you play the drums in that suit, the hair is going to get caught in the snare drum and you’re going to strangle yourself. I’m not giving you mouth-to-mouth, Jack.”

Florence spotted Daniel walking up to the group and grinned. ”Dan, please tell Jack he is not allowed to bring a drum kit to the wrap party.”

”Absolutely not,” Daniel said, walking over and grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. ”I am not paying the insurance claim when you accidentally set the Chewbacca suit on fire trying to play a cymbal crash, Jack.”

Jack groaned, throwing his hands up. ”You guys have no vision! None! It would be cinematic history.”

The camaraderie was effortless. They had spent years together making these movies. They had gone from a risky indie project shooting in the miserable Tunisian desert to finishing the biggest cultural touchstone on the planet. They knew they were at the finish line, and the mood was incredibly euphoric.

”Alright guys, let’s bring it home,” Daniel said, clapping his hands together. ”We need the wide shot of the party. Just look happy, hug each other, and look at the imaginary ghosts in the trees.”

They all groaned good-naturedly, getting up and moving toward the wooden bridge set.

Daniel stepped behind the camera monitors. It was a simple shot. The rebels celebrating, the Ewoks dancing, and Luke Skywalker looking off into the distance, finding closure.

”Action,” Daniel called out.

He watched them perform. It felt incredibly surreal. The saga was actually ending. He let the camera roll for a long time, capturing the genuine smiles and the relaxed chemistry of the cast.

”And... cut,” Daniel finally said. He took a deep breath, looking around the massive soundstage. He grabbed a microphone. ”Ladies and gentlemen. That is a series wrap on the Star Wars trilogy.”

The entire soundstage erupted. Grips, electrics, makeup artists, and the actors all started cheering. People were hugging. Someone popped a bottle of cheap champagne near the camera carts.

Florence walked off the set and wrapped her arms around Daniel’s neck, hugging him tight. ”We did it.”

”We did,” Daniel smiled, hugging her back. ”Now Benny just has to edit the whole thing.”

The drive back to Bel Air that evening was the most relaxed Daniel had felt in months.

He pulled through the iron gates of the estate. The street below was completely empty. The tabloid helicopters were gone. The internet had completely forgotten about the red carpet drama, entirely consumed by the Vice City trailer and the rumors of the Star Wars wrap.

He walked into the house. It smelled like roasting garlic and butter.

Margot was standing at the kitchen island, wearing a casual sundress, chopping fresh basil. Florence was sitting on one of the barstools, reading a novel, a glass of red wine sitting next to her.

”Hey,” Margot smiled, looking up as he walked in. ”Saw the trailer drop online. The internet is literally losing its mind over Tommy Vercetti.”

”The pre-orders crashed the Microsoft store for about ten minutes,” Daniel said, walking over and kissing her on the cheek, then leaning over to kiss Florence. He grabbed a wine glass from the cabinet and poured himself a drink. ”It’s been a very productive Tuesday.”

”So Star Wars is wrapped, the game is shipping, and Harry Potter is running on autopilot,” Florence noted, closing her book. ”You’re actually going to have some free time. What are you going to do with yourself?”

”Sleep for a week,” Daniel said, taking a sip of the wine.

Margot scraped the chopped basil into a bowl and wiped her hands on a towel. She leaned against the counter, looking between Daniel and Florence. She had that specific spark in her eye—the one she got right before she pitched something ambitious.

Now that the secret was completely out, and Margot was officially cemented into the Miller Studios public circle, she wasn’t interested in just sitting around the house.

”Actually,” Margot started, her tone shifting from casual to slightly more business-oriented. ”I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Especially after all the media garbage last week.”

Daniel leaned against the counter next to Florence. ”What’s on your mind?”

”I don’t just want to be an actress sitting by the phone waiting for scripts,” Margot said directly. ”I’ve read dozens of scripts this year, and most of them are terrible. The female leads are either just the girlfriend, the victim, or some hyper-masculine action hero with no actual personality. It’s boring.”

She looked at Daniel. ”You built Miller Studios because you didn’t want to wait for other people to give you permission to make your movies. I want to do the same thing.”

Florence smiled, taking a sip of her wine. ”I like where this is going.”

”I want to start a production company,” Margot pitched. ”A specific wing under the Miller Studios umbrella. I want to find scripts, buy the rights to books, and produce stories that are actually driven by women. I want to build a space where we can greenlight our own projects.”

Daniel looked at her. It was exactly the kind of ambition he respected. She didn’t want a handout; she wanted infrastructure. It was the seed of what would eventually become a massive producing powerhouse.

”I love it,” Daniel said without hesitation. ”It’s a huge gap in the market right now. Every major studio is ignoring female-driven narratives unless it’s a cheap rom-com or some sort of propaganda.”

Margot looked slightly surprised by how quickly he agreed. ”Really? You don’t think it’s too much right now?”

”Not at all,” Daniel said. He set his wine glass down. ”Draft up a business proposal. Figure out a name for the company. Start looking for a script you actually want to produce. When you find it, you don’t even need to pitch it to the board. I’ll fund the first project out of my own pocket to get it off the ground.”

Florence reached out and clinked her wine glass against Margot’s. ”Looks like you’re a producer now, mate.”

Margot grinned, a look of pure excitement washing over her face. ”I already have a name in mind. LuckyChap Entertainment.”

”LuckyChap,” Daniel repeated, testing the sound of it. He smiled. ”It works. We’ll get Marcus to draw up the incorporation paperwork tomorrow.”

They spent the rest of the dinner talking about potential directors and writers Margot could tap for her new company.

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A/N: Read ahead on P@treon: /AmaanS