Illusiveone
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172: Redoing my Life, Dark Universe pt.1
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 21:38:02 +0000 UTC“Just this way, Mr. Cross,” the host said, leading Julian through the elegantly dim-lit corridors of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Los Angeles.
Julian Cross had never dined in a place like this—where the ultra-wealthy and Hollywood power players came to make their deals. Yet, he had a feeling he’d be seeing a lot more of these kinds of places soon.
Eight years ago, he would have laughed at the idea. Back then, he had been a struggling horror novelist, barely scraping by with niche success and a handful of loyal readers. He had loved writing, but the financial reality of it had been brutal.
Then, on a whim—or maybe sheer desperation—he had taken a chance.
He had always dreamed of making movies, but he lacked the connections or experience to break into the industry. What he did have, however, was a story—one that he believed could be terrifying on the big screen if done right. With every last cent he had and a few favors from film school friends, he scraped together just enough money to shoot his passion project.
It had been a grainy, atmospheric horror film about a doomed film crew investigating an urban legend. A simple concept, but one that played on psychological terror rather than cheap jump scares.
Maybe it was luck, maybe it was timing—perhaps both. Six months before his movie was finished, The Blair Witch Project had taken the world by storm. His film was quite similar, and seeing the interest in movies like Blair Witch, his project got picked up by a small distributor, then suddenly found itself getting a limited release that spiraled into a cult following.
That was his big break.
The success of his debut catapulted him onto Hollywood’s radar, turning him into a rising name among horror movie fans. Over the last five years, he had been given the chance to work with Universal Studios, directing two more films—The Hollow Man and The Rites of Autumn. Both had been made on small budgets, but their returns had been threefold and even tenfold. His reputation as a master of modern horror was growing, and with each film, his name became more recognizable.
But now? Now, he was stepping into something far bigger.
His heart pounded as he followed the host, feeling a mixture of exhilaration and dread.
Three months ago, he had agreed to something massive—something he wasn’t sure he should have said yes to.
The movie industry had shifted dramatically over the last few years. Gone were the days when one-off blockbusters dominated the box office. The landscape was now shaped by interconnected universes—Marvel’s movies were making millions (billions, even), and DC was doing the same. Billion-dollar franchises weren’t just a dream anymore; they were expected.
Universal, the studio he had worked with for the past five years—the studio that had given him a chance—wasn’t willing to be left behind. They wanted their own interconnected franchise, a cinematic universe that could rival the superhero dominance at the box office.
And who had they chosen to lead it?
Him.
Julian Cross. A horror movie director with only two major films under his belt.
He had been shocked when they first approached him. Stunned, even. He hadn’t been the obvious choice—hell, he had been an ardent critic of superhero movies like Marvel and the franchise approach. Yet he had learned Hollywood would always go where the new trends took it, and he wasn’t willing to fight against the tide.
Universal’s idea intrigued him.
He had wondered why they had chosen him and only recently realized that perhaps they were looking for him to be an Adler-like figure for the studio. Adler, of course, was DC Studios’ head creative, and they even had similar origins—albeit Adler was thirteen years his junior and had begun writing bestsellers at the age of ten. Compared to Adler, Julian was a small fish.
‘Oh God, why did I even agree to this?’ Julian thought as he followed the host into the private dining room. His nerves were on high alert, his mind racing through every possible way this meeting could go.
The moment he stepped inside, his eyes immediately landed on Robert Keating, one of the top executives at Universal. He had only met the man once, at the screening of The Rites of Autumn. Keating was old-school Hollywood—slicked-back silver hair, a sharply tailored suit. He exuded the kind of authority that made Julian uneasy.
Seated beside him was Emily Vasquez, another studio executive. Unlike Keating, Emily had been surprisingly receptive to his ideas in their previous meetings. She had a sharp, no-nonsense approach, but he appreciated that she actually listened rather than dismissed him outright.
Two others were in the room, faces he didn’t recognize but knew he’d soon be introduced to.
Emily was the first to greet him with a warm smile as she stood. “Julian, glad you could make it.”
He nodded, shaking her hand. “Thanks for having me.”
She gestured to the two unfamiliar faces. “These are Donovan Price and Riley Cho. They will be overseeing our new project.”
Julian exchanged handshakes with both. Donovan Price was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties, his handshake firm, his expression unreadable. Riley Cho, by contrast, looked to be in her mid-thirties, wearing thick-rimmed glasses. She gave him a small nod, more analytical than welcoming.
Keating, meanwhile, barely acknowledged him beyond a slight nod.
Emily took her seat again and gestured toward the table. “Let’s begin, then.”
“Yes, let’s,” Keating said, his voice dry and impatient.
Julian exhaled, steeling himself. “I sent over my plan as you asked. I assume you’ve had a chance to read it?”
Emily and Donovan nodded, both looking pleased. “We did,” Donovan said. “And I have to say, it’s a compelling direction. It’s exactly what we were hoping for.”
“It stands out,” Emily added. “It’s different from what Marvel or DC are doing, which is exactly why I think this could work.”
Julian felt a surge of relief. At least some of them understood his vision.
Then Keating scoffed. “Look, Mr. Cross, I appreciate the effort, but I don’t think you understand the scale we need here.” He leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the table. “Marvel movies and that Batman movie—they’re blockbusters. That’s what we need. Not some small-time horror flicks.”
Julian’s eyes widened. “Small-time?”
“I mean no offense,” Keating said, though it was clear he didn’t actually care if he offended him. “But we didn’t bring you in to make indie horror films with bigger budgets. We need our own event films. Tentpoles. Merchandise. Global appeal.”
Julian could feel his blood pressure rising. This was exactly what he had feared—Hollywood executives chasing trends without understanding what actually made them work.
Emily, to her credit, didn’t back down. “Mr. Keating, I think Julian is on the right path here. His approach does stand out. It’s not a superhero universe… It’s—”
“We chose him because you said he was similar to that Adler boy,” Keating interrupted, his gaze turning to Julian. “But I don’t see it.”
Julian blinked. His thoughts momentarily stalled.
He had been right.
They wanted their own Daniel Adler.
They had looked at the billions rolling in from DC’s resurgence and thought, We need that.
If they could have gotten Adler himself, they would have. But they couldn’t, so they had settled for what they thought was someone similar—a young filmmaker with a track record, someone they believed they could mold into their own franchise architect.
Julian exhaled, tightening his grip on the edge of the table. “I respect what Marvel and DC are doing,” he said carefully. “But if you want a superhero universe, then you’ve got the wrong guy. These are iconic horror movie characters. Horror doesn’t work the same way.”
Keating didn’t look convinced, but Julian pressed on. “We have the foundation. These monsters already have name recognition. What we need to do is redefine them, not just turn them into action blockbusters. If we do this right, this could be something timeless.”
There was silence for a moment.
Then, to Julian’s surprise, it was Riley Cho who finally spoke. “You know… he’s not wrong.”
Keating’s gaze snapped toward her. “Excuse me?”
“Marvel and DC already have a head start,” Riley said, adjusting her glasses. “If we just try to copy them, we’ll fail. We need to lean into what makes us different.”
Donovan nodded. “Agreed.”
Keating did not look convinced. “Spielberg gushed about that Adler and how good he is,” Keating muttered, shaking his head. “I mean, he should have been working for us.”
Julian watched as the older man’s grip tightened around the armrest of his chair.
“You know, DreamWorks had the chance to adapt Toy Story—we had the chance,” Keating continued, his voice dripping with regret. “And what happened? Adler went with Stardust. Now look at them. Look at him. Look how their fortunes have changed.”
He took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself.
“Adler is already working with us, isn’t he?” Donovan suddenly asked, turning his gaze toward Riley and Emily.
Riley cleared her throat. “He’s working for Mr. Diesel’s company. We have asked Adler if he wished to work with us, but Mr. Adler has stated that, for now, he works exclusively with Stardust and his own company, Midas Productions.”
Keating bristled at that, his jaw tightening. “Yes, the boy and his company,” he scoffed. “More trouble than you think.”
Julian sat back slightly, observing Keating’s growing frustration with a mix of curiosity and unease.
The older man leaned forward, tapping a finger against the table. “You know, our November releases are directly affected because Adler has a film dropping in the same window,” Keating grumbled. “It’s going to vastly impact our box office chances.”
Julian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from rolling his eyes. If your movies are good, they’ll succeed, you old idiot.
Donovan chimed in. “Mr. Cross, let’s get back on track. We love your ideas. But we need some recognizable names associated with the project. We need talent that the audience knows and trusts.”
Julian took a slow, steady breath. He had anticipated this. “I plan to bring in great directors,” Julian explained. “I want filmmakers with distinct voices. But I don’t want these movies to be just another big-budget blockbuster with all the same faces. No Tom Cruise. No Brad Pitt. If you get my meaning.”
Emily Vasquez nodded in agreement, while Keating merely hummed, his expression unreadable.
For the next hour, they hashed out the timeline, potential directors, and the tone of the universe they wanted to build. Julian fought to keep the integrity of his vision intact while making sure the studio would feel confident backing the endeavor.
As the conversation lulled, Julian finally exhaled, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair. His chest rose and fell a little heavier now, nerves creeping up on him.
“So… can we move forward?” he asked, his voice steady, though his pulse was anything but.
He looked at the four executives before him, knowing full well that he held something great in his hands. If done right, this could be his defining moment.
If done wrong—
Well.
He’d rather not think about that.
Keating leaned forward. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice firm. “But there is one condition, Mr. Cross.”
Julian stiffened, exchanging a glance with Emily. “And what would that be?” he asked cautiously.
Emily folded her hands on the table. “We want Daniel Adler involved in at least one of these films,” she said plainly. “His name alone will increase excitement and visibility for this franchise.”
Julian blinked. “Can that even be done?” he asked, feeling a pang of frustration.
Emily nodded. “As far as we know, Adler doesn’t have any contractual obligation forcing him to work solely for Stardust. It appears to be a personal choice,” she explained. “We want you to approach him. He’ll be at the studio next week for Fast Five filming. I can set up a meeting.”
Julian hesitated. “Let me reach out to him first,” he said. “If I can contact him personally, it might be better than an official approach.”
Riley Cho gave a curt nod. “That can be arranged.”
Keating exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “The boy is money; no wonder he named his company Midas,” he muttered. “Stardust is about to go public, and if what I’m hearing is true—oh, it’s looking like we’re going to have some big competition.”
He glanced at the rest of the executives. “We also need to announce all of this properly, just like Marvel and DC did. If we do it right, our stocks will soar as well.”
Julian frowned. “But, sir, we don’t even have a script yet,” he pointed out.
Keating’s expression darkened. “Just do it, Cross. That’s why you’re here.”
Julian swallowed his frustration and nodded. “Understood.”
The conversation quieted as the food arrived, the tension still lingering beneath the surface. The rest of the dinner was filled with small talk and business formalities, but Julian was barely paying attention.
A part of him stung at the realization—he was being treated as a discount Daniel Adler. No matter what he had done, no matter how successful his films had been, they still saw him as nothing more than the closest alternative to the real deal.
And now, he had to convince the man himself to join.
Comments
The Great Gasby
Poor dude hope he at least makes an impact in your story
CosmicUniverse
Dracula untold was an amazing movie. should of had a sequel at least.
