Muhammad Shafiq Mohd Nizam
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(Free) 10th- Chapter 10: SAG and Montecito
🕑 Added 2025-08-17 09:37:15 +0000 UTC[Owen POV]
“Ah, I have nothing to do now,” I whined, lying on my bed and glancing at the snake enclosure beside me. An egg rested under a heat lamp, surrounded by an array made from the demon core.
The egg was absorbing the energy of heaven and earth. It would hatch soon, giving me a magical beast to take as my familiar.
Three weeks had passed since I signed on for the movie. It took only 11 days to finish shooting my scenes.
I also finished illustrating Jessica’s book, which hit the market about a week ago. She received an advance of 50,000 dollars, which was a first for her since she had to self-publish her previous books.
Over 70,000 copies have been sold since then. The book has a strong word of mouth, and kids everyone loved it.
Jessica finally made it as a writer.
George was elated too, having seen the final line of his movie. He had envisioned the movie for almost 5 years now. He cried at the end of the shoot.
Filming usually lasted about eight hours a day, no overtime. I was acting exactly how George envisioned it. Since I already knew what he wanted, we barely needed to communicate and the scenes progressed quickly.
Back on set, the filming got physical for one vital scene. One of the hardest shots had me lying in a bed full of real snakes.
George wanted them to move naturally — alive and threatening. I wasn’t about to get bitten or worse, so I concocted a poison that mellowed the snakes out.
It made them high and lazy. Their tongues flicked and heads bobbed as they slowly slithered toward me, coiling around my arms and chest.
The crew hovered nervously, unsure whether to keep filming or call animal control. The director shouted, “Cut!” and I slipped out of the pile without a scratch. Everyone else looked like they’d seen a ghost.
“What? You said cut, right?” I looked at them, confused.
My performance became legendary among George’s small crew. A lot of them cried hard during recording, messing up takes, which made me botch my one-take streak a few times.
Principal photography wrapped up, and the movie moved into post-production — mostly editing and scoring.
My body still wasn’t fixed yet. Turns out, having asthma, fetal alcohol poisoning, heart and eye problems, and more would take longer to heal than the month I’d guessed.
The fight with the three-mask demon also drained me, extending the recovery time. But this morning, I’d grown one centimeter taller.
“Elena, when will Michael come?” I shouted to the Latina girl. Although it was a Friday, she picked the homeschool option instead so she could stay by my side.
She walked to the door and whispered softly, “During lunch.”
Elena wasn’t born mute. She lost her voice after witnessing her parents’ murder when she was six — a decade ago.
She lived with her aunt and was kidnapped from the streets a year ago.
To clean David’s demonic taint, I offered him a dreamscape cleansing — the same method George and Jessica used — which lets us enter the dreamscape through demonic energy.
David didn’t really need it since he’s a lawyer, so I brought Elena with me to verify what she’d told me about the god.
She recreated the god’s image from memory, and I finally let my guard down around her.
“Owen — I can speak here!” she exclaimed, astonished to find her voice in the dreamscape.
“Yeah, you’re almost omnipotent here, so it makes sense. But there’s something else weird about your condition.”
There was a blockage of energy in her neck I couldn’t sense in real life. I guessed her sixth sense had opened because of trauma, causing disharmony between her body and mind.
Hearing her own voice and speaking freely in the dreamscape helped unravel that energy. But it would still take effort for her to regain her voice fully.
“Owen– It was so scary!” She hugged me inside the dreamscape, face full of snot and tears. I sighed but didn’t push her away even though it was a waste of a dreamscape session.
For the past three weeks, I taught her a Taoist cultivation technique. Her senses opened fully, and her body used heaven and earth energy to untangle the blockage, aligning her mind, spirit, and body.
Three days ago, she finally spoke in the real world — her voice tiny, almost fleeting — but it was huge progress. She cried in my arms after finding her voice again.
David became Elena’s legal guardian, letting her stay with me without issues.
Speaking of the dreamscape, Lenny joined George and Jessica after filming wrapped. I showed George the instrumental version of “Me and the Devil,” which Lenny recreated in his studio.
It was his time scoring background music for a movie. He was nervous but did a great job. After hearing it, I admitted Lenny has some talent too, and he didn’t get the job only because of nepotism.
“Owen, they took a picture of me with my eyes half open,” Elena said, entering the room with a pout, showing me the photo.
I looked at her, disbelieving. “You got that a week ago? Took you that long to complain?”
The first priority was getting every kid legal. Real names, birth certificates, government IDs — documents most take for granted but the trafficked kids never had.
“I just checked,” she whispered, then stomped away angrily.
The documentation process was long and tedious, but David handled it well.
He made countless trips to government offices and dealt with red tape that would make anyone’s head spin. David stepped up as their official guardian because it mattered legally.
One wrong step could’ve meant deportation. From my past life knowledge, I knew what horrors ICE could have inflicted.
David succeeded. Half the kids returned to school — some finishing what they’d started, others trying new paths. Some left after gaining identity, seeking fresh starts. Some returned to their countries.
Only 15 remained from the original 42 — four girls and the rest boys.
Five were old enough to work. I made sure their jobs were clean and steady, nothing like the hell they’d escaped. The drug lord’s businesses still ran — ice cream shops, laundromats, small convenience stores.
We set them up as managers or supervisors, with legit paychecks and responsibilities so they could support the others. Not glamorous, but honest work.
Though the crisis was nearly over, logistics were a nightmare. The kids were scattered — with foster families or staying with David when possible.
I started looking for a building big enough to house them all — secure, affordable, manageable. Having them under one roof would make it easier to protect and track them, to see if they’d become my people later.
It would save on rent and travel, and more importantly, reduce the risk of them slipping through cracks.
“I’m here! I’m here!” Michael rushed in.
Michael, who suffered the longest in the drug manufacturing room, now managed an ice cream shop three blocks away.
He became my driver after passing his test a week ago.
He had about $300,000 in his bank account from back pay and emotional compensation from the drug lord. He bought a minivan and drove the other kids to school.
He took on a brotherly role, helping others however he could. I guess guilt over not saving his sister gave him that sense of responsibility.
“You’re late. He almost fell asleep,” Elena scolded Michael in her tiny voice.
“What? What did you say?” Michael turned to her confused. She spoke again, stretching the vowels until he heard.
Michael grimaced at me as I got out of bed. “You’re like a baby. You sleep more than 16 hours a day.”
Sleeping helped the healing and growth process. That’s why I fell asleep whenever possible.
“Shut up and drive me already,” I said, annoyed.
“Are you going to the lab?” He asked as we went down to the minivan.
“No, I’m going to the Screen Actor Guild office. George asked me to register since I only have one week left.”
My biggest investment—my lab. I wired $1.1 million to secure a facility and hire a team of competent researchers who wouldn’t ask too many questions.
I finally used the money from the venture capital fund– the twenty million dollars for all the cost of the esper serum.
Most of the ingredients for the esper serum were legal, but hard to get. Many were imported from overseas and required the right licenses and paperwork, which the lab provided. It was the only way to get the serum made properly and safely.
Running the lab cost $250,000 a month, and I expected three to four months before the first usable doses would be ready. Expensive, yes. Necessary, absolutely.
I still didn’t know why the god asked me to build a sect, but I wasn’t going to question him, since he had shown he was trying to help me back then.
Michael stood outside the building after dropping me off.
The SAG office was quiet that Friday afternoon. I stepped inside alone, holding the envelope George had handed me — official paperwork confirming I’d wrapped principal photography on Serpent Son.
The woman behind the counter glanced up as I approached. She had brunette hair, glasses, and a polite smile.
“Hello, can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m here to register as an actor,” I said flatly, offering the paperwork.
“Really?” She looked startled, but I placed the thick envelope in front of her.
She flipped through the documents, nodding approvingly. Then, her eyes drifted up to me, squinting.
“How old are you, dear?” she asked seriously.
“Sixteen,” I replied evenly.
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You look much younger... But even so, you’ll need a legal guardian present to register. It’s a union rule.”
I paused, then pulled out my emancipation papers — court documents proving I was legally able to work without a guardian.
“Sorry, I forgot to include this.”
Her eyes widened as she reviewed them carefully. “Mr. Owen Chase, huh?” She glanced at me a couple of times.
I sighed. “I have no relationship with Chevy Chase.”
She was caught off guard but then laughed awkwardly.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “everything seems to be in order. Let me get you registered.”
I mechanically filled out the forms, doing it because I had to, not because I wanted to. I also paid the $150 guild fee.
“Welcome to the Screen Actors Guild,” she said, handing me my membership card. “You’re officially a union actor now. You’ll receive notifications about auditions and upcoming projects.”
As I turned to leave, a nearby employee leaned in and whispered, “Hey, there’s an open casting call for City Justice next week, downtown on 46th Street. It’s a union project. If you want to check it out… They’re looking for child actors right now.”
“He’s—” My receptionist almost corrected her friend, then realized I could probably pass as a child actor.
“Yeah. You should go check it out,” she encouraged. “Wait a second!” She disappeared inside and returned with a stapled packet of paper. “Here—list of auditions in the eleven-to-thirteen range. That’s speaking roles. You’ll need to read for those.”
She tapped the bottom half of the packet. “These down here are background calls. You don’t audition for those—production just books you straight from the union list. Since you’ve got your SAG card already, you’re at the top of the pile.”
She added, “Call the number, tell ’em you’re available, and you’ll be standing in a fake courtroom or high school cafeteria next week. Pays less, but it’s steady work if you want it.”
I unfolded and glanced at it.
AUDITIONS — AGE 11–13, UNION
– City Justice – Recurring juvenile witness, 2 episodes, shoots next month.
– Coastal Rescue – Guest role, runaway surfer kid.
– Redwood High – Background, cafeteria scene.
– Last Patrol – Orphan boy rescued from a hostage situation.
– Kids Court (Pilot) – Sassy kid testifying against his neighbor.
It had the address where the audition was held. The roles were mostly for extras who didn’t have any lines or just one line. One couldn’t expect to get a breakthrough role from the Union list alone, unless they were really lucky.
“Thank you, Miss Sloane,” I said, then paused. “Wait, by any chance, do you know Lenny Sloane?” I asked, curious.
Her expression darkened. “Yeah. Lenny’s my cousin. Why? What did he do to you?”
I didn’t know what image Lenny had in her mind, but I knew she thought he was a troublemaker.
I nodded slightly and left the guild office.
“I didn’t think I’d meet a Sloane right at the start of my career. That’s really scary.”
Thankfully, registration didn’t take long. I had another place to go that day.
Michael drove me to an abandoned Montecito building back in South Pasadena. It was already strange to see such a large structure here, and even stranger that someone was selling it at about 70% of market value.
“So, is this place haunted?” Michael asked the real estate agent showing us the property.
The agent, Mr. Harlan, was a pale, nervous man in his early fifties, with thinning hair and a constant twitch in his right eye. He hesitated at the entrance, clutching a worn leather briefcase like a shield.
“It’s– It’s not.” He stuttered. Then, he froze as we were entering through the gate.
“I—I usually don’t like coming inside,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
“Why? Because it’s haunted?” Micheal asked again to tease the guy.
He gulped his saliva, his eyes shook.
“May– Maybe you can go ahead without me?”
At one point, Harlan almost handed us the keys and told us to take a look by ourselves, but then, as if second-guessing himself, he forced a weak smile and said, “No, I suppose I should accompany you after all. Safety first, right?”
The building itself had sixteen units, arranged around a large, private courtyard that no one from outside could see. The swimming pool in the center was empty — no water, just cracked tiles and faded graffiti.
The entire place felt abandoned yet strangely protected.
I looked around the place before letting out a yawn. Micheal studied my reaction and whispered to me, “So, there’s nothing huh?”
“There is something. Lingering energy. But it’s not haunted.” I whispered back.
“I guess the building was shut down because someone summoned something here,” I said in a normal voice.
The realtor heard my words and was startled. “Wait—how did you know that? No one knew about the summoning.”
I shrugged. “Well, I could sense it. That eerie energy.” The realtor almost fainted.
I was trying to scare him off. I could cleanse the energy with a simple ritual, but knocking another $50,000 off the price was a better deal.
The building had been listed eight years ago. No one had bought or lived here since then. It needed a lot of renovation before anyone could move in.
Housing prices in 1996 were still cheap, so I was buying instead of renting. It cost me $700,000 to get a 16-unit building with a pool, 16 parking spaces, and a courtyard. It had been listed for $2 million back in 1988, but the price had been slashed many times since.
“You’re really buying it?” the realtor asked nervously.
“Well, it’s cheap real estate,” I replied with a smirk.
My mind couldn’t quite comprehend it, to be honest. Back in my previous world, I might not even get a two-bedroom apartment with seven hundred thousand anywhere in LA.
I guess this was before the housing market crash and inflation, but still, I had goosebumps for days after I signed the deed.
I returned that night to check if there was anything else unusual. There were a lot of disturbances—crows went crazy, and dogs howled continuously. I even saw a specter passing by; he lived in one of the apartments.
In one room, I found markings on the floor—a hexagram and a goat skull with dried blood.
I exorcised the entire building and cleansed it of any lingering dark energy. The ritual took hours—chanting and drawing protective seals in every corner—but by the end, the oppressive weight that had hung over the place began to lift.
The stale, heavy air grew lighter; the eerie silence was replaced by a subtle hum of calm.
Over the next few days, the building finally felt like a home again. The unsettling chill faded.
David helped me hire a team of competent workers to start renovations. It took another $300,000, which made me grin from ear to ear.
If it was back in 2025, this entire building might cost me $15 to $20 million. I was finally a homeowner in all of my ten lives. Correction—building owner, which was infinitely better.
The next day, Elena brought back some VHS tapes of the shows listed in the audition list and we watched it together.
As both of us had no idea what was popular and what’s not in this world, Jessica helped us with picking the audition to go to.
“Wait. Circuit City is really famous huh?” I muttered. It was basically the Law and Order of this universe.
I decided to try out for the show. The audition would be held in four days.
…
“Owen, do you want to see the first cut of the movie?” George asked as we met at Micheal’s ice-cream shop. It has been 3 days since I bought the building and registered as an actor.
“Already?” I was shocked. “It has only been a week since it entered post production.”
George raised his chin smugly and said, “Yeah, but I started editing it on the first day of filming.”
Since he already had a clear cut of what he wanted for the movie, even the editing process became easier.
George wanted to discuss with me an idea he had for my next role. He told me that Jessica had written a great script but she hadn’t sold it yet to any major studios.
“Jessica is still pissed that Universal is shunning her script even though they had bought it. So she’s more careful this time.” George explained.
“What’s the story about?” I asked casually while eating sliced fruit from my plate. Micheal knew I wouldn’t eat ice-cream or any processed food for now, so he arranged the fruit platter for me.
“About a boy who can see ghosts.” George ate his ice cream and then added, “He is too afraid to tell anyone about his anguish, except child psychologist. There’s a big twist in the story.”
“What? That the psychologist is also a ghost?” I said with a wry smile, feeling a sense of familiarity with the plot.
George widened his eyes in shock and he exclaimed, “Wait. Have you read it?”
“Nope. What’s the title for the screenplay?” I asked again.
George replied, “Sixth Sense.”
I thought internally, ‘Damn. Is Jessica the M. Night Shamalayan of this Universe?’
Comments
June Soriano
Tftc
KingSpy25i .
Thank you for the great chapter 🙏 I'm loving the steady pacing.
