"He looks good," Henry said, leaning closer as I showed him the photos on my phone. The newly cast Matt Ryan stared back at us, trench coat on, tie loose, cigarette already doing half the acting.
"He really looks the part."
"I know, right?" I said, grinning.
Henry was already in the Superman suit, the fabric scuffed and torn in places. Today was focused entirely on Superman scenes. Over the next two days, the rest of the cast would start arriving for the big ensemble moments. For now, Jensen and Alexandra were filming scenes that required real-world locations, along with Grant and Damson. Sterling and Lance were shooting flashback scenes on Mars, while Alan was handling some solo scenes in Greece.
Filming had been smooth, almost suspiciously so. We were ahead of schedule. The cast clicked in a way you couldn't fake. The chemistry between them was real, and it showed on camera.
Another month and a half of filming and we'd be done, aside from the big ensemble scenes. The crew had been preparing for those using some very modern technology to make the VFX process easier and more convincing. It would probably be the first movie to use these techniques at this scale. After that came eleven months of post-production. The first teaser would drop near the end of February, just enough to light the internet on fire, with a full trailer planned for the summer.
Sometimes I let myself think about how far it all would go. It would all end with the third Justice League movie, which might need to be split into two parts. Darkseid would be the final villain. We needed to wrap the arcs, give each character a good ending, and then I would step away. Hand it off to someone else. Let them do Crisis or whatever came next. Though realistically, it would be Crisis. Dave would still be around, and he was set on doing it after everything else.
Henry squinted at the photo, something clicking. "I feel like I've seen him before," he said, studying it closer.
"I think you'd recognize his voice," I said. "Edward Kenway."
Henry's eyes widened. "Oh. Ohhhh. That's him."
"Yep."
He smiled, clearly more intrigued now. "Well, that just made me a lot more interested."
Our conversation kind of shifted to Assassin's Creed after that, talking about the new one that was supposed to come out this year, supposedly set in Egypt. I had played that one, I think. I remembered it being fun, being able to explore the pyramids and stuff.
Henry was kind of mini-ranting about how bad the Assassin's Creed movie was. The movie had come out last year, and I couldn't help but agree with him.
"I mean, it had so much potential," Henry said, shaking his head. "It was just… boring. The present-day stuff took up too much time. The historical sections were the only good parts, and there wasn't enough of them."
"Yeah, it was a mess, and I don't even agree that the past stuff was good. It was all bad," I said.
"Honestly," he said, still shaking his head, "video game adaptations are just doomed."
"Well," I said, "if it's done right, it won't be."
Henry shrugged. "I don't know. They just seem cursed. And I worry about that sometimes." He hesitated, then added, "With the Warhammer stuff you're planning. What if it ends up the same way?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying the idea for Event Horizon is bad?"
He immediately waved his hands. "No, no, that's great." Then he smirked. "I'm just still mad you won't cast me in it."
"You know the reason," I said.
"Yes, yes," he sighed. "I know." Then, more seriously, "But overall, that curse. You know what I mean."
"Warhammer won't be included in your so-called curse," I said. "It's not a video game."
Henry nodded slowly. "Well, let's hope not."
"There are video games that would make great TV shows, though," I added. "Elder Scrolls. Fallout. Witcher."
Henry hummed. "Witcher, huh? That means you're interested in my idea then."
"Maybe," I said. "When I have more time. I mean, Netflix is interested."
I then looked at him. "And also when you have time as well. Your schedule's packed for the next two years, unless you want someone else to take the lead."
"Please don't," he said quickly. "I think I'll wait."
Before he could continue, his assistant appeared, followed closely by a couple of crew members saying they were ready for him.
"Well. Duty calls."
We both headed onto the set for the long shoot ahead.
.
.
.
Cameras flashed before me as Margot and I posed for photos. We were at the Beverly Hilton for the Golden Globes. The red carpet stretched out in front of us, a sea of flashing lights, shouted questions, and photographers angling for the best shot. Margot looked stunning in a floor-length midnight blue gown. I was in a classic black tuxedo, keeping it simple.
We moved slowly down the carpet, pausing at each designated photo spot. Margot's hand rested lightly on my arm as we turned toward the cameras, smiling on cue. The photographers shouted our names, "Margot! Daniel! Over here!" and we obliged, shifting angles and laughing at something one of them said.
We were then led away, and more photos were taken with the rest of the Birdman cast, Alejandro Iñárritu, Michael Keaton, and Edward Norton.
As we walked inside, I spotted some familiar faces. Celebrities mingled in clusters. Most of them wanted to speak to me, the new power player in the industry. I was glad Tom Cruise wasn't here like last time. I also saw Viola Davis, whom I'd met many times this year, mainly due to the DCU and the role I'd cast her in as Amanda Waller. We had also shot a scene with Waller dining and talking about the Suicide Squad as the announcement teaser for the movie. I had big plans for the character in the DCU.
The show began in earnest soon after. Jimmy Fallon was hosting, so I kind of tuned out whatever the hell he was doing. Margot had pretty much given up any dream of winning an award this season, mainly due to how strongly Viola was leading. Compared to Emma Stone's version of the character in Birdman, I felt Margot played it more raw and intense, which made it better in my opinion. There was also talk that, at least at the Globes, Margot and Viola were the top contenders for Supporting Actress.
The show progressed with the usual stuff. Presenters made jokes, winners gave speeches, and there were occasional awkward moments, mostly because Fallon was bombing every joke he made and we had to laugh at it all anyway.
I was sure we would win Best Director with Iñárritu and Best Supporting Actor with Edward Norton at the Golden Globes. That much felt certain. But everything else? Yeah, we were not winning. There were some heavyweights in the room.
La La Land was more Globe-friendly than Birdman. It was lighter, more entertaining, the kind of crowd-pleaser the Hollywood Foreign Press loved. It had that glossy, feel-good energy that played well in the room. Birdman, on the other hand, was darker, more introspective, and more about ego and artistic struggle. That was Oscar bait, not Golden Globe bait.
But I was sure Birdman would dominate at the Oscars. It was very Oscar-friendly, the kind of film the Academy loved to reward. Meta, technically ambitious, and about the entertainment industry itself. And I had more sway in the industry than before.
I leaned in toward Margot. "I think you're next."
She shook her head. "Oh please. I'm not winning."
"Well, maybe you will," I said.
She gave me a look.
I raised my hands in surrender.
Before I could respond, Kate Winslet walked out onstage to present the award for Best Supporting Actress. The room quieted.
"The nominees for Best Supporting Actress in a Motion Picture are," Kate began, opening the envelope, "Viola Davis in Fences, Margot Robbie in Birdman, Nicole Kidman in Lion, Octavia Spencer in Hidden Figures, and Michelle Williams in Manchester by the Sea."
The camera cut to each nominee as their names were read. Margot's face appeared on the giant screens, calm and composed. I squeezed her hand under the table.
Kate smiled, holding the envelope. "And the Golden Globe goes to…"
A pause.
"Margot Robbie, Birdman."
The room erupted in applause.
I looked at Margot, surprised and shocked. She was genuinely stunned, her mouth slightly open, her hand going to her chest. She didn't move.
"Mags," I said softly, nudging her.
She looked at me, still in disbelief. I subtly helped her up, pulling her into a hug and giving her a quick peck on the lips. "Go get your award before someone else takes it."
She laughed, a short, breathless sound, and then made her way toward the stage.
The applause continued as she walked up the stairs, carefully holding the hem of her dress. Kate handed her the Golden Globe, and Margot took it with both hands, staring at it like she wasn't quite sure it was real.
She stepped up to the microphone, still holding the award, and took a breath.
"Okay," she said, her voice a little shaky. "I did not expect this."
Laughter rippled through the room.
"I really didn't," she continued, smiling. "I had a whole speech prepared, like you do, but now I'm up here and I don't remember any of it."
More laughter.
She glanced down at the Golden Globe in her hands, then back up at the audience, taking a moment to collect herself.
"Wow. Okay," she said, her voice a little breathless. "First of all, thank you to the Hollywood Foreign Press. This is such an incredible honor, and I'm so grateful to be standing here."
She smiled, her hands tightening slightly around the award.
"Thank you to my family. Mum, my sisters, and my brother. You have always believed in me, even when I told you I wanted to move halfway across the world to chase this crazy dream. I wouldn't be here without you."
She paused.
"Thank you to Alejandro," she continued, her voice steadying. "You took a chance on me with this role, and you pushed me harder than I've ever been pushed. You made me better."
Another breath.
"To Michael, Naomi, Edward, and the entire cast, working with you was a dream. You inspired me every single day. And to the crew, who worked tirelessly to make this film what it is, thank you."
She looked down at the Golden Globe again, then back up, as if searching for anything else she might have forgotten. Her eyes found mine in the audience.
"And Daniel," she said, looking directly at me. "For supporting me in everything I do. For believing in me even when I don't believe in myself. I love you."
She looked back out at the audience. "Thank you so much. Thank you."
The applause swelled again as she held up the Golden Globe, smiling wide, and walked off the stage.
I sat back in my seat, grinning.
She did it.
After she was done, we met again backstage as I went to congratulate her. After we hugged, she asked me, semi-serious, "Did you bribe them to give me the award?"
"Oh, I'm sure people will say that," I said with a smile.
"Seriously, how the fuck did I win?"
"Well, you were pretty good," I said. "And this really ups your chances at the Oscars."
She bit her lip, still holding the Golden Globe like it might disappear. "You think so?"
"Okay, maybe not," I said. "But who knows."
We got back to our seats, and the show continued. Birdman won Best Supporting Actor for Edward Norton, who gave a gracious, very Edward Norton-like speech that got a lot of laughs. Then Iñárritu won Best Director. Alejandro's speech was passionate, thanking the cast, the crew, the insane ambition that drove the film, and of course me, especially for funding it all.
La La Land took Best Picture and everything else. Best Actress, Best Actor, Best Screenplay.
Everything after that went by very slowly for me, mostly because I wasn't drinking and everyone else was. The night, in the end, did not end well for me. We were invited to some parties, and we went. The main one was the Warner Bros party. What I liked about the Golden Globes parties was that they were more laid-back. They were also the perfect place to get gossip. I was pretty sure I saw some people hook up who were not supposed to. Eh, whatever. This was Hollywood.
After dropping by three of them, we finally arrived back home.
Margot was fully buzzed, stumbling slightly as she kicked off her heels in the entryway. "We need to open that champagne," she said, grinning.
"Maybe we can celebrate more tomorrow," I said, loosening my tie.
Margot was already heading toward the kitchen, ignoring me. "I won," she said, half to herself, half to me. "I won a Golden Globe. We're opening champagne."
"Margot."
She grabbed a bottle from the wine fridge and started peeling off the foil wrapper. I sighed and followed her into the living room.
"All right, but just one glass."
She opened the cork.
Pop.
The cork shot out like a bullet, flying across the room.
And hit me directly in the eye.
"FUCK!" I screamed, stumbling backward, my hand flying to my face. Pain exploded through my eye socket, sharp and blinding. "WHAT THE FUCK, MAGS?!"
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" Margot dropped the bottle, champagne spilling onto the floor as she rushed over to me.
I doubled over, pressing my palm against my eye. It felt like someone had stabbed me with a thousand needles. No, like someone had taken a hot poker and jabbed it directly into my cornea. My vision in that eye was nothing but white pain.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Margot kept saying, her hands hovering over me, unsure where to touch. "Are you okay? Let me see."
"Don't touch it!" I snapped, pulling away.
"I'm calling 911," she said, already fumbling for her phone.
Two hours later, I sat in the hospital with a thick dressing covering my eye. Not exactly how I expected the night to end. Not at all.
"You're lucky," the doctor said. "No permanent damage. But you'll need to keep that eye covered for the next three weeks. No rubbing. No straining it. The cornea is bruised, and it needs time to heal."
"Three weeks," I repeated.
"Three weeks," she confirmed. "After that, we'll reassess. But you should be fine."
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
Margot, who had sobered up considerably over the last hour, sat in the chair next to me, her hands folded in her lap.
"At least it'll look cool," she said quietly, trying to make light of it.
I cracked a smile. "Cool almost lost an eye, woman."
She reached over and took my hand. "I'm really sorry."
"I know."
"I'll never open champagne again."
"I hope not."
"We should buy an eye patch."
"What? No."
=========
I did end up using an eye patch, and oh boy, the day TMZ posted a picture of me wearing one and then found out what happened. Most of my fanbase, the DCU crowd and the wider internet, began making fun of it. It basically became the third meme based on me.
I do have to admit, most of them were funny.
Like the Metal Gear ones where I was edited into Big Boss or Snake.
The ones claiming I was going to assemble the Justice League. That one actually got some traction because, well, it was technically true.
Pirate memes too, like "Captain Adler about to plunder the box office," with me photoshopped into Pirates of the Caribbean scenes.
There were also a lot of women thirsting over it for some reason. Did the eye patch make me look hot? Margot seemed to think so. I didn't see the appeal at first. Later, yeah, it did kind of make me look dangerous. Then I would cringe at it again. I was very bipolar about the look.
The best ones were from the Percy Jackson fans.
"This little accident means the next Percy Jackson is delayed another two years."
A picture of Odin taking out his eye was redrawn to look like me, with a caption saying, "Delayed for 100 years."
"At this rate, he'll go fully blind before he finishes it."
I arrived at the studio for the Justice League shoot, and I had eyes on me as I walked in. Literally. Everyone was staring.
Soon, I found the entire cast waiting for me, standing in a loose semicircle near the big city set. Henry, Jensen, Alexandra, Damson, Alan, Grant, Sterling. All of them. Arms crossed. Trying not to smile.
"What?" I said, stopping in front of them.
Henry, Jensen, Alexandra, and the others said nothing. Henry was clearly trying not to laugh.
"All right, just get the jokes out," I said, sighing. "Then we can all be professionals."
"Well, you heard the man," Jensen said, grinning.