July 18, 2022
5:24 a.m.
Owen's room was dim, the air cool and the silence broken only by the soft hum of the ceiling fan. Before his alarm could ring, he heard a gentle voice close to him.
"Owen, wake up. It's time, I've already made breakfast," whispered Sophie softly as she leaned beside him.
Owen stirred under the sheets, turning to the other side with a faint mumble. Sleep was one of his guilty pleasures. He was obsessive about his projects, disciplined to the core when it came to work, but when it came to sleeping, letting go of the pillow was always a battle.
Sophie knew that. She rolled her eyes, hiding a smile.
"Come on, sleepyhead, time to get up. You need to eat and get to the airport, you can't miss your flight," she said, shaking his arm gently but firmly enough for him to notice.
"The alarm hasn't gone off yet," Owen mumbled.
"It's only six minutes away. Come on, breakfast is getting cold," Sophie replied softly.
"Toast tastes the same cold or hot," Owen argued without moving.
Sophie couldn't help but frown this time, patience was not her strongest trait.
"But the tea does get cold! Wake up!" she exclaimed at last, yanking the blanket off him in one swift motion and poking his stomach quickly and strategically.
"Ouch, hey, hey, stop!" Owen laughed, eyes snapping open. With a quick move, he caught Sophie's hand and gently pulled her toward the bed, leaving her on top of him.
"I caught you. Anything to say for your crime of interrupting my sleep?" he added with a sleepy smile.
Sophie stayed serious for a moment, then smiled.
"I had to wake you somehow. I'm innocent," she said with mock solemnity, gave him a quick kiss, and stood up with a light tug.
"Come on, breakfast is ready."
Owen followed her, still sluggish from sleep. In the kitchen, the table was already set: toast, steaming tea, a couple of scrambled eggs, and neatly sliced fruit, everything perfectly arranged.
They sat down. Owen wrapped his hands around the cup and gave her a grateful look, "Thanks for making this," he said sincerely.
"It's just a simple breakfast," Sophie replied, shrugging and glancing away, awkwardly trying to hide the affection behind her gesture, as if she didn't want to admit she'd put in the effort.
Owen smiled and said nothing more. Today, he was flying to North Carolina for the start of filming The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.
The flight departed at 7:00 a.m. from LAX and was expected to take five hours. But with the three-hour time difference between Los Angeles (PDT) and North Carolina (EDT), he would arrive around 3:00 p.m. local time.
"So?" Sophie asked, breaking the comfortable silence as she took a sip of tea.
"So what?" Owen replied, taking a bite of toast.
"Aren't you nervous? Even a little? It's your first day on set, and not just any project! We're talking about The Hunger Games. A hundred-million-dollar production. A world-famous saga making its return after more than five years."
She said it with a mix of genuine excitement and that spark only someone from the same world could convey.
When Owen told her a few days earlier that he had landed a supporting role and would be paid $130,000, she was thrilled. It was a huge step for the career of an emerging actor like both of them.
Owen had even earned $5,000 more than Sophie for her role in The Boogeyman. Of course, the difference was understandable: her film had a $35 million budget, while The Hunger Games had the backing of a historic franchise and a nine-figure budget.
"Yeah, sure," Owen said calmly, his voice low and composed.
He had already worked on productions of that scale in his previous life, so his excitement was easy to manage. Besides, even though he had landed a solid supporting role, it was still supporting.
He had never starred in a hundred-million-dollar production. That would have been a true challenge, or something worth getting nervous about.
"You're never nervous about anything. The day I actually see you anxious, it'll be the end of the world," Sophie said, crossing her arms with a half-playful, half-disbelieving smile.
Owen chuckled softly and shook his head. "Today will be easy. Just the flight. I'll check in with the rest of the cast, probably have a production meeting or two, and that's it. The real work starts tomorrow."
The flight, the hotel check-in, and maybe a casual chat with the crew, that would be the entire day. The formal shoot began the next morning.
"Besides, I already know the cast, and the atmosphere's great. Professional, relaxed, and pleasant," he added, taking a sip from his cup.
In the days leading up to the trip, Owen had attended every rehearsal in Los Angeles. There he met the director, the producers, and the rest of the cast. Far from the egos or tensions people often expect from productions of this size, the experience had been smooth and friendly.
One of the first people he bonded with was Tom Blyth, the British actor playing young Coriolanus Snow, the film's protagonist and the eventual dictator of the Capitol in the original saga.
Owen had already done his research and learned that Tom began his career with small roles in Robin Hood (2010) and Pelican Blood. It wasn't until 2018 that he starred in Scott and Sid, a low-budget British indie drama.
Later, he appeared in Benediction, a biopic where he portrayed Glen Byam Shaw. Despite the film's $5-million budget and its modest box office of under a million, critics praised it highly, especially the performances.
But beyond the résumé, Owen got to know the person.
During rehearsals, they shared several scenes together, their characters, Sejanus and Snow, are close friends in the story, which allowed a comfortable, natural dynamic to develop between them.
Tom turned out to be meticulous yet kind, with a distinctly British discipline and an almost academic approach to the script. He always came in with every line memorized to perfection, yet remained open to exploring new interpretations.
During those same rehearsals, Owen also met Hunter Schafer, who would play Tigris Snow, Coriolanus's cousin.
Hunter was a transgender woman, a professional model, and now an actress. She possessed a natural, almost androgynous elegance, paired with a calm energy and a magnetic presence. She wasn't arrogant or distant, just quiet.
Owen recognized her immediately. She had appeared in the series Euphoria, a show that existed in this timeline, since he had never finished watching it.
Hunter played Jules Vaughn, a transgender teenager who moves to a new city and becomes the love interest of Rue, the main character portrayed by Zendaya.
He thought it was a show that constantly tried to shoc, as if its value depended on how explicit each scene could be.
Unnecessary nudity, characters in perpetual crisis, teenagers who seemed to live inside a never-ending music video filled with drugs, trauma, toxic relationships, and existential monologues.
Owen didn't feel represented in it at all.
Not even the original Owen, the one who was always popular and enjoyed parties, would have seen himself reflected in such a series.
The original Owen had a teenage life with parties and complicated moments like anyone else, but nothing close to that stylized nightmare the show portrayed. He was popular in high school, had friends, girlfriends, and only during college did things start to fall apart, drug use, emotional instability, recklessness. But it was a gradual process, not some hormonal apocalypse at fifteen.
It even bothered him that Euphoria was treated almost like an emotional documentary about youth. To him, it was a caricature dressed up as art, with great actors and strong production value, yes, but far removed from the everyday reality of most people.
As for Hunter, it was clear from miles away that she was an activist for LGBTQ+ rights. In 2017, Teen Vogue featured her in its special 21 Under 21 edition.
Years later, Time named her one of the 100 emerging leaders shaping the future, with a tribute written by Zendaya herself. She was also highlighted by Queerty as one of the fifty voices leading the fight for equality.
None of that particularly impressed Owen, not out of disdain, but because he was used to that environment. He had lived for years in Los Angeles, the epicenter of both the entertainment industry and social activism. There, being disruptive had become part of the scenery. And he, for his part, preferred to stay away from any political or ideological discourse, at least professionally.
He wasn't someone who waved any flag. He believed art existed to tell stories and move people, not to serve as a constant platform. His humor was sharp, even dark at times, but he knew how to handle it, never crossing personal boundaries or seeking cheap provocation.
With Hunter, he was respectful, as he was with everyone. No prejudice, no awkward remarks. On set, each person was their character, nothing more. Hunter was kind and calm, somewhat reserved. They didn't force a friendship, but their professionalism was clear.
He also had the chance to meet Peter Dinklage.
Yes, that Peter Dinklage, the actor who had immortalized Tyrion Lannister in Game of Thrones, the sarcastic, brilliant, and profoundly human counselor who, for many, became one of the best characters in the series.
Owen had admired him for years. In his previous life, he had read every A Song of Ice and Fire book and eagerly awaited each new chapter. He watched the first few seasons of the show with enthusiasm but stopped toward the end.
The quality had dropped, and the storytelling choices deeply disappointed him. When he heard the finale was as rushed as it was disastrous, he decided not to ruin the experience for himself. He stuck with the books, and with the naïve hope that George R.R. Martin would someday finish them.
So yes, in this new reality, Game of Thrones existed. Did he regret not having brought it into this world himself?
Not really. If he had, he would have eventually faced the same problem as HBO's writers. Besides, a series that long and heavy, with so many seasons, would've been extremely laborious to recreate.
How much money and time would it even cost to bring it back? He already had plenty of successful series and films to choose from, he had to be selective. The filmmaking process was painfully slow.
Meeting Peter in person was interesting.
Peter was, without a doubt, a professional. He knew his craft, took every rehearsal seriously, and didn't tolerate sloppiness. But he was also, perhaps, the one with the biggest ego in the cast. Not in an unbearable way, more like someone who'd already built a long, successful career and knew his worth.
He carried that quiet arrogance only actors with four Emmys in their pocket could afford, those who could charge two million dollars just to appear on screen, even if they weren't technically the leads.
Owen learned that from Jason Schwartzman, another member of the cast, and a certified gossip professional.
Jason approached him during a break with a conspiratorial smile.
"Did you hear how much Dinklage got paid for this movie?" he asked in a hushed tone, like he was revealing the location of a hidden body.
"No, how much?" Owen replied casually, still flipping through his script.
"Two million. More than Tom and Rachel. More than anyone."
"Oh…" Owen paused for a second. "Well, he's Tyrion Lannister, he's earned it."
Jason laughed.
Peter wasn't unfriendly, but he had the air of a man who had crossed the battlefield of fame a hundred times and no longer had patience for anyone else's insecurities. He was direct, sarcastic, with that dry humor that could cut you in half if you weren't ready for it.
During a technical break, Owen exchanged a few words with him.
"Good rhythm in that scene," Peter said without looking at him directly.
"Thanks. I'm just trying not to mess up," Owen replied.
Peter glanced sideways, assessing whether that was sarcasm or humility. Then he gave a faint nod. "That's already more than most do."
"By the way," Peter added as he grabbed his water bottle, "you don't have to lean down so much when we talk. I'm short, not deaf."
Owen stayed quiet for a second before realizing he was joking. He smiled slightly and said, "I'll keep that in mind."
He also met Rachel Zegler, the female lead of the movie. She played Lucy Gray Baird, the main character alongside Coriolanus Snow in this new Hunger Games prequel.
Rachel was young, with an ordinary appearance, not stunning, not plain, but with a refined stage presence. What stood out most was her résumé: she had only done one film before this one, yet both of her roles had been leads in $100-million productions.
Owen, who now fully understood the inner workings of filmmaking, budgets, distribution deals, post-theatrical percentages, profit margins, couldn't help but view Rachel's case with a mix of disbelief and analysis.
Her debut had been in West Side Story (2021), directed by none other than Steven Spielberg. A massive $100-million investment, with huge promotional backing and the prestige that only Spielberg could bring.
The result? $76 million worldwide gross.
A failure.
And not just any failure, a financial disaster.
Owen did the math out of habit.
—Theaters take 50%: that's $38 million.
—Of the remaining $38 million, assuming the production company and the distributor split it evenly, the production got $19 million.
They lost $81 million. And that's without factoring in marketing or additional expenses, which usually fall under the distributor's responsibility.
A catastrophic figure, impossible to recover through streaming, merchandising, or international sales.
'If I had financed that… I'd have jumped out a fourth-story window,' Owen thought.
The film had received good reviews, but if your movie loses $81 million, something clearly went wrong.
A film with a $100-million budget simply can't perform that poorly at the box office.
What he didn't understand was how, after that, Rachel had immediately landed another leading role of the same scale.
Two movies, two starring roles.
Who the hell was her agent?
He hadn't looked too deeply into it, but from what he'd heard, Rachel came from musical theater. Her story didn't quite add up. Could this be one of those famous cases of nepotism? If so, it had backfired spectacularly with West Side Story.
Besides, during rehearsals, Owen could tell she came from the stage. She wasn't a bad actress, but not an exceptional one either. Her style was distinctly theatrical: larger, projected, and performed than felt. Every gesture seemed calculated to reach the 25th row of a theater, not a camera half a meter away.
Owen knew that film required restraint: micro-expressions, authenticity that didn't feel forced. That was the real challenge. So he watched her with polite skepticism each time she delivered a line as if she were starring in Les Misérables.
And another thing he noticed: she was distant toward him. Not rude or hostile, just distant. During breaks, she interacted only as much as necessary.
Owen thought he knew why, or at least, he had a theory. He had been cast as Sejanus Plinth, replacing Josh Andrés Rivera, the actor who was originally attached to the role.
Josh had worked with Rachel in West Side Story, and everyone knew they were close.
Then came a last-minute audition. Owen walked in, delivered a reading that impressed the director and producers, who also realized they'd save money, and Josh got kicked off the project.
Rachel never said anything, but Owen suspected that alone was enough for her to look at him with a trace of quiet resentment.
A kind of misplaced loyalty.
"When are you coming back?" Sophie asked, snapping Owen back to reality.
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