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The callback came through the next morning.
Susan had submitted Robert's headshots and resume around midnight. By 9 AM, her phone was ringing with an interview request from Morrison Entertainment.
"That was too easy," Robert said, staring at the email on Susan's laptop. "This has to be a scam, right? They want me to fly to... wait, where the hell is Morrison Entertainment headquartered?"
"New York," Susan said, scrolling through the company information. "And it's not a scam. I've been researching all morning. Morrison Entertainment is huge—they hold the film rights to Avatar, that massive VR game everyone's playing. This superhero project is another gaming IP collaboration."
Robert shook his head. "I still have contracts here. That cop show wants me for three more episodes—"
"Robert." Susan turned to face him, her expression serious. "Those contracts are nothing. You're playing nameless background characters for scale wages. This is a lead role in what could be a major franchise. You passed the initial screening because you're literally perfect for this character. I don't think anyone else in the world could play Tony Stark better than you."
The certainty in her voice made something shift in Robert's chest.
"The interview's in four days," Susan continued. "I already looked at flights. We can afford it—barely—and if this is real, if this is actually happening..."
She didn't need to finish the sentence.
Robert looked at the character image again. The goatee, the sharp eyes, the slightly arrogant smirk. It was like looking in a mirror.
"Fuck it," he said finally. "Let's go to New York."
Four Days Later – Morrison Entertainment Headquarters, Manhattan
The Morrison Entertainment building was intimidating—sleek glass and steel in Midtown Manhattan, the kind of place that screamed money and power. Robert felt deeply out of place walking through the lobby in his one decent suit.
A production assistant met him at reception and led him upstairs to a conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
"Mr. Morrison will be with you shortly," she said, then disappeared.
Robert's palms were sweating. He'd been to hundreds of auditions over the years, but this felt different. Bigger. Like his entire future was balanced on the next hour.
The door opened and a young man walked in—mid-twenties, confident, expensive suit that somehow didn't look pretentious on him. He had the easy swagger of someone who'd never really struggled.
"Robert Downey Jr.," the man said, extending his hand with a genuine smile. "Alex Morrison. Thanks for flying out on short notice."
They shook. Alex's grip was firm, his eye contact direct.
"Thanks for the opportunity," Robert managed. "I have to say, when I saw the character design, I was... surprised by how much he looks like me."
Alex laughed. "That's because you're exactly what we've been looking for. Honestly, when your headshots came through, it felt like destiny or something. Sit, please."
They settled into chairs. Alex pulled out a tablet, swiping through what looked like concept art and storyboards.
"So here's the situation," Alex began. "We're launching a massive new IP—interconnected superhero universe, multiple films, game content, the whole ecosystem. Tony Stark is the foundation. He's not just a main character—he's the main character. The heart of the entire franchise."
Robert leaned forward, genuinely intrigued despite his nerves.
"Tony's a genius inventor, billionaire playboy, weapons manufacturer who has a moment of moral awakening," Alex continued. "He builds a high-tech suit of armor and becomes Iron Man. But the character's arc isn't about the suit—it's about the man inside it. Someone brilliant but deeply flawed. Arrogant but capable of growth. Haunted by mistakes but fighting to redeem himself."
The description hit uncomfortably close to home.
"Why me?" Robert asked bluntly. "I'm forty-three, I've got a... complicated history. You could cast some hot twenty-five-year-old action star and print money."
Alex set down the tablet and met Robert's eyes.
"Because those pretty boys don't have depth. They can't sell Tony Stark's journey from selfish asshole to selfless hero. You've lived that transformation. You've been to rock bottom and clawed your way back. That's not something you can fake. That's something you know."
Robert felt his throat tighten unexpectedly.
"This isn't one movie," Alex continued. "We're looking at a six-picture deal minimum. Iron Man's story runs through the entire saga. If you sign on, you're committing to at least the next five years, probably more."
"Six movies?" Robert's mind reeled. "That's... that's insane. How can you know you'll make six movies? What if the first one tanks?"
Alex's smile was confident bordering on cocky. "It won't. Trust me."
They talked for another ninety minutes. Alex walked him through the broader universe, the other heroes who'd eventually join the team, the scope of the vision. He didn't reveal every detail, but what he shared was genuinely exciting—ambitious in a way Robert hadn't seen in years.
"So what's the catch?" Robert finally asked. "What's the compensation look like?"
"Twenty million for all six films," Alex said without hesitation. "Flat rate, no backend percentage."
Robert blinked. Twenty million dollars. That was more money than he'd earned in his entire career combined. Life-changing money. Never-worry-again money.
"That's..." He couldn't find words.
"I know it's not Marvel money," Alex said with a slight grin. "But we're taking a risk on you, and you're taking a risk on us. This is a new IP, unproven. If it works—when it works—we'll renegotiate for future films. But this gets you in on the ground floor."
Robert's hands were actually shaking. Twenty million dollars. Susan had been right. This was it. The break he'd been waiting for.
"Where do I sign?"
Two Weeks Later – Los Angeles Studio Lot
"So you're really leaving?" Assistant Director Wells didn't bother hiding his skepticism. "You're walking away from steady work for some superhero movie?"
Robert finished packing his small dressing room—which was generous terminology for a converted closet. "My contract's up. You knew I was only signed for this season."
"Yeah, but I figured you'd renew. You're not exactly drowning in offers." Wells leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Morrison Entertainment, right? East Coast production company? Their film division isn't exactly known for blockbusters."
"They're branching out," Robert said evenly, tossing scripts into a box.
"Look, I'm just saying—Hollywood knows what it's doing. There's a reason superhero leads go to established action stars, not..." Wells trailed off meaningfully.
"Not washed-up forty-three-year-old character actors with drug records?" Robert finished for him.
"I didn't say that."
"You were thinking it." Robert closed the box and turned to face Wells. "But here's the thing—they took a chance on me. They saw something worth investing in. Maybe it'll work out, maybe it won't. But I'm taking the shot."
Wells shrugged. "Well, good luck in New York, I guess. Hope it works out better than you think."
The dismissive tone was clear: You're making a huge mistake.
"Thanks," Robert said, meaning it despite the condescension. "Hope we work together again someday."
"Sure," Wells said, his tone making clear he thought that would never happen. "When you're back to playing Cop #3, give me a call."
After Wells left, Robert stood in the empty closet-sized dressing room for a moment. Six years ago, he would've punched that guy. Now? He just felt calm. Centered.
Let Wells think whatever he wanted.
Robert had a suit of armor to build.
Meanwhile – Infinite Realms Corporate Announcement
The gaming world exploded when Infinite Realms dropped their bombshell announcement.
GLOBAL RACING CHAMPIONSHIP RETURNS
$10 MILLION PRIZE POOL
MAY 1ST, 2026
The racing e-sports scene had been dormant for two years. Now, riding the massive wave of Fast & Furious popularity, Infinite Realms was going all-in on competitive racing.
The tournament structure was ambitious: regional qualifiers starting in March, with the top 100 point-earners from each region earning qualifier spots. From there, twelve competitors per region would advance to the global finals.
The prize breakdown was insane—$200,000 minimum per category, scaling up to million-dollar purses for first place finishes.
"Holy shit, they're actually doing it!"
"$10 million prize pool?? This is bigger than most FPS tournaments!"
"Fast & Furious literally saved racing e-sports from the grave"
"Time to start grinding. I need those qualifier points!"
Infinite Realms had also revamped the entire competitive infrastructure. Daily point-earning events, regional leaderboards, spectator modes for watching top racers—they'd clearly learned from successful e-sports in other genres.
The coup de grace? Underground street racing events.
Players could find specific NPCs—including Tej Parker from Fast & Furious—to enter illegal street races for bonus points and rewards. The highest-tier races pitted players directly against Dom and Brian themselves.
Beat them? Massive point bonuses and rare rewards.
The integration of Fast & Furious content directly into the competitive scene was genius marketing. It kept Alex's IP front and center while legitimizing racing as a serious e-sport.
Because honestly, Infinite Realms' competitive scene had always been a mess.
Most PvP content in Infinite Realms was pay-to-win garbage—glorified whale competitions where whoever spent the most money dominated. Guild wars were basically just flexing contests, seeing which group of rich players could burn more cash for virtual bragging rights.
Zero competitive integrity. Zero fairness. Just designed to extract maximum money from players' wallets.
Racing events were different. They'd always been different. Pure skill-based competition—no amount of money could buy better reflexes or racing lines. The cloud-based architecture made cheating nearly impossible.
Racing was the one legitimate competitive element in Infinite Realms, the one thing that resembled actual e-sports rather than pay-to-win competitions.
But historically, Infinite Realms corporate had never properly supported it. They'd treated racing events as afterthoughts, minor content updates rather than tentpole competitive programming.
No serious prize pools. No marketing push. No ecosystem development. The racing scene had been slowly dying for years.
Until Fast & Furious changed everything.
Now, seeing the money in competitive racing, seeing the massive audience engagement, Infinite Realms corporate was finally investing properly. Building infrastructure. Creating a real e-sports framework.
It wasn't League of Legends or DOTA yet—those games didn't exist in this world. But it was a start. A foundation that could actually grow into something legitimate.
Alex Morrison had single-handedly revived an entire competitive genre and forced the industry's biggest platform to take it seriously.
Not bad for a twenty-four-year-old who'd only been running a studio for six months.
PLz throw Powerstones.