Shoot wrapped for the day, and Luke heads straight back to his room.
First thing he does? Fires up his system panel:
[Allocatable attributes: 7]
Time to drop some points—growth's been on a roll lately!
He pumps 'em all into agility.
[Agility: 21 → 22]
[Allocatable attributes: 7 → 2]
[B-level danger stunt success rate: 74%]
No need to spell out the reflex boost that comes with it.
Luke feels a shift, but can't quite pin it down.
Then, out of nowhere, he flips open his trusty cardholder and pulls four metal business cards.
With a flick of the wrist, they slice through the air in perfect arcs, nailing the pillow on his bed dead-center, all at once.
Control's leaped up big time!
Before, maxing out at three in a single toss. Now? Four, no sweat.
Don't sleep on that one-card bump—it seems small, but juggling more means the difficulty skyrockets exponentially.
It's not just a 33% edge; we're talking double the precision, maybe more.
And the payoff? Way bigger than that. Back in the day, four armed goons closing in? He'd take three, tops. Now? Clean sweep.
In a pinch, that kind of upgrade's the line between walking away and a body bag.
Past 20 points, every attribute tick packs a wallop for Luke.
He's itching for that 30-point milestone.
Deep down, he's sensed it for ages—hitting 30 flips some kind of switch, a total game-changer.
Ding-dong!
Lost in attribute thoughts, the door chimes.
No guesswork needed—he knows exactly who's dropping by.
Yuffie, rocking a white bunny-print PJ set, stands there all cute and coy.
"Look at you, little bunny—you a carrot kinda girl?" Luke grins.
"You guys always gotta go with the cheesy lines?" She tilts her head, shooting him a mock side-eye.
"Only drop 'em for my girl."
"Yeah, right—sounds way too smooth. Bet you've had plenty of... mmmph..."
Next thing, her lips are sealed. No more chit-chat.
"Long day—let's crash early."
"Kill the lights!"
"Nope! Miss out on this view, and the universe'll strike you down."
Rustle of clothes hitting the floor, then the bed's creaking like it's got a mind of its own.
"You almost there? I can't hang..."
"You're killing me with this stamina!"
The symphony drags on... and on... forever, it feels like.
...
...
Next stretch? Pure bliss for Luke.
The two beast-mode scenes are in the can—rest is a cakewalk for him.
Daylight hours: He breezes through takes like it's improv night.
Come sundown, Yuffie sneaks into his room every evening for some quality cuddle time... and then some.
One gripe, though? She keeps griping about his marathon sessions.
But come on—can he help it?
System's turned his endurance into superhuman territory. Ain't his fault!
Luke's chilling like a villain on vacay, but for Depp, Vin Diesel, and the crew? Total grind mode.
Those fight scenes? Kicking their asses left and right.
Sure, Bob acts all "take it easy" when it's Luke's turn.
But with Depp and Vin? Gloves off—no mercy.
Nailing the perfect take? Twenty, thirty run-throughs, easy. Bob's a perfectionist beast.
Yuffie's scraps, though? Breeze city.
Not 'cause the bar's lower—nah, she's got the ultimate hack: Luke.
Master martial artist with that [Life's a Stage] gift? Whipping up custom fight choreo tailored to her? Child's play.
Outcome: She films it smooth, but it pops off the screen like fireworks.
Hey, fresh chapters hitting first on [redacted site]!
Luke ribs her about it nonstop: Once Spy King drops, she might just dethrone Michelle Yeoh as queen of action heroines in cinema.
And Tyson, chewing scenery as the bad guy? He's loving every bruise.
Real life: Gets launched by one kick from Luke.
On film? Trading blows like equals. Guy's in heaven—half the time, he's begging for extra takes.
Luke? Just sighs and shakes his head.
...
...
Post-fights, the rest flies by even smoother.
Hit the car-chase block—piece of pie for Cohen, who's helmed Fast & Furious before.
Thing is, these high-octane bits lean heavy on post-production wizardry. No one's hot-lapping real streets for the money shots.
Luke, with his god-tier driving chops? Kinda bummed. Skill's gathering dust on a movie set.
Might come in clutch for everyday chaos, though—who knows?
Oh, and that sponsor nod he tossed at the presser? Mercedes snagged it, naturally.
BMW and Audi? Villain rides, obvs.
Dubai prince hooks 'em up sweet—covers the fleet, then throws in extras just 'cause.
Finally, after two and a half weeks of desert hustle, Dubai's all wrapped.
Next stops: North America central.
One monster left on the menu: Hand-clinging a plane mid-flight. Needs Air Force buy-in.
Eisen's locked the airstrip, but cooldown's a beat.
So the team's wheels up, back to New York. Cohen's got 'em humming along, no hiccups.
At this clip? Film's done by mid-November, prime for a May summer slot next year.
Meantime, Disney pings: Pirates 2: Dead Man's Chest cameras roll end of November.
For Luke? Back-to-back burnout city.
But movies ain't his only hustle...
...
...
New York, Taylor Swift's music studio.
They're face-to-face: Luke parked on a plastic chair, Taylor—white dress flowing, legs crossed on the couch—kicking back like she owns the joint.
That short hem? No hiding those killer legs. Curves on full, shameless display.
She smirks: "Announce a girlfriend, then ghost to film overseas? Smooth move."