The Generation Series: REBIRTH

Hours later, the cast and crew were called back to the theater hall, where the producer and director were set to address everyone. The actors took their places in the audience, with the prominent cast seated in the front row. Sakura sat beside her father, surrounded by the show's stars, while the extras and guest actors filled the rows behind them.

The director, a composed Chinese man holding a script, stepped onto the stage. "For those who don't know me," he began, his voice steady and commanding. My name is Warren Chang, and I'm the director of this new series, KANE. It's the story of an ordinary man who becomes a superhero—a classic premise. But today, we're trying something different."

The producer, Kevin, stood beside him and chimed in. "Instead of diving into a group script read, we want you to familiarize yourselves with the material on your own. Take the time to absorb it, think about your character, and come prepared. Filming won't begin today, as some of the sets in Stage Hall Three are still under construction and won't be ready until tomorrow."

Kevin gestured toward the scripts. "We'll start with the bookstore scenes, so make sure to review those first. The full schedule is printed on the last page of your packet. Please don't be late. Thank you all for being here."

Warren added, "We're excited to bring this story to life with all of you." He and Kevin waved to the audience as they exited the stage, leaving a buzz of anticipation in their wake.

Sakura glanced around at the excited faces, the energy in the room electric with the promise of something new and meaningful. The life of a celebrity was undeniably fascinating, she thought. Sitting among them, she felt a sense of belonging, as if she were part of this world. But deep down, she knew she wasn't.

And that was fine with her. She preferred her quiet place in her father's shadow. The idea of standing in the spotlight herself seemed suffocating, not because she lacked ambition but because of her deep-seated anxiety around people. Sakura's kind nature often masked her fear of rejection.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a quiet pride in her father, watching him effortlessly command a world she was too afraid to step into.

As the crowd dispersed in every direction, Robbie and Sakura remained seated in the front row, watching people stream past them. Robbie flipped through the pages of his script, pausing when he reached the back page where the schedule was printed. He ran his index finger down the list, scanning the small text for his name.

Sakura leaned in closer and whispered with a playful grin, "Fair play to ya, Da. You'll be rolling in it before long."

Robbie chuckled, closing the script. "Come on now, we're heading to Scene Hall Six. Stick close, though. These crowds can be a bit much."

"Don't ya worry about me, oul fella," Sakura quipped with a smirk. "I can handle meself."

The two rose from their seats and made their way out of the grand hall with hefty smiles. Sakura kept pace with her father as they navigated the crowd of set workers and staff. They weaved through the chaos as if it were second nature—a rhythm they seemed to have mastered together over the years.

Sakura's heart raced as she stepped onto the bustling film set. The chaos of the studio brought Sakura so much anxiety.

In her eyes, the number of people working on one episode lasting only forty-five minutes was almost unbelievable. The shuffling of crew members quietly shifted away from the set. Her father, Robbie, stood in the center of it all, a figure of focus and energy.

Wearing a large black headset beside heavy equipment, Kevin Church waved to Sakura from a distance. Her eyes diverted from her father to the director. He gestured to the empty folded chair beside him. Sakura lacked the heart to say no. She settled into the fold-up chair next to the director, Kevin. He quickly but warmly acknowledged Sakura before returning to the unfolding scene.

Sakura's eyes roamed the captivating building surrounding her that resembled an airplane hangar, but instead of an airplane, it housed crafted sets representing various small conference rooms and store interiors. The level of craftsmanship on display was exceptional, and Sakura couldn't help but admire the artistry involved.

As she took it all in, a sliver of jealousy crossed her mind, not for the glamor of the film industry but for the tireless workers who poured their hearts and souls into constructing these immersive settings. With them, the films would bring people together. She understood what it felt like to be an irrelevant speck of dust in the universe. 

The magnitude of what she was witnessing left her nearly speechless. Robbie stood beneath a pool of soft light framed by a constructed set that resembled an old-fashioned bookstore. The script had hinted at a heartwarming father-daughter moment, and Sakura's excitement heightened as the cameras stood ready for action. 

"Quiet on set!" a voice called out. The set suddenly hushed as all eyes turned towards Robbie. Sakura held her breath as the cameras rolled. Her stomach felt twisted in a knot, and she was terrified of making a sound. She was nauseous, fearing to bring any attention to herself.

He spoke to her softly, tenderly, embodying the protective warmth of a father devoted to safeguarding his family. He took the actress's hand with deliberate care, guiding her fingertips over the firm spines of the books lining the shelves. As they moved along, he wove tales of the stories hidden within the pages, each carrying a piece of his character's imagined past.

From the script, Sakura had pieced together the character's backstory: a man who had spent countless years working in the bookstore, finding solace and purpose among the old yellowed pages. His first and most authentic love was never a person but the quiet companionship of a good book and a steaming cup of coffee resting on his nightstand.

Beside her, Kevin leaned in, his voice a whisper of insight. "Watch how he brings realism to every word, every gesture. That's the magic of acting."

Sakura nodded, her gaze fixed on her father. His emotions were so real that they seemed to transcend the confines of the script. She admired his ability to transport himself into another person's shoes, to become someone entirely different yet strangely familiar.

As the scene unfolded, Sakura was captivated by the natural exchange between the actors, the rhythm of their dialogue, and the unspoken emotions that danced across their faces. It was as if a new world had opened before her eyes—one of imagination, storytelling, and the art of creating moments that would resonate with an audience.

When the scene finally wrapped, the crew erupted in applause. Sakura's heart swelled with pride as Robbie emerged from the set with a tired but satisfied grin. He approached Sakura and Kevin with a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

"How was that kiddo?" Robbie asked, his voice a blend of hope and curiosity.

Sakura beamed, unable to hide her enthusiasm; she shrugged nonchalantly. "Grand."

Robbie's smile widened, a fatherly pride shining through. "I'll take that as a compliment. Thank you, Pipsqueak." 

A cherry red crept into her cheeks at the precious childhood nickname. "Ya haven't called me that since I was a wee one."

Robbie wrapped his daughter in a warm hug. "Because, my dear, you will always be my Pipsqueak, no matter how old you are."

Sakura glanced back at the set, her heart still fluttering with the scene's emotions. As the crew prepared for the next shot, she turned to her father and said, "Keep doin' what ya do, Da. It makes me happy that you're happy."

Robbie's eyes sparkled with gratitude, his hand finding Sakura's and reassuringly squeezing it.

"I'll support you in any path you choose as long as it's not a life of crime." 

"I'll join the military." 

Robbie laughed and then whispered, "In your dreams."

Nearby, a familiar face strolled their way—none other than Wesley Everett, a renowned British actor of Sakura's age. His curly brown hair, with light brown highlights, framed a square face that caught Sakura's attention. Dressed in a fitted pink polo shirt and long dress pants, Wesley bled youthful charm and talent.

With a rich British accent and a charming smile, Wesley turned to Sakura and said, "Ah, you must be the famous daughter I've heard so much about. Even lovelier than I imagined. Though, I must admit, he hasn't quite shared how the two of you met all those years ago."

Sakura froze, momentarily struck speechless by the sight of the strikingly handsome young actor. For a fleeting moment, her mind wandered to a daydream: the two married, living in a picturesque cottage by a serene lakeside, with a couple of kids and a loyal German Shepherd bounding by their side.

But reality pulled her back swiftly, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, her cheeks faintly flushed with the remnants of her whimsical fantasy.

Beside her, Robbie rolled his eyes and recounted their tale, replaying their first memories. He said, "It's a long story, but we met at an addiction Anonymous meeting."

Sakura dozed off as her father told the tale. He spoke of the meetings at the children's psychiatric facility in a spacious gymnasium. Addictions Anonymous members had gathered with rows of chairs arranged like a theatre in the center of the gym floor. A small, centered wooden podium stood front and center. Sakura's body was stiff as a doornail. She felt mortified by the multitude of people that had shown up. She sat down, declining any eye contact.

Removing her black sweatshirt, she revealed mismatched scars across her body. Some were noticeably newer than the rest. An older fellow had sat beside her. She was noticeably terrified of him.

That man was none other than Robbie. He tilted his torso forward to look her in the eye and said, "Hey, you look a little young to be here, yeah?"

In a calm tone, Sakura had said, "What makes ya think I'm a little one?"

"Oh, shit. You're Irish."

"I'm not Irish. I wasn't born in Ireland. I was abandoned there."

"Then what are you?"

"No idea," Sakura replied, leaning back on her chair.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. My name is Robbie Seaman. I'm American, as you can already see."

"What do ya do for a livin'?"

"I am an old drug addict who put his life back together to be an actor."

"Really now? Are ya famous?"

Robbie smirked and replied, "You could say that, yes."

"My name is Sakura. I live here in this shitey buildin'. I don't have family, neither."

"Sorry to hear that."

Individuals of diverse backgrounds and ages had settled in, and the meeting began. A facilitator stood at the podium to guide the session and ensure everyone could share their thoughts and struggles.

The meeting opened with silence, allowing attendees to reflect and center themselves. Then, the facilitator introduced the meeting format and the principles of Addictions Anonymous, emphasizing the importance of anonymity, confidentiality, and respect for one another. 

Participants took turns speaking on the podium as the meeting progressed, sharing their personal stories. Then, in his nice dark suit and tie, Robbie stood at the podium. He pulled a metal coin from his pocket and spun it between his fingertips.

"Good evening, everyone. My name is Robbie Seaman, for those who don't know. I made many wrong choices when I was an adolescent. I went to prison and even lived on the streets. Drugs were my life, but I have chosen to leave that part behind me. I have now started a career in acting, and it's a good gig. I made some excellent friends, some nicer than others. I thought about punching this guy I worked with, but instead, I kicked him out of the production. Prison was not somewhere I wanted to go back to. If you want a specific career, don't give up on yourself."

The crowd clapped as if they'd known and supported him for a long time. Robbie waved and sat back down next to his new friend. The endless, boring speeches had gone on for hours or felt that way.

At the end of the meeting, a closing prayer emphasized the importance of continued support, personal growth, and self-reflection. They encouraged attendees to exchange contact information, fostering a sense of community beyond the meeting walls, where members could connect for additional support or guidance. People had soon dispersed quicker than others. Sakura was in no rush to return, walking to the door like a zombie. She was not interested in any more human interaction that day.

Robbie had placed a hand over Sakura's shoulder. She flinched and then turned to face him. "Hey, kid. It was nice getting to know you. It must be hard living here all by yourself. I'll come by and visit sometime. I can be your sponsor."

Sakura wasn't sure how to process such unexpected kindness. A strange warmth settled over her as she considered the possibility of making friends—a foreign and frightening thought. Maybe it was time, she mused, to open herself up, if only a little, so she would not spend the rest of her life paralyzed by fear and destined to die alone.

"I'll add ya to my visitation list," she whispered softly.

"Great. I'll see you soon. Hope you have a good night," he replied with an easy smile.

"And you as well," she murmured with a faint nod before turning away. She retreated to her quiet bedroom on the floor above the gymnasium.

For the first time in a while, she felt hollow. The day had been full of activity and human connection, and now, all at once, the silence engulfed her. With a heavy sigh, Sakura climbed into bed and clutched her pillow tightly as if it could fill her chest's void.

The oppressive stillness of the room became almost suffocating. Fear crept in, clutching at her heart as her thoughts spiraled. Would she ever leave this place? Would she die here, forgotten, with no one to care? The weight of her loneliness pressed down on her, heavy and unrelenting.

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and her body trembled as cold sweat broke out on her skin. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she hyperventilated, the words tumbling from her lips in a broken whisper:

"I can't breathe. I'm alone, and I can't breathe."

The overwhelming terror wrapped around her like a vice, and all she could do was hold onto her pillow until she cried herself to sleep.