Urban System in America

Aren's mouth fell open slightly. "That's… actually better. I didn't think of it like that."

"That's the point," Rex said quietly. "You want the audience to walk out of the theater and still glance over their shoulder at night. The less you explain, the longer it stays with them."

For the next half hour, Aren talked, Rex nudged. Aren described shots, angles, even how he wanted the sound of footsteps to echo differently in each part of the house. Rex pushed back, asking questions, pointing out where audiences might tune out, where things could tighten.

The two of them fell into it, trading ideas, tweaking beats, talking scares and suspense like they'd been at it for years. Rex kept steering, trimming fat, pushing tension, while Aren defended his favorite shots like they were his children. And in that back-and-forth, the breakfast was forgotten, their voices carrying over clinking cups and muttered conversations around them.

Aren barely noticed his plate emptying as he spoke. He was too lost in it, too consumed by the chance to finally talk about his story with someone who gave a damn. By the time the waiter came back to clear the dishes, Aren was leaning forward over the table, his voice hoarse, his hands sketching shapes in the air.

…

Aren was mid-sentence, his hands unconsciously sketching arcs in the air as he spoke, his voice no longer carrying the nervous quiver it had at the start. He was deep into describing the buildup of dread in one of his favorite sequences… a scene where nothing really happened, yet the silence itself became unbearable, when Rex suddenly leaned back in his chair.

Aren, caught in the momentum of his own explanation, stumbled when Rex didn't respond right away.

"What?" Aren asked, blinking, his words still hot with enthusiasm.

Instead of answering, Rex reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a thick bundle of cash wrapped with a crisp band, and placed it on the table with a quiet thud.

The sound was small, but it cut through the café's morning chatter like a knife. A few nearby patrons turned their heads. Their eyes lingered for a moment on the stack of money sitting between the plates of half-eaten eggs and untouched toast, then quickly darted away again. In Los Angeles, people knew when not to stare.

Aren froze. His mouth went dry. He stared at the bundle, then at Rex, then back at the bundle. "Uh—" He swallowed. "What… what is this?"

Rex's smile was calm, almost casual, like he'd just ordered another round of coffee. "Fifty thousand." He pushed it an inch closer with a single finger. "For you."

Aren blinked hard, as if his brain was trying to reboot. "For... me?"

"Yeah," Rex said easily, leaning forward now, elbows resting on the table. "I told you yesterday your script has potential. But after hearing you just now? After watching your eyes light up and your voice actually come alive when you talk about it? That's not just potential. That's a project waiting to happen."

"This," Rex said, nudging the bundle across the table until it rested by Aren's untouched plate, "is fifty thousand. Consider it an advance."

Aren stared at it like it was radioactive. "Wh—what?" His voice cracked embarrassingly, drawing a nervous laugh from his throat. "Fifty… fifty thousand? You're joking, right?"

Rex smirked, shaking his head. "Not a joke. I believe in this film. I believe it's going to be a hit. So think of this as me betting on you."

He tapped the stack of bills with two fingers, the paper edges making a faint slap against the table. Aren's throat tightened. Fifty thousand dollars just sitting there in front of him. That was more money than he had ever seen outside of a bank, let alone in his reach.

Rex leaned back, his smile easy but his words serious. "That one-dollar copyright thing yesterday? That was just a formality. Paperwork. A ritual, nothing more. This—" he nudged the cash closer "—is real. And don't get it twisted. I'm not giving it to you for free. Remember the word advance. I'm just giving it to you ahead of time."

Aren blinked at him, trying to process it. His brain felt split in two… half of him screaming that this was insane, that no one just handed out fifty grand like it was pocket change, and the other half whispering that maybe, just maybe, Rex was dead serious.

Rex's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice dropping even lower, almost conspiratorial. "I believe in this film's potential. And I believe in you. With this, you won't have to worry about your livelihood during filming. No more stressing over rent, no more cheap instant noodles or skipping meals because you're too broke to eat. You can put every ounce of focus into making this film as amazing as possible. That's all I'm asking."

Aren swallowed hard. He wanted to speak, but his tongue felt heavy. Around them, a couple of people glanced at the bundle of cash, eyebrows raised, then quickly turned away. Maybe they thought it was some shady business deal, maybe they just didn't care. Either way, nobody interfered.

Rex leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if Aren's wide-eyed shock was almost amusing. He tapped the thick stack of bills with one finger, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

"Relax," Rex said, his tone calm but firm. "This isn't some trick. I already signed the copyright transfer last night... we're partners now. You saw me put my name on the deal. That wasn't for show. I told you then that I believed in this film, and I wasn't just talking. This right here…" He nudged the bundle closer across the table, "…is proof of that belief. An advance. Not charity. Not pity. And definitely not free. This is me betting on you."

Aren swallowed hard, his hands clenching against his knees. He didn't dare reach out for the money. It felt unreal, like the moment he touched it the dream would shatter.

"I…" Aren's voice cracked before he steadied it. "I… I don't understand. Why would you—why would you risk this much? You don't even know me."

Rex shook his head slowly, his smirk fading into something steadier, more serious. "That's where you're wrong. You already proved it. The script. The fire in your eyes when you talk about it. The way you don't even notice the world when you're explaining a scene. That's enough for me. I've seen people who just want money, or fame, or an easy way out. You're different. You actually give a damn."

Aren's breath caught in his throat. His fingers twitched as if to reach for the money but froze halfway. "What if I fail?" he whispered.

Rex's eyes hardened. "Then you fail trying. And I'd rather lose every cent of this than watch you bury your talent under fear. You think I'm giving you this to make your life easy? No. I'm giving it to take away your excuses. Now it's just you and the film. No distractions. No escape."

Silence fell again, the weight of Rex's words settling like a storm. Aren stared at the bundle in front of him, his chest tight, his heart pounding so hard it almost hurt.

(End of Chapter)