Victor arrived at The Daily Grind fifteen minutes early, claiming his now-favorite corner table with a view of both the entrance and the street. He'd grown fond of this place—the worn leather seats, the smell of fresh coffee beans, and the slow jazz music that filled the space without demanding attention. The barista, recognized him now, sliding his coffee across the counter with a nod.
Jamie pushed through the door at exactly 8:30, her messy undercut partially hidden beneath a backwards cap, a camera bag slung over one shoulder. Victor waved her over.
"Morning," she said, dropping into the seat across from him. "Tell me you've got good news."
Victor couldn't help but smile. No small talk, no preamble—it was one of the things he appreciated about Jamie. She operated with the same economy in conversation as she did behind a camera.
"Better than good," Victor replied, sliding a coffee cup across the table. "I've secured two hundred thousand dollars for the production budget."
Jamie's hand froze halfway to her coffee cup. Her sharp hazel eyes narrowed.
" 200k? That's double what we discussed." Suspicion crept into her voice. "Where'd you pull that kind of money from? CAA fronting it?"
Victor leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Let's just say it's from a lender with... flexible terms."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I double the money in a year or I'm in trouble." Victor maintained eye contact, letting the implications settle.
Jamie stared at him for a long moment, then let out a low chuckle. "Loan sharks? Seriously? That's not flexible, that's fucking dangerous."
"It's an investment in us," Victor countered. "In what we're building."
"It's a gamble," Jamie corrected, but he could see her mind already racing through the possibilities that additional funding opened up. "A big one."
"Every great film is," Victor said. "But with Bruce and Scott, your direction, and this script? It's a calculated risk."
Jamie took a slow sip of her coffee, studying him over the rim. "You're either the ballsiest producer I've ever met or the stupidest, maybe both."
Victor just smiled in response.
"So," she continued, pulling out her battered laptop, "with the budget increase, we can actually afford decent lighting packages and maybe even some practical effects and better props." Her fingers flew across the keyboard. "I've been working on something you need to see."
She spun the laptop around. On screen was a series of photographs showing a dilapidated two-story motel with a dusty parking lot and faded signage. The desert sun cast harsh shadows across its weathered facade.
"Found it yesterday," Jamie said, a hint of pride in her voice. "About two hours east of the city. Abandoned for at least six years. Owner's willing to let us shoot there for practically nothing—just liability insurance and a bottle of good scotch."
Victor leaned closer, examining the images. The location was perfect—isolated, atmospheric, with multiple rooms and corridors for fight scenes.
"Those hallways," he murmured, "and that central courtyard..."
"Exactly. We can stage the entire raid sequence there, floor by floor. And the best part?" Jamie flipped to another image showing a vast desert landscape surrounding the motel. "No neighbors, no noise complaints, no permits needed for exterior shots."
Victor felt a surge of excitement. "This is perfect, Jamie. Absolutely perfect."
She nodded, taking another sip of coffee. "There's more. I reached out to my Red Bull crew. Marquez, Chen, and Donovan are in—camera, sound, and lighting. They're willing to work for credits and meals while filming."
"Seriously?" Victor couldn't hide his surprise. "Aren't those your A-team guys?"
"They're bored with energy drink stunts," Jamie shrugged. "I showed them Bruce and Scott's fight footage. They want in on the project."
Victor smiled. This was coming together faster than he'd dared hope. With Jamie's crew, they'd have professionals who knew how to capture high-intensity action on a shoestring budget.
Victor leaned back in his chair, mind already mapping out the next steps. "I'll handle all the permits and pre-production logistics. Give me two weeks to get everything locked down, then we can start principal photography."
Jamie's eyes lit up with an intensity that reminded Victor of a predator spotting prey. "Two weeks? You sure you can pull that together so fast?"
"Absolutely," Victor said with more confidence than he felt. "Contracts, insurance, equipment rentals, location agreements—I'll have it all ready. Your job is to prep your crew and finalize the shot list with Bruce."
Jamie extended her hand across the table. "Deal. Two weeks, then we make movie history."
They shook on it, and Victor felt the weight of his promise settle on his shoulders. As they parted ways outside the café, Jamie heading toward her motorcycle and Victor to his Honda, he already had his phone out, scrolling through contacts.
The next fourteen days became a blur of activity. Victor barely slept, turning his apartment into a makeshift production office. He spent hours on the phone negotiating equipment rentals at rock-bottom prices from the CAA. Insurance forms and contracts covered his coffee table, requiring signatures and notarizations that sent him crisscrossing the city.
He made three separate trips to the motel location, first with a property lawyer to draft a location agreement that protected both the production and the owner, then with a safety inspector to ensure the structure was sound enough for filming, and finally alone—just walking the space, visualizing each scene, each fight, each moment where Bruce would shine.
At night, he reviewed the budget spreadsheet, moving numbers around like chess pieces, finding ways to stretch every dollar. When sleep finally claimed him, it was often at his desk, face pressed against production schedules or storyboards.
By the end of the second week, Victor had secured everything they needed. The permits were filed, the equipment reserved, the location locked, and the cast contracts signed. He'd even managed to arrange catering.
*****
2 weeks later…
Victor stood beside Jamie in the pale dawn light, surveying what had become their playground for the next month. The abandoned motel had transformed from a derelict eyesore into something with purpose—a film set, yes, but also a temporary community. Camper vans and tents formed a perimeter around the property, creating a makeshift village where their cast and crew would live during production.
"Can't believe we pulled this off," Victor murmured, taking in the sight of crew members already bustling about, unloading equipment from vans and setting up for the very first shot of the film.
Jamie nodded, her eyes tracking the movement with practiced precision. "Two weeks ago this was just a dusty shithole. Now it's our dusty shithole."
The morning air carried a crisp desert chill that would burn away within hours, replaced by punishing heat. Victor had made sure to rent industrial fans and portable AC units for the indoor scenes—no sense in having Bruce and the actors pass out during the fight sequences.
"The tent city was a good call," Jamie said, gesturing toward the cluster of accommodations. "Keeps everyone focused, builds the right kind of vibe."
Victor had spent nearly three days arranging the logistics—renting the campers, organizing sleeping arrangements, ensuring there were adequate bathroom facilities and a catering tent. It had eaten into their budget, but the alternative—daily two-hour commutes from LA—would have drained their energy and shooting time.
"Did you see Bruce's face when he arrived last night?" Victor asked. "Like a kid at summer camp."
"More like a warrior arriving at a training ground," Jamie corrected, a half-smile playing at her lips. "He was already walking the hallways, planning movements. That's exactly the energy we need."
A distant shout drew their attention as Marquez waved from the second-floor balcony, camera balanced on his shoulder, testing angles against the rising sun. Chen stood below him, headphones on, capturing the ambient sounds of the desert morning.
"Your crew works fast," Victor observed.
"They know what's at stake," Jamie replied. "This isn't just another energy drink commercial. This is their shot at something real."
Slowly, they moved towards the swimming pool as they talked.
Victor felt a rush of satisfaction as he watched Jamie survey the growing crowd of athletic men and women gathering near the motel's empty swimming pool. Her eyes widened slightly—the first genuine look of surprise he'd seen on her face since they'd met.
"There must be forty people here," Jamie said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I thought we'd be lucky to get ten extras willing to get their asses kicked on camera for practically no money."
Victor couldn't suppress his smirk. "Bruce's connections came in clutch. These aren't just random people looking for screen time—they're his students, training partners, and friends from various dojos around the city."
Jamie observed the diverse group with growing excitement. There were practitioners of Wing Chun, Muay Thai, Capoeira, Boxing, Karate and various other disciplines. Some were bulky and powerful, others lean and lightning-fast.
"Look at that variety," Victor said, gesturing toward the crowd. "We've got dozens of different fighting styles to showcase. Each hallway, each room can feature something unique. This is going to be a martial arts fan's dream."
Jamie nodded slowly, already visibly calculating shots in her head. "Different styles mean different rhythms, different movements. We can give each section of the building its own visual identity."
"Exactly," Victor agreed. "Bruce is already working on matching fighters to specific locations based on their strengths. The tight bathroom for the grappler, the long hallway for the weapons expert..."
"And the final penthouse suite for Scott," Jamie finished, a gleam of excitement in her eyes.
Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of Donovan, the lighting specialist from Jamie's crew. The burly man's face gleamed with sweat despite the early hour, his arms covered in gaffer tape strips ready for quick use.
"We're all set for the first shot," Donovan announced, unable to contain his excitement. "Camera's locked, lighting's perfect, and the team is ready whenever you are."
Jamie's face transformed, a focused intensity replacing her casual demeanor. She turned to Victor with a smile that seemed both professional and conspiratorial.
"You should come along," she said, already starting to move. "First shot of the film is a big deal—sets the tone for everything that follows."
Victor felt a flutter of anticipation in his chest. In his previous life, he'd visited countless sets but always as an outsider—the agent lurking in the background while real filmmakers created magic. Now he was part of that process from the ground up.
"Lead the way," he replied, falling into step beside her.
They walked briskly across the lot toward the motel's main building. Victor noticed how the crew members straightened slightly as Jamie passed, their movements becoming more purposeful under her gaze. She had that rare quality—respect without intimidation.
Inside the dimly lit lobby, a small crowd had gathered. Marquez stood behind the camera, making minute adjustments while murmuring to his assistant. Bruce, dressed in a swat uniform, waited in position at the far end of the room, his expression serene but focused as he performed subtle stretching movements.
The scene they were about to shoot was simple but symbolic—the swat teams arrival and entry into the building, the moment before all hell would break loose. It established both character and tone for the movie.
Jamie went over to the actors, speaking quietly with them about intention and movement. Victor hung back, not wanting to intrude on their process, but he couldn't help feeling a surge of pride. This was happening. The script that had lived only in his head was materializing before his eyes.
Marquez called for quiet, and a hush fell over the room. Jamie took her position behind the monitor, her eyes fixed on the frame.
"Sound?" she called.
"Rolling," came Chen's reply.
"Camera?"
"Rolling," Marquez confirmed.
Jamie took a deep breath. "Action!"