TikTok wasn't something I usually used, but I found myself endlessly scrolling through it as I lay on the couch in my living room, hungover from last night.
I wasn't alone in the room. Scarlett was also feeling the aftereffects of last night and was lying on another couch opposite me. She was wearing just one of my T-shirts, oversized and hanging off one shoulder, and was drinking water from a large glass, making small noises of pain every few seconds.
"Ugh," she groaned, pressing her free hand to her forehead.
My head was pounding too.
I continued scrolling.
I found myself going through videos about the Justice League movie. The videos were mainly of people breaking down hidden details, Easter eggs, references to the comics, and theories about what comes next. Some people were just praising the OST, especially the main Justice League theme.
The movie itself was dominating everything now. It was going to surpass $2 billion in the next two weeks.
All of it finally led me to the Percy Jackson fandom within the app.
It was filled with Percy Jackson fans reacting to the release announcement.
My thumb kept moving, video after video.
A girl with a Camp Half-Blood shirt was literally shaking her phone. "IT'S HAPPENING! IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING!"
Edits. So many edits. Clips from the Netflix show mixed with fan art of what they thought the older Percy, Annabeth, and the rest of the characters from the last five books would look like. Speculation about what they'd be up to, what the plot was going to be.
The chapters I'd released last year had some hints of Roman involvement, so there were a lot of theories about that.
For some reason, there were a lot of fake crying videos. I didn't know if it was a trend or something, but the song in all of them was the same, some emotional piano piece.
As I continued swiping through the videos, Scarlett spoke up from the other couch.
"I'm going to strangle you if I keep hearing that song," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow she'd pressed against her face. "What the fuck are you watching?"
"Just people grateful that I'm releasing my new book," I said, not looking up.
Scarlett lifted her head slightly, squinting at me. "Your fans are like a cult."
"My fans are very passionate," I corrected. "And they love me."
Scarlett smirked. "They worship you like you're their supreme leader. They even killed in your name, remember?"
"Fuck off," I said, the memory of the awful murders one of my crazy fans committed in New York flashing through my mind. That had been a nightmare to deal with.
Scarlett languidly got off the couch, stretched, and then sat back down, groaning. "I shouldn't have drunk that much."
As she groaned in pain, we both saw Margot running past the large window in the room.
"What the fuck, she's still running?" Scarlett said, looking out as Margot jogged around the property in full workout gear.
"How?" Scarlett asked, looking at me in disbelief.
I shrugged. "She's built different."
Scarlett shook her head and then walked over to me, sitting down next to me on the couch. I looked at her as she stared at me.
"What?" I asked.
"What do you mean, 'what'?" she said with a smirk.
I turned back to my phone.
She leaned closer. "So we're completely ignoring what happened last night?"
"I don't even remember much of last night," I said, scrolling through another TikTok.
Scarlett raised an eyebrow. "I'll be offended if you don't remember last night."
I laughed. "Oh, I'm starting to remember all the fun parts."
I paused, then looked at her. "You know, I thought we agreed not to do that. Like, the first time was supposed to be the last as well."
Scarlett scooted closer, her shoulder brushing against mine. "Well, it was so much fun that time."
I looked at her. "Can't deny that." I hesitated. "But still, I don't want this to affect our friendship, and especially my relationship with Margot. Things can get messy in... whatever we have going on here."
Scarlett shrugged. "There's nothing to overthink. We're three friends who had sex." She paused. "And I don't think Margot has any problem with it."
Margot once again passed by the window, running at full speed.
Scarlett gestured toward her. "Okay, now she's just showing off."
I sighed. "It can get complicated. And I would love my life to be uncomplicated."
"You?" Scarlett said, raising an eyebrow. "Uncomplicated? That ship sailed a long time ago."
"Remember the first time?" I said.
Scarlett's expression shifted slightly. "Not so easily forgotten."
I nodded. "After that, Margot was kind of... jealous of you. I don't know what it was. She kept comparing herself to you. We finally had a talk about it and kind of ended it there."
"And I remember it was her who started it last night, so..."
Scarlett was silent for a moment, absorbing that.
"I don't mind what happened happening again," I said carefully, "as long as we can keep it uncomplicated. But I have never been able to read Margot's mind on this."
I paused. "And honestly, I'm not sure I can read my own mind on it either."
Scarlett got closer, placing an elbow on my chest. Our faces were inches apart now.
"Maybe you were right," she said softly. "Maybe this can be the last last time."
Before I could respond, Margot walked in, panting, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. She paused for a second, taking in the sight of Scarlett practically draped over me, her eyes narrowing.
"Oh, what's going on?"
"You know you can't just lie around all day," she said, hands on her hips.
"Not all of us have freakishly high alcohol tolerance like you," I muttered.
She grinned. "I didn't drink much."
Scarlett lifted her head from my chest. "You drank—I lost count of how many shots of tequila you had."
"Like, two? Three?" Margot said casually.
"Three? Oh, you had much more than that," Scarlett shot back.
"That can't be right," Margot said, frowning.
"It is," I confirmed.
They started arguing about it, Margot insisting she couldn't have had that many, Scarlett listing off every single shot she remembered Margot taking.
I watched them, feeling sleep creeping in.
I was glad my trip to Nevada to visit Tom and the other cast of Top Gun, who were doing their flight training there, was tomorrow, because I was not going anywhere in this state today.
I closed my eyes, letting their voices fade into background noise.
.
.
.
Everyone at Midas was busy, especially with the Oscars on the horizon. Lady Bird, the movie we produced, was nominated for several awards.
There was also the fact that Dune, John Wick 3, Bad Times at the El Royale, The Usual Suspects, and more were in production, with John Wick 3 set to be released this year.
Netflix had also come forward with an offer to do three more movies, and I had to figure that out too.
Sam, the head of Stardust Studios, was also pushing me to do a sequel to The Incredibles. I'd placated him with a plot for the movie Rio, which he liked so much that he already had people working on it.
Dune and The Usual Suspects were what I was focused on now. The script for Dune was done, and casting was underway. Denis was doing a great job, and I let him do his thing. We'd planned out three movies to be released over the next five years.
The Usual Suspects was going to begin principal photography in two months. I planned to have the movie released in October: a month to shoot it all, then six months of post-production.
A loud roar echoed above me, a fighter jet passing overhead.
"FUCK!" I yelled, my heart jumping into my throat.
I heard someone laugh at my reaction.
And of course, the other movie I'd written for another studio, not Frankenstein, which was in the middle of shooting now, was Top Gun 2.
And that was what I was here for. Tom had invited me to come watch the training they were doing.
Working with Tom had been... weird. No, it was weird at first, then it got a bit scary.
I had been told by many, when they heard I was writing a Top Gun 2 script for Tom, to be prepared for him to make changes, that it wouldn't be my script when it was done.
It was the same as the movie I'd seen in my old life. The only changes I made were giving the other pilots more character depth to make them stand out against the big shadow that was Tom Cruise, who was going to be cast over them. I also reduced some of the drama between Rooster and Maverick. I thought it was a good balance between nostalgia and something new.
I still remember how it went when I talked to him after I gave him the finished script.
[FLASHBACK]
Tom sat across from me with a huge smile on his face, his eyes locked onto me.
"This is—wow. Wow, Daniel. I love it. I love it. This is like you read my mind!" He began laughing.
I nodded with a smile, my heart rate increasing a bit. The man was starting to freak me out.
"Like, did you read my mind?" Tom continued. "Because this is what I wanted. You know? This is like what I had in mind!" He laughed again.
"Well, you know, um..." I was at a loss for words.
Tom leaned forward. "It's like we're connected, you know? We have a connection. And I even talked to the Chairman about it. You know, the Chairman?"
I nodded. The man was talking about Scientology now.
"We are going to make a great movie, Daniel," Tom said. "And I feel like this is the start of something great. I feel like you have this great energy, like me. We need to talk about this later, like after the movie is done. You won't regret this, Daniel."
"Yeah. Yeah," I said, nodding rapidly.
[END FLASHBACK]
I had basically run out of there and expected invitations to Scientology to come, like they had tried years ago when they'd stalked me and my mom to that restaurant.
But nothing happened.
And here I was now.
Speak of the devil, Tom spotted me and walked over.
"Daniel! You're here!"
I met him and shook his hand. His grip was firm, energetic.
"You look like you're having fun," I said.
Tom grinned. "I am!" He looked behind him, where Glen Powell, whom Tom had insisted the studio cast in the movie, was vomiting into a bag. He was new to Hollywood, having only been in two major movies so far, none of them action. Tom had told me he had seen him in one of those movies and had a feeling he needed to be in this one.
"They are not."
He turned back to me. "Well, it's your turn."
I laughed nervously. "What? I thought you said—"
"I have it all set up," Tom said, his grin widening. "I wanted you to experience the feeling, you know? And I feel like you need to rewrite some of the flight scenes in the script. This will help."
I stared at him.
"Wait. You want me to—"
"Get in the jet," Tom said, clapping me on the shoulder.
I tried to get out of it. "Tom, I don't think I need to actually fly to write the scenes. I've done my research, I've—"
"Daniel," Tom said, his smile unwavering. "Trust me. You need this."
"I really don't think—"
"It'll be great," Tom insisted. "You'll see things from a completely different perspective. It'll elevate your writing."
Maybe it was peer pressure. Maybe it was the fact that the other actors, Miles Teller, Glen Powell, and Monica Barbaro, were all standing around watching, and I didn't want to look like a coward. Maybe it was just Tom's sheer force of will.
Whatever it was, I accepted.
"Okay. Fine. Let's do it."
Tom's grin widened. "That's the spirit!"
The pre-flight briefing was thorough.
The instructor, a pilot named Hayes, went through everything with me in a small briefing room.
"Alright, Mr. Adler," Hayes said, gesturing to a diagram of the aircraft. "You'll be flying in an F/A-18F Super Hornet. Your call sign for today is 'Rookie.'"
I nodded.
"Here's what you need to know," Hayes continued. "The aircraft can pull up to 7.5 Gs during certain maneuvers. That means your body will feel seven and a half times heavier than normal. Your blood will be pulled down toward your feet, and if you don't manage it properly, you will black out."
"Great," I muttered.
"To prevent that, you'll use the Anti-G Straining Maneuver, or AGSM," Hayes explained. "Tense your legs, your core, your arms. Breathe short, controlled breaths. Do not hold your breath. Do not try to tough it out. If you feel your vision tunneling or graying out, you need to strain harder."
I nodded again, feeling my nerves spike.
"You'll also be fitted with a G-suit," Hayes said, holding up the flight suit. "It will inflate around your legs and abdomen during high-G maneuvers to help keep blood in your upper body. But it's not a magic fix. You still need to do the work."
He handed me a helmet. "This is your helmet. The communication system is built in. If you need to communicate with the pilot, just talk. If you need to vomit, there's a bag in the cockpit. Use it. Do not vomit in the helmet."
"Understood," I said.
"Any questions?"
"Yeah," I said. "Can I still back out?"
Hayes smirked. "No."
I walked out to the tarmac, suited up, helmet under my arm, humming "Danger Zone."
Miles Teller was standing nearby, looking pale.
"How was it?" I asked him.
Miles shook his head slowly. "Good luck, man."
"That's... not comforting."
The crew helped me into the back seat of the F/A-18F.
The pilot, callsign "Viper," turned around from the front seat. "You ready, Rookie?"
I clapped my hands together, trying to hype myself up. "Fuck yeah. Let's do it."
Maybe it'll be fun, I thought. Tom says it is.
Then again, it was Tom fucking Cruise, the adrenaline junkie.
The canopy closed. The engines roared to life.
We taxied to the runway.
And then we were flying.
The first few minutes were actually incredible.
The acceleration on takeoff pushed me back into my seat, and then we were in the air, climbing fast. The ground fell away beneath us, the sky opening up in every direction.
"Holy shit," I said into the comms.
Viper laughed. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"Yeah. This is actually... this is amazing."
We leveled out, and for a moment, it was almost peaceful. Just the hum of the engines, the vast blue sky.
Then Viper's voice came through the comms.
"Ready for some maneuvers?"
Before I could answer, the plane banked hard to the right.
The world tilted.
My stomach dropped.
The G-forces hit me like a train.
My vision started to tunnel. The edges of my sight went gray.
I tensed my legs, my core, my arms, breathing in short bursts like Hayes had taught me.
The gray receded. Barely.
"Doing good, Rookie!" Viper said.
The plane rolled, spinning along its axis. The horizon flipped, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky.
My stomach was in my throat.
Everything felt heavy. My arms, my head, my chest. It was like an elephant was sitting on me.
My vision tunneled again. I could only see a pinprick of light ahead.
I strained. Breathed. Fought.
The turn ended.
I gasped for air.
"You still with me, Rookie?" Viper asked.
"Yeah," I croaked. "Still here."
"Good. One more."
"Wait—"
He pulled the stick back, and we went into a vertical climb, the nose pointed straight up.
Then he rolled inverted at the top, and we dove back down.
My stomach was doing somersaults.
I closed my eyes, focused on breathing, on straining, on not passing out.
And then, finally, it was over.
We leveled out.
"Nice work," Viper said. "You didn't black out."
"Yay," I said weakly.
We landed. The canopy opened. The crew helped me out.
My legs were shaking. My head was spinning.
Tom was waiting on the tarmac, grinning. Glen Powell was there too, holding a bag.
"How was it?" Tom asked.
I steadied myself, trying to look composed. "It was fun. Yeah. Yeah. And I didn't even throw up."
Tom laughed, looking at Miles and Glen. "See? He did great!"
He clapped me on the shoulder again. "You want to go again?"
I stared at him. "I got enough to write. You guys have fun."
Tom just laughed harder.
I walked away, my legs still wobbling, my head still spinning.
Never again.