Pyro. John Allerdyce.
Of course Raphael knew the character.
In X2, Pyro was nothing more than Iceman's foil. His screen time was pathetic.
He got a little more presence in X-Men: The Last Stand, but he was still a background character at best.
More importantly—what was Pyro's entire character arc?
Hot-headed, irritable, impulsive. He eventually defects to Magneto and becomes a straight-up villain.
A complete and utter "problem child."
Raphael didn't blow up on the spot. He just gave a slight, measured nod.
"I understand."
His gaze swept past Avi Arad, past Stan Lee, and finally landed right back on Bryan Singer's face.
He turned back to Avi Arad and Stan Lee, offering a polite, shallow bow.
"Thank you both for your time and the recognition. I hope we get the chance to work together in the future."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked straight toward the door.
Avi Arad stood up, looking like he wanted to say something to stop him.
But Raphael was already moving.
He pushed the heavy door open and walked out of the audition room.
Everyone waiting in the hallway immediately looked up at him.
Raphael gave the other actors a brief nod and confidently strode past them.
The gentle, vulnerable face he had just worn during the audition was completely gone, replaced by a stone-cold mask.
He didn't stop until he was completely out of the soundstage, his expression never wavering for a single second.
His phone violently buzzed in his pocket.
It was Ari.
"How did it go?"
"It's dead," Raphael said, not bothering to hide his dark mood.
"What? Stan Lee personally requested your audition. How the hell is that possible..."
"Bryan Singer doesn't want me for Iceman. He thinks I'm a better fit for Pyro."
"Pyro?"
Ari's voice spiked an octave. "That irrelevant sidekick who turns into a villain?"
"Yeah."
"Did you take it?"
"No."
Ari let out a heavy sigh over the line.
"You made the right call. Iceman is a great role, but kissing that asshole's ring for a scrap of a supporting part isn't worth it."
Raphael stayed quiet.
"Don't panic, let me work the phones. Avi Arad loved you; maybe—"
"Don't bother."
Raphael cut him off flatly.
"It's just a supporting role. I'm just not used to getting rejected. First time for everything."
"...Are you absolutely sure?"
"Positive."
Raphael had already shifted his focus to the next target. "The Matrix Reloaded, Marc Platt's project, Fast and Furious 2. We aren't starving for options."
"..."
Ari let out a massive breath of relief.
"Good. Head home and get some rest. Don't overthink it."
"Yeah."
He hung up.
Raphael shoved the phone back into his pocket and walked down the concrete steps.
Out in the lot, his pearl-white Mustang was quietly waiting for him.
He pulled the door open and dropped into the driver's seat.
The engine roared to life.
The car tore out of the studio gates, immediately merging into the heavy Los Angeles traffic.
In the rearview mirror, the 20th Century Fox logo shrank smaller and smaller until it completely vanished behind the concrete skyline.
The Mustang let out a low, aggressive growl and disappeared into the endless sea of cars.
---
Two days later.
As Raphael drove his car through the gates of the Warner Bros. lot, Bryan Singer's words were still echoing in his head.
You don't look like a good guy.
He let out a dark chuckle and pulled into a parking spot.
Hollywood was absolutely crawling with self-righteous, arrogant directors.
They lived in their own delusional artistic bubbles, slapping rigid labels onto every actor they saw—this face is a hero, that face is a villain, this vibe is the boy-next-door, that vibe is the juvenile delinquent.
Raphael didn't buy a single word of that bullshit.
He didn't buy it in his past life, and he sure as hell didn't buy it in this one.
He got out of the car and quickly made his way over to Soundstage 2.
This was the audition site for The Matrix Reloaded.
To be exact, it was for the back-to-back production of The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions. The Wachowskis had put together an absolute monster of a project—shooting both films simultaneously with a combined budget hitting three hundred million dollars.
It was the absolute definition of a Hollywood A-list blockbuster.
The role Raphael was gunning for was the Seraph.
The guardian of the Oracle. A lethal martial artist who could effortlessly navigate the backdoors of the Matrix, only to eventually meet his end at the hands of Agent Smith.
The screen time wasn't massive, but the action sequences were heavy.
For Raphael, that was more than enough.
He needed to dive into as many different cinematic universes as physically possible. Missing out on an IP as massive as The Matrix would be a tragic waste.
The only thing Raphael was slightly unsure about was the fact that he hadn't yet entered The Matrix in his dream world.
He wondered if that would negatively impact today's audition.
When Raphael pushed the door open and stepped inside, the audition room was packed.
Sitting dead center were the Wachowskis—Andy and Larry. Both in their thirties, wearing matching black turtlenecks, their expressions so dead-serious it looked like they were presiding over a religious cult.
Sitting right next to them was the legendary action choreographer, Yuen Woo-ping. He was in his fifties, hair graying, with eyes as sharp as a knife.
The man had basically built half of Hollywood's modern action cinema—The Matrix, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Kill Bill—his fingerprints were on all of them.
Down the line sat the producer, Joel Silver, along with several casting directors.
"Raphael Lee."
Larry Wachowski looked down at the casting sheet. "The Fast and the Furious. The Star Wars prequels. Your agent, Ari, claims you have the best physical action chops of any actor your age in Hollywood."
"That's correct."
Raphael nodded smoothly.
Andy Wachowski looked up, his eyes lingering on Raphael's face for a few seconds.
"Your file says you don't have a formal martial arts background?"
"Nothing formal."
Raphael answered honestly. "But I've trained in mixed martial arts, and I've spent some time drilling swordplay."
"Swordplay?"
Yuen Woo-ping suddenly chimed in. "What kind of swordplay?"
The translator sitting next to him quickly relayed the question.
Raphael paused.
He thought about the endless days and nights grinding lightsaber forms in the Star Wars universe. He thought about the sheer shock in Bob Anderson's eyes. He thought about Ewan McGregor staring at him, asking, 'Who the fuck are you?'
"Western fencing."
He said calmly. "And some... personal techniques I've developed on my own."
Yuen Woo-ping gave a slow nod and didn't press the issue.
"The Seraph role is incredibly heavy on action."
Larry said. "And the vast majority of it is aerial wirework—flips, sustained air-time, zero-gravity combat. Can you handle that?"
Raphael didn't answer with words.
He took two steps back, planting himself directly in the center of the open floor.
Then, he moved.
A flawless, razor-sharp aerial cartwheel.
The second his boots hit the floor, he transitioned seamlessly into a spinning heel kick that literally whipped the air.
He followed it up with a blistering triple-combo of tornado kicks, snapping each strike perfectly at head-height, landing with absolute, rock-solid stability.
Finally, he dropped his center of gravity and unleashed a brutal MMA boxing combination—jab, cross, hook, upper-cut—weaving through flawless footwork. Every single punch carried devastating, visible kinetic force.
The entire sequence took less than fifteen seconds.
The audition room went dead silent.
Yuen Woo-ping's eyes completely lit up.
"Those movements..."
He paused. "How long have you been training?"
"Three months."
Raphael didn't feel a shred of guilt saying it.
Yuen Woo-ping shook his head.
"You don't get that kind of kinetic flow in three months. Are you absolutely sure you've never trained formally?"
"Never."
Raphael lied with perfect sincerity. "I just train really hard."
Yuen Woo-ping stared at him for a few seconds before turning to the Wachowskis.
"His action is flawless. He's sharper than half the professional stuntmen in the business."
Larry nodded, ticking a box on his sheet.
"What's your read on the character?"
Raphael thought about it for a second.
The Seraph didn't have much screen time in the original plot, but he had one core, defining trait—he was an absolute disciple of the Oracle. He was one of the few who fundamentally believed there was a "way out."
"He's a guardian."
Raphael explained. "He's not the hero of the story, but he absolutely believes in what the hero can achieve. He knows he might die, but he actively chooses to stand on the front lines. Not because he isn't afraid of dying, but because he believes the cause is genuinely worth it."
He paused.
"You don't see many people like that in the real world. But inside the Matrix, they're the minority who are actually awake."
Larry gave a slow nod, clearly impressed.
"That's a very interesting read."
He closed the casting folder and shot a look at his brother.
The two of them silently exchanged a glance.
Then Larry spoke up again.
"What does your schedule look like?"
This was exactly the question Raphael had been waiting for.
"I need strict timeline control."
He said flatly. "I need to shoot all my scenes as fast as physically possible—ideally before the end of the year, but absolutely no later than early February."
Andy frowned.
"That's a tight window. Why the rush?"
"I've got other projects in the pipeline."
Raphael said, not bothering to hide his hand. "Fast and Furious 2, and a dance film. I need to stagger the schedules."
Larry thought about it for a second.
"Can you give us two weeks?"
Raphael quickly ran the math in his head. If they condensed all of the Seraph's action sequences into a back-to-back shooting block, two weeks was definitely doable.
"Two weeks is plenty."
Larry nodded.
"Then it's settled. You're the Seraph."
Raphael blinked, slightly taken aback.
That was it?
No callbacks? No agonizing weeks of waiting?
Andy caught his look of surprise and offered a rare smile.
"We hate wasting time."
He said. "Your audition was excellent, your physical skills are elite, your character read was deep, and your schedule works. There's nothing to debate."
Larry chimed in.
"The contract will be sent to your agent within the week. As for your quote—we're maxing out the newcomer scale. Two million dollars. I hope you understand, it is just a supporting role after all."
Two million.
Raphael let out a slow, quiet breath.
"Thank you. I won't let you down."
Yuen Woo-ping walked over and clapped him heavily on the shoulder.
"Kid."
The old master muttered. "Don't get lazy once you're on set. I'll be watching you."
Raphael grinned.
"You got it."
The sun was shining brightly as he walked out of the audition room.
He stood on the concrete steps, staring out at the distant Los Angeles skyline.
Two days ago, he was flat-out rejected at Fox.
Today, he was booked on the spot at Warner Bros.
That was Hollywood for you. Some people thought you were worthless, and others saw exactly what you were capable of.
His phone buzzed.
It was Ari.
"How did it go?"
"Booked it. The Seraph. Two million, a clean two-week shoot."
"Beautiful! This is a massive A-list blockbuster. Getting your face in a franchise like this is going to be huge for your resume."
"Yeah. Just a shame it's only a supporting role," Raphael replied.