“Dexter 'Acie' Shuman was the preeminent outcast in independent cinema. A human excised, he hated the shamanic exude of vanity and fame that came from Hollywood. The big shot directors couldn't stand him. They claimed that his success was some sort of dark magic that deified the long established spreadsheet marketing techniques. 'This maniac hexed us!' they shouted at each other. When they tried to assimilate him as a last resort, he asked that they excuse him and he vanished forever. After Dexter got a close look at show biz and examined such a living, he concluded the meaning of life was the fine game of nil.

The California sun peered through the smog onto Los Angeles, a wretched hive where dreams went to die. Film studios bought and traded franchises as if they were stocks. They consumed each other like Saturn devoured his son in ruthless buyouts and corporate takeovers. The hubris of the city rivaled only that of ancient Rome, also surviving a great fire only to rise from the ashes.

The Exterior of the Nathan West hotel was swarming with ravenous paparazzi. Dexter Shuman takes a moment to address one of the photographers asking him questions.

“Your small, independent film is nominated for multiple awards including Best Director. Do you think you have a chance?” he asked, stepping in front of the filmmaker.

“Of course. I have proven that all you need to make a great film is a vision.” He answered, side stepping him.

“Wait, one more. People are wondering why you have a man riding a donkey as your studio’s logo. Is that a reference to christ-like imagery?” The paparazzo asked, jumping back in.

“What? No, that’s a terrible idea. And it’s a horse anyway, a samurai on a horse.” Dexter blustered, moving on.

“The rumor is you are going to work in Hollywood after your success. Is this true and what do you have to say about it for being so against the major studios?” he asked, blocking him again.

A driver opens a limo door for the famous filmmaker. Dexter pushed past the leech and stepped inside.

“If I go to Hollywood it will be on my terms. I won’t let them change me.” 

After crawling into the limo he opened a mini fridge and popped open a bottle of Dom Periegnon and started drinking directly from it. The car took off down the steep hills of the city towards the studio district. Thus dexter began his descent.

The sweltering waiting room at Under the Sun Studios  was cramped and outdated. Dexter, tall and thin, sat sweating on a sepia leather couch. Patiently, Dexter waited like a marble statue with his infamous slicked back, silver hair and monochromatic outfit. He gave the impression of a ghost from the silent era haunting the studio. He pulled out a cigarette, a simple roll of tobacco, embellished by a long plastic stem that held it far away from his face. Dex was experimenting with this new style for himself in preparation for his new big-shot lifestyle. Now he was somebody and he could finally make the films of his dreams. 

He hesitated before lighting up, noticing the no smoking sign on the wall. The room was dilapidated and appeared as if it had been painted with a top coat of nicotine. He assumed that it hadn't been refurbished since the golden age of film when creatives smoked like chimneys. The Under the Sun secretary held out a lit Zippo in front of him, letting him ignite. It was more satisfying than lighting his own, he deemed.

A soft beam of light dimly lit the room from a high window. The rusty fan inside it made the only sound, grinding the moments away. Across from Dexter, a singular client sat legs crossed, reading a script. She wore a modest business suit and skirt with her hair up in a bun. Her expressionless face was painted in stark, Caligari makeup.

Dexter fidgeted in his chair. He felt uneasy as the woman diligently continued to read. She slowly turned a page. Dexter winced. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

“I know it’s awkward sitting here with a celebrity, but you don’t have to be shy.” he told her.

“Who would that be?” she asked without looking up from her screenplay.

“That’s funny. You’re alright.” he said. “You know, I never thought in a million years I would work in this town.”

“Yeah? Why is that?” she said with feigned interest.

“It’s just not my style. I’m sure it works for some people, but I’m an auteur. I need an environment more conducive to my artistic sensibilities.”

“Artistic sensibilities.” she echoed.

“My last project, Right as Rain, I’m sure you’ve heard of it, was conceived in an overnight bender and filmed over the following weekend on a pauper’s budget. But it had to be done that way. If I waited too long to plan everything out professionally, then I would have lost all of my inspiration, my muse.” he ranted.

“Impressive.”

“The script called for rain, of course. There was a drought during production, so I had to improvise. I made a rain machine and filled it with ink so the black and white camera would pick up the effect better. Learned that one from Kurosawa.”

The woman finished her page and turned to another.

After what seemed like an era, two men dressed to the neins came out and introduced themselves as his new producers, Mike and Jay. The shorter of the pair had bulging, expressive eyes like Egor and he was constantly rubbing his hands together. The taller guy was a tough, mobster looking type twitching a toothpick from side to side in his mouth. The two suits grinned sardonically at him with nervous energy like an espresso machine waiting on bad news.

"Hey there! I'm Mike, and this is Jay. You must be the new guy." called out one of them, grabbing Dexter by the hand with both of his. Dexter was barely out of his seat before this social assault but returned the greeting. 

“Finally. Nice to meet you both. Is it time to meet the boss?” Dexter prodded.

“No. He's in a meeting, very busy.” the other chimed in.

“Oh, I see.” Dex sighed.

“We came to offer you a tour while you wait, Acie.” The first man informed, taking his turn to speak, then led the new lamb out of the office with his partner following the rear.

Dexter never learned the full names of these men and he wasn’t sure they knew his either. The nickname ‘Acie’ stuck with him for his entire stay in Hollywood. The men were strangely unsettling and Dexter half imagined he was being taken away like one of his noir films, to sleep with the fishes, but didn't resist being shown around. This was the break he had wanted after all. Still, the dope behind him smiled so harshly he was sweating bullets and Dex had to turn away. In front of him, the second producer was looking back at him with an even bigger grin that sent sparks from his dimples. 

“This is our lot.” the small one started. “Here we used to have hundreds of studio employees walking around back when we used to have tours of the premises.”

“That's a lot of 'used to's.” Dexter mentioned.

“Get used to it.” Tall Guy sneered.

The three men strolled down the dusty alley without another soul in sight. Rows of studio buildings like storage sheds lined either side.

“And this, this is where you will be working, number four.” The previous said pointing at one of the large bay doors.

The monolithic bay doors creaked as the producers pushed on either side simultaneously.

Inside the building was a camera crew and a dodgy sound stage with a living room set. The production was as busy as a beehive and everyone had a job to do. The two guys on the business end of the camera were celebrities in a new movie. The first was a verbally offensive, offensive lineman who couldn't read his lines and was holding everyone up. The second was an up and coming comedian who couldn't make the scene because she was making a scene. The movie without actors wasn't going as planned and Dexter's producers had to step in, as a loud argument had just broken out on set.

“Please excuse us for one moment.” Mike groaned, motioning for him to stay put and ran off. The other mimicked the same gesture, then followed after him.

Dexter wandered off back onto the lot. He looked around at the empty film studio and chuckled to himself how hollow the big studio literally was. Gone were the days where mountains of set walls and props were simply dumped in the middle of the road from the golden age of excess when there was more creativity than they knew what to do with. He made a joke to himself that an errant tumbleweed from a western would fit in right then, but stopped laughing because he couldn't remember the last time a western film came out. Slowly, a lasso of smoke blew past his face.

The woman from the waiting room was leaning against the building that had a giant number three on it while smoking a cigar.

“Hey. Sorry if I was rude back there. I'm Dex-”

“Cecillia Faust. They call me Sissy around here.” she interrupted.

“Acie, in that case.” Dexter said, pointing to his chest.
Cecillia took out a small metallic case and offered Dex one of her cigars. They were lined neatly in a row, top quality.

“Into The Void.” she spouted.

“Excuse me?”

“My first big film was The Hollow Void. It was the biggest sci-fi blockbuster ever. It was so successful they wanted me to make it again. The Into the Void franchise. They made me make it again. And again, and again. I don't even know how many there are any more.” she lamented and blew a big ring.

“That's a shame.” Dexter examined the cigar. It turned out to be one of the fake herbal ones used on movie sets.

“You're telling me. I tried to get out of it any way I could. I even killed my main character off and it didn't even matter. They brought her back from the dead, made something up about her love interest having to fall for him all over again.”

“How did they resurrect your character?” Dexter forged his concern, trying to start his lighter again.

“I don't remember, it was probably all a dream or something. They're filming the climactic ending of the latest one as we speak. It's a cinematic space battle faster and more intense than the last ending.” she nodded  to number three.

Dexter was perplexed, he hadn't heard a peep the whole time the two were talking. When he peaked in the doorway he couldn't make out what he was supposed to be seeing. Inside the vast warehouse was a small blue box and nothing else. It had three sides and was only a little taller than the man standing in it. He was also blue, from head to toe. The ultramarine silhouette just stood there, waving a stick with a glossy, chrome ball at the end of it.

“Fun, right?” Cecillia chuckled.

Dexter had absolutely no idea what he just saw. He had seen minimalistic, neo-surreal, modern art exhibitions with more substance.

“Anyway. What are they making you work on?” Sissy asked Acie.

“I have my own plans. I won’t be controlled so easily.” Dexter answered confidently.

A sharp whistle rang out.

“Acie! Where'd you go?” called out Dex's handler.

“There you are!” exclaimed the other one. “We can’t lose the talent on the first day, now can we?”

"I had an original idea once, too." Sissy snarled while plucking her unlit cigar back from Dexter's fingertips.