Samuel sat in the back of Turtle's yellow Hummer, the weight of the script pressed against his legs. Just paper, clipped together. Nothing fancy. But to him, it might as well have been glass—finished, delicate, and ready to be shattered by a single bad opinion.
Up front, Turtle and Drama were bickering over Lakers tickets.
"If I get floor seats," Turtle said, eyes on the road, "you're paying for parking. And snacks."
Drama snorted. "I'm not paying twenty bucks so you can wear your Jordans like you're scouting for GQ."
Samuel let it drift into the background. He wasn't here for the tickets. He was rereading a scene—again. Just to be sure. Checking the transitions, the pacing. Making sure it didn't fall apart outside his head.
He didn't even realize they'd pulled up until the car stopped and doors opened. Drama hopped out first, muttering about sunscreen. Turtle followed. Lloyd, still clutching his ever-present folder, sighed like he was preparing for a daylong sprint.
Samuel looked up.
Vinny's place still hit hard, even the second time around. Massive and tucked away behind hedges tall enough to keep the real world out. Somewhere between a modern villa and a celebrity daydream. He stepped out slowly, still adjusting to how close the script was to being real.
They rounded the corner toward the backyard. Sunlight spilled across the tiled patio, glinting off the pool like a movie set waiting for cameras. Vinny was barefoot, reclined at the edge with a bottle of white wine resting near his foot, sunglasses on, living in full myth-mode. E stood nearby, buttoned-up as usual, trying to look more serious than he probably felt.
Ari was pacing behind them, phone at his ear, ripping through someone on the other end like they'd personally insulted his family and missed a deadline.
Samuel followed the others out. The script was still in his hand.
Vinny looked up first. "Look who finally shows."
Samuel gave a nod, stepping over to hand him the stack. "Figured you'd want to see it before the weekend."
"You weren't supposed to finish this fast," Vinny said, eyeing the top page. "Pirates of the Caribbean?" He said it like a question. E glanced over, mildly surprised.
Samuel stayed even. "Yeah. It's direct. Clear. People know what they're walking into."
He didn't say the rest: that in his old world, the title came from a theme park ride and somehow became a billion-dollar franchise. Not exactly a detail he could share.
Vinny flipped the first few pages. "So this is it. The one that's supposed to make me forget Medellín."
"That's the idea," Samuel said, his voice steady. "Medellín had too much story for a single movie—it was always going to feel rushed or incomplete. I built this one differently. The world's still big, but it's contained. The arc is cleaner, the characters sharper, and the villains? They're the kind you don't forget. Some of them, I think you'll like more than you should."
Vinny leaned in, focused now. "You think there's a part in here that'll hit like Pablo?"
Samuel nodded. "I wrote Jack with you in mind."
Vinny raised an eyebrow. "Jack Sparrow?"
E glanced up, slightly puzzled. "That's the myth one, right? You said he's not in any official records?"
"Exactly," Samuel said, leaning forward a little. "He's the pirate everyone talks about but no one can pin down. Half the historians think he didn't exist. The other half think he stole someone else's ship and legend. But he's out there—in sea logs, rumors, jail records. Always on the edges."
He let the weight of that settle before continuing. "The reason I picked him? He's the only one who doesn't change. He's the same chaos at the start and end, but somehow, he pulls everyone into his orbit. He's drunk, unpredictable, kind of ridiculous at times—but people underestimate him because of that. And then suddenly, his insane plan works. Not because he outmuscles anyone—but because he out-weirds them. He stumbles into success, but it always feels intentional."
Vinny smirked. "So I'm the guy who doesn't grow?"
"You're the guy who doesn't have to," Samuel said, more certain now. "You're the gravity. The momentum. Everyone else bends or breaks around Jack—but Jack? Jack just sails through."
For a second, Vinny didn't say anything. Just kept flipping. Samuel caught the way his brow shifted—curious, not sold yet, but leaning in.
Ari finally stepped away from his call and clapped a hand on Samuel's shoulder like he was a prized investment. "You really wrote this whole thing in what, five days?"
Samuel nodded.
Ari let out a low whistle, flipping through the first few pages. "Alright, prodigy. Let's see if it's actually good."He glanced up, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Because if this is what you come up with in five days for your first script… I can't even imagine what the tenth one's gonna look like. Might have to retire early and just live off your royalties."
Samuel stepped back, motioning to the script. "I'll let you read. Ask if you've got questions."
He started toward the patio steps—already knowing he wouldn't be able to stand still while they read.
As Samuel wandered toward the side yard, he noticed the grass near the hedge was worn down—soft patches of dirt pocked with small divots, like someone had missed their mark more than a few times. A few practice arrows were still lodged crookedly near a tree, none of them particularly close to the faded bullseye target leaning against it.
"Yo!" Drama called from behind, holding up a bow like it was part of his daily uniform. "Before they get all movie-genius on this—come check out my shot. I've been practicing."
Samuel raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the tree. "Yeah… I can tell. You brought your bow?"
Drama grinned, unabashed. "You said archery. I heard audition."
Samuel laughed under his breath. "Let's go."
They walked off together, leaving the soft rustle of turning pages behind them.
They walked across the sunlit yard. A few old target boards leaned against a tree, riddled with holes. The grass was torn in places, the dirt worn down in a shallow arc that curved just right—like someone had spent serious time here.
Samuel let out a short breath. "You've been practicing."
Drama nodded proudly. "Every morning. Even skipped leg day for this."
Samuel picked up a practice arrow, tested the shaft between his fingers, and glanced at the bow. "You've been drawing too far back. That's why your arrows dip. You're overpowering your own aim."
Drama blinked. "I thought power was the point."
Samuel stepped beside him. "Precision first. Then power. It's not about hitting hard. It's about hitting exactly where you mean to."
He pointed to a mark just left of the bullseye. "You were aiming there, right?"
Drama's eyes widened. "Yeah."
Samuel handed the arrow back. "Then do it again. Smooth draw. Hold the line."
Drama adjusted his grip, lined up his shot, and let the arrow fly. It hit just a few inches off target—better than before.
Samuel nodded. "Not bad."
Drama grinned. "So, about my character…"
Samuel stepped back as Drama nocked another arrow, eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Okay," Samuel said, watching his stance. "So you remember—you're part of the villain crew. One half of the chaotic duo."
Drama let the arrow fly. It curved a little, but landed closer to the center than last time.
He gave a proud little nod. "Chaotic duo. Right. Still love that."
Samuel picked up another arrow and handed it over. "Yeah, but not the scary type. You're not evil—you're just... off. In a fun way. Like two guys who think they're crushing it, but can't quite get it together."
Drama smirked. "Lovable pirates with a talent for failing upwards."
"Exactly," Samuel said. "And you're the one with the glass eye, remember? It falls out at the worst times. Mid-fight, mid-speech, you name it."
Drama blinked. "Wait, that's still in?"
"Absolutely," Samuel said, trying not to laugh. "It's your thing. Audiences eat that stuff up. At first it's comic relief, but then they start rooting for you. Like, real investment. You're the goofy pirate that surprises everyone."
Drama drew the bow again, slower this time. "So not just a background clown."
"No. You're the one they quote after the movie," Samuel said, more sincere now. "You and your duo partner are gonna steal half the scenes. You've got a whole arc. Just takes people a while to realize it."
Drama grinned as he loosed the arrow. "You sure I'm not the lead?"
Samuel raised an eyebrow. "If you start hitting the bullseye, we'll talk."
From their distance, he could still see the group at the pool. E leaned forward with one hand against his forehead, reading faster now. Ari had taken over a chair beside him and was flipping through his own copy, mumbling to himself. Every now and then he pointed something out to Vinny, who responded with a grin or a soft laugh. It was impossible to hear what they were saying—but the posture, the energy—it wasn't casual.
They were invested.
Drama knocked another arrow. "What about Vinny? Which guy is he?"
Samuel didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on the still surface of the pool, the way the sunlight danced across it, as if the words needed a moment to form right.
Finally, he spoke—low, thoughtful. "Will's a great role. Heartfelt. Solid. He's got the clean arc, the emotional core. People will root for him."
Drama tilted his head. "But?"
Samuel turned back, his voice softening. "But Jack… Jack's the one they'll remember. He doesn't change, not really. He stays the same, floats through the chaos, and somehow still becomes the center of everything. He's the weird gravity that pulls the story together."
Drama grinned like he'd already known where this was going. "Vinny's got the charm for that."
Samuel didn't argue. He just folded his arms, watching as the next arrow sailed wide again.
"Shit," Drama muttered. "Still off."
"You've got time," Samuel said, nodding toward the tree. "You're locked in for the first one. Just stick the landing before the sequel."
Drama cracked a smile. "No pressure."
Behind them, the laughter from the pool got a little louder.
And for the first time all afternoon, Samuel let himself smile without thinking too hard about it.
Samuel wandered back toward the patio, catching the tail end of someone laughing. Turtle slapped the table, half-choking on his drink while Drama mimicked a sword fight with invisible enemies. The script still lay open, scattered across lounge chairs and a nearby table.
"Alright, which scene did I miss?" Samuel asked as he walked back into view, eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Vinny didn't look up from the page. He just tapped it with the back of his pen, eyes still scanning. "Jack's entrance at the port. Standing proud on a sinking boat like it's just another Tuesday."
E chuckled, glancing at Samuel. "And then the officer hits him with, 'You are without a doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of,' and Jack doesn't even flinch—just fires back, 'But you have heard of me.'"
Turtle pointed at the page over E's shoulder. "That's the trailer shot, no doubt. That line's gonna be on t-shirts."
Drama smirked. "Please. That's the Halloween costume. Drunk swagger, beads, eyeliner—you just made Spirit Halloween a fortune."
Samuel smiled faintly, folding his arms. "Glad you're enjoying it."
E flipped ahead a few more pages. "Also, the ship stuff's great. That Black Pearl versus Interceptor sequence? The build-up, the cannon standoff, the fake-out boarding—that's blockbuster material."
Ari, who had finally set his phone down, leaned back in his chair. "That scene has merchandise written all over it. Two iconic ships, wild maneuvering, just enough chaos to make it feel real—but stylized enough to make it unforgettable."
Samuel nodded, heart quietly hammering in his chest. He wasn't used to this—people talking seriously about something he wrote. People excited. People seeing what he saw.
But for now, he just kept listening.
Ari stood just off to the side, arms crossed now, the phone finally put away. "We've got something here. This is a world, not just a movie. I see merch. I see a prequel. I see theme nights and pop-up bars."
Vinny chuckled. "Let's start with a camera, Ari."
"I'm serious," Ari said, snapping his fingers. "This script? It breathes. Every small character, every scene—there's detail. There's expansion."
Samuel leaned against the railing, watching them. He felt steadier now. The initial nerves had worn off, replaced by a grounded buzz.
E looked up from the pages, tapping his finger thoughtfully against the script. "Will Turner's a great role. Solid arc, clear motivation. He's the moral compass, the guy the audience is supposed to root for. It's clean. It's safe. If this were a studio pick, they'd push you for him without blinking."
He glanced at Vinny. "You've played versions of this guy before—the dependable lead, the heartthrob with something to prove. Will fits the mold."
"But Jack's the heart," Vinny said, quieter this time. "He's the reason people come back. You can feel the chaos orbiting around him—even when he's doing nothing, it's like the story bends to him."
He looked at Samuel, more serious now. "That's what I wanted with Medellín. Not just a good role—a role people talk about after. A role that defines the movie."
Samuel nodded. "He's the constant. Everyone else shifts—he just keeps being Jack."
Ari turned toward Samuel with a sudden sharpness. "How the hell did you come up with all of this? You write like someone with ten movies under your belt."
Ari leaned back, eyes scanning the last page. "How the hell does a kid your age write something like this?"
Samuel shrugged. "I watch a lot of movies."
Used to, anyway.Not here. Not in this weird rerun life where everyone thinks they're the first to discover a plot twist.Back then, movies were background noise. A distraction.Now? Apparently, they made him a prodigy.
If they were going to take this seriously, he figured he might as well go all in.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a few folded sheets—thick paper, edges curled from being handled too much. As he laid them flat across the table, the sketches caught the light: a broad-decked ship with black sails trimmed in green, its figurehead carved like a half-drowned siren. A compass with no needle, the casing cracked and uneven. Outfits with layered belts, mismatched buttons, tattered cuffs that spoke of style and survival both.
"These are what I imagined," Samuel said, smoothing the pages. "Ship designs. Character outfits. The compass."
Drama leaned in, eyes widening. "These look like production stills. From your brain?"
Vinny ran a finger across the edge of the ship's sketch. E glanced between the sheets and the script, visibly impressed.
Ari, silent for once, just whistled under his breath.
Drama tapped the drawing of the one-eyed pirate with a tattered red sash and a wild grin. "This guy's definitely me, right?"
Samuel gave a small nod. "That's the plan."
"I love it," Drama said, half to himself. "The jacket's got range. Like, theatrical range."
Vinny leaned over the compass design, tracing the crooked etching at its base. "No needle?"
Samuel smirked. "Points to what the holder wants most. Story's built around it."
Ari muttered, "You're out of your goddamn mind—in a good way. Merch alone on this compass…" He didn't finish the thought, just shook his head and pulled out his phone again.
E looked over the ship art. "Is this the Interceptor?"
Samuel pointed to the sleeker one. "That's her. The other one's the Black Pearl."
"Pearl's a beast," E said. "Looks cursed even before you know it is."
Vinny grinned. "That's what I'm talkin' about. You see that ship, you know it's trouble."
They lingered on the images a moment longer. The mood had shifted again—less hype, more weight. The kind that came with realizing this might actually work.
Samuel leaned back, steadying his voice. "So… what's my share?"
Ari didn't miss a beat. "I'll send a contract to your place tonight. Lloyd's already prepping the paperwork."
Samuel raised an eyebrow. "That fast?"
Ari didn't blink. "You delivered. Now it's my turn. But I can't sell it unless Vinny says yes."
Vinny tilted his head, still looking at the sketch of the compass. His fingers brushed the page like he could already feel the fabric of the coat beneath it."I'm already picturing myself in this coat," he said, a grin spreading. "The boots. The bandolier. The chaos."
He looked up, voice clearer. "Yeah, I'm in."
He leaned back, still holding the page. "This isn't just good—it's fun. That thing Medellín was supposed to be? This one actually is. Better story. Better pace. And Jack?" He tapped the sketch again. "Jack's the role people remember."
E glanced up from the script, raising an eyebrow. "You don't even know your lines."
"I'll learn them on the boat," Vinny said, unfazed.
Ari clapped his hands once, loud and sharp. "Then we're moving. I'm making calls. If Vinny's in, the whole game shifts."
Samuel took a step back, letting the conversation flow around him. He looked at the pool, at the pages in their hands, and the sketches laid out across the table. His work—his ideas—were being passed around, read, analyzed, and discussed. And they weren't crumbling under the weight of expectation. They were holding. Thriving, even.
He never imagined it would feel like this.
In his past life, movies had been a distraction—something to put on in the background, a way to pass time during long evenings or lonely weekends. He'd never thought of them as anything more than comfort noise. He certainly never thought that all those hours—watching, rewatching, dissecting characters and arcs for fun—would mean anything.
But here, in this strange, second-chance life, that noise had become fuel. What had once been passive now made him look like a prodigy. And maybe that was the strangest part: no one here had lived those stories before. He had.
He glanced at Vinny, who was still admiring the compass sketch like it belonged in a museum. Barefoot, wine bottle at his side, lounging in the sun with friends who treated the next big project like a summer plan. It was effortless for him—just another day, another idea worth chasing.
Samuel felt a flicker of envy. Not for the fame, or even the house, but for how natural it all seemed. Like creating was supposed to feel this free. Like this was the kind of life people dreamed of without realizing some people were already living it.
And now, somehow, he was part of it. His script. His story.
It didn't feel real. But for the first time, he wasn't waiting for it to fall apart. He was starting to believe it might actually go somewhere.
The mood had shifted by the time they moved inside. The sun-drenched energy of the poolside reading lingered in the background like the aftertaste of champagne—pleasant, fizzy, fading. Inside, the air was cooler, quieter. The laughter settled into relaxed conversation, the kind that came after something big had already happened.
Samuel found himself trailing slightly behind the others as they stepped into the villa's expansive open-plan living room. The marble floors gleamed beneath his sneakers, and the muted hum of the ocean played against the tall glass windows. He'd been here before, but it still hit different. Not for the house itself—he barely noticed the walls—but because of what had just happened outside.
They were still talking about the script.
"I mean, Jack's whole entrance on the sinking boat?" Vinny said, shaking his head. "That's gotta be one of the best openings I've seen on paper."
Samuel smirked. "He's chaos in a hat. But it works because everyone else is trying to make sense of him. You never fully catch up."
Vinny stood and took an exaggerated step forward, wobbling slightly on purpose. "Been practicing the walk, by the way." He staggered dramatically across the patio like a man three drinks in but still somehow in control, lifting an imaginary hat to an invisible crew. "Captain Jack... Vinny."
Drama let out a laugh, slapping his knee. "You look like you just lost a fight with a chair."
E rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "And this is the guy we're trusting to lead a billion-dollar franchise."
Vinny pointed at them with a lazy sway. "Hey, it's a process."
Drama jumped in, puffing his chest slightly. "And while he's stumbling around, just know—I'm about to be the best damn pirate the world's ever seen."
There was a beat of silence, then Turtle snorted. "You'll be the guy who sinks the dinghy before the first raid."
"Or loses his glass eye and blames the parrot," E added.
Drama raised a hand. "That's character development, baby."
Samuel just leaned back, arms crossed, enjoying the banter. "Pretty sure you're the heart of the villain crew. Not because you're good, but because you're too entertaining to kill off."
Drama grinned, unfazed. "I'll take it."
E poured a drink from the bar and leaned back against the counter. "Still can't believe this came out of a high school kid."
"Don't let the backpack fool you," Ari said from near the door, grabbing his coat. "He's a freakin' anomaly."
"Just make sure my cut's big," Samuel said, half-turning toward Ari with a dry smile.
Ari didn't blink. "You'll get your percentage. Lloyd's already on the paperwork. We go over it Monday—no signatures without me."
Samuel nodded, but his eyes were already drifting. The moment felt less surreal than he expected. Maybe because some part of him had been waiting for it. Or maybe because another part didn't fully believe it yet.
Vinny gave him a nudge. "You earned this. Seriously."
Samuel didn't answer right away. He stood by the tall window, watching the ocean shimmer in the distance. It felt too smooth. Too clean.
In his last life, big breaks always came tangled—bad contracts, cheap rewrites, producers who swore they'd call and never did. He wanted to believe this was different. That he could be different. Smarter. Sharper.
But deep down, something still whispered—this couldn't be it. Not yet. Not the peak. Just the start of something bigger.
Samuel exhaled slowly, then said, "If this works… trust me, it's only the beginning."
Vinny grinned. "Good. Because after this? I want the sequel."
Drama raised his glass from the couch. "To pirates and broken eye sockets!"
Laughter rolled through the room. Even Samuel cracked a smile, the kind that didn't feel forced. There was a quiet warmth in his chest now—nerves giving way to something steadier. Hopeful, maybe even proud.
Turtle reappeared, holding a blazer over one arm. "Beach club's set. Rooftop view, velvet rope, real LA shit. You coming, Sam?"
Samuel hesitated for just a moment, eyes flicking between the script pages still resting on the table, the sketches, the guys around him. It was all happening. All of it.
He gave a small nod. "Yeah. I'm in."
They all started moving at once—grabbing jackets, downing drinks, riding the buzz of a win. Samuel followed them out, steps light, the air cooler now as evening crept in.
He didn't know exactly what came next.
But for the first time in a long time—he was ready to celebrate it.