Fable Weaver
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DOS Ch-253
🕑 Added 2025-07-07 23:03:39 +0000 UTCI walked beside Tobias through what was supposed to be the Los Angeles office for my production house, Phoenix. The company might have been registered in London, but if I wanted to seriously tap into American entertainment, where the big bucks lay, I needed to maintain a presence in Hollywood. Still, since I came here so rarely, the place didn’t feel familiar. It felt more like visiting someone else’s office than stepping into my own.
The space itself wasn’t the most impressive or luxurious I had seen, but it worked well enough. I could have easily spent a few million dollars to build something permanent and showy, something worthy of bearing my name. And that will happen eventually, but for now, that money was better spent elsewhere—on my people. I currently paid the highest wages in the industry, and word had gotten around. From fresh interns to top executives, everyone wanted to jump ship and join us. The only bottleneck was scale. We weren’t producing enough content yet, as compared to a big studio.
Hopefully, that will change soon.
As we walked through one of the main work areas, I felt a sudden shift in the air. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. It was like a unicorn had walked in.
“Holy shit! It’s Troy. I thought I’d never get to see him in person,” someone squeaked. I glanced toward the voice and saw a girl in her early twenties practically vibrating with excitement. The moment our eyes met, she let out a high-pitched scream and collapsed into her office chair, looking dazed.
I chuckled. Technically, workplace decorum should be maintained, but I’d let this one slide. It was my first visit here in nearly a year, after all. The team had expanded a lot from what I last remembered.
“Hey, guys,” I said, waving with a grin to the people still frozen in awe. “As much as I’d love to chat with all of you right now, I’ve got some things to discuss with your top bosses. But we’ll have an informal meeting in about an hour, so be ready, yeah?”
The room buzzed with excitement. Heads bobbed in eager agreement as I motioned for Tobias to continue leading the way. Benji trailed behind, keeping pace silently.
Halfway down the corridor, a woman in her fifties with stylish glasses and confident energy approached us with a bright smile. She extended her hand.
“Good to see you again, Troy,” she said warmly.
“Good to see you too, Gwen,” I replied, shaking the hand of Gwendolyn Morgan, my current CEO. I tilted my head toward the glass cabin we had stopped in front of. “Let’s have a conversation inside.”
We entered what was technically my office, though it was mostly bare save for some bare minimum furniture and my name plaque on the door. I rarely used the space, for obvious reasons, and it showed.
I sank into the soft leather couch while the others took their seats around me.
“Give it to me,” I said, gesturing for Gwen to begin.
She exchanged a look with Tobias, who motioned for her to take over the meeting.
“We’re having a great year so far,” she began enthusiastically. “First, we had [Juno], which grossed nearly $240 million on a $7 million production budget and $25 million in marketing. After everything—including TV rights and home video sales—we’ve made profits north of $150 million.”
“That’s great,” I said with a nod. “What else?”
“[Twilight]’s done amazing,” she continued. “You already know it grossed $505 million globally. I still don’t understand exactly what those teen girls see in that film, but hey, business is business, right?”
“And the profits?” I asked.
“$130 million after accounting for its $35 million budget and $45 million spent on marketing,” Gwen replied. “But that’s just from the theatrical release. We haven’t even started the home video rollout, and the TV broadcast rights haven’t been sold yet either. Our best estimates project that the final figure will hit at least $300 million by the time everything’s said and done.”
That was huge. Seriously huge. Almost double what [Juno] had earned—and [Juno] had already been a breakout success. The beauty of it was that these numbers would only grow over time. It was the perfect example of passive income. That’s how most major studios built their empires.
I turned to Tobias, my tone shifting into something firmer and more direct. “I’ll talk to Evan and get the ball rolling on [Eclipse]. He can direct it.”
Tobias responded with a sharp nod, his expression neutral but focused.
Truthfully, I would’ve preferred to shoot [Eclipse] and both parts of [Breaking Dawn] back-to-back. It would have saved a lot of money on production costs and time. But Evan, despite being talented, was still relatively untested when it came to handling a franchise of this magnitude. Giving him [Eclipse] as a trial made more sense. If he proved himself, then I could hand him the reins to [Breaking Dawn] with confidence.
“What about [17 Again]?” I asked next.
“The principal photography is done,” Tobias answered. “Post-production has already started. We can have a rough cut ready for you in a month if you’re interested.”
“Sure,” I said with a nod, satisfied with the timeline. Then I turned back to Gwen. “Now let’s talk about your specialty—TV. How’s that doing?”
Her grin widened. If she looked any more pleased, her face might have cracked.
“Perfect,” she said brightly. “Actually, more than perfect. [Breaking Bad] has received rave reviews, and our other three shows have all been sold successfully. [True Blood] to HBO, [Sons of Anarchy] to FX, and [The Mentalist] to CBS, all of which would premiere in September. Of those three, only CBS is in a position to order a full 23-episode season for [The Mentalist]. If they do, we’re estimating at least $200 million in revenue for the first year alone.”
She paused before adding with a proud glint in her eye, “I have to say, your taste in TV shows is amazing.”
“Thank you,” I said with a small smile, inclining my head. “But none of this would’ve been possible without you taking charge of production alongside Tobias.”
Tobias had learned a lot about film production over the years, but when it came to television, he was still getting his feet wet. That’s where Gwen had stepped in. When I made the decision to aggressively scale Phoenix’s TV division to build a strong early presence in the streaming space, I had allocated a hefty $150 million to make it happen. Every cent went into developing these four series—each chosen because I knew they had the potential to become audience favorites.
The real challenge had been finding the right executive to oversee it all.
I had offered the position to my mother first. She would have been perfect for it. But she didn’t want to leave my dad behind in the UK, and he wasn’t willing to move until the last [Harry Potter] film was finished and behind us. So I had to look elsewhere and eventually selected a temporary CEO who could serve the studio’s needs.
Gwen was the right fit. She had decades of experience in American television, having produced tens of thousands of hours of content over the course of her career. More importantly, she was nearing retirement and wanted to leave the industry with a bang.
And what a bang it would be—heading the studio that produced both [Breaking Bad] and [True Blood] in the same year.
“Alright,” I said after mentally crunching the numbers, “so we’ll be looking at roughly half a billion in profits from all the movie and TV projects we did this year.”
Both Gwen and Tobias listened closely as I shifted into a more serious tone.
“After setting aside money for bonuses and salaries, I want the rest invested back into creating good quality content,” I said. “Get me more scripts, but only for production. I’m not even considering anything for me, acting-wise, until Potter is over. And keep a healthy budget for Oscar-bait films. We need critical prestige along with commercial success.”
Tobias tilted his head. “What about [Game of Thrones]? Weren’t you producing that too?”
I grit my teeth, trying to control the wave of frustration.
“HBO stalled it,” I said tightly. “They weren’t satisfied with how things were shaping up and wanted more work done on the script. Apparently, it didn’t justify the budget.”
Originally, it was supposed to be a joint venture between HBO and my family. But now, I had no intention of going back to them. My parents, who still held the rights, had agreed to wait a bit longer so we could take the project to Netflix instead. But the production on that would be stalled until after [Harry Potter].
Every other show I produced this year had to go the traditional broadcast route because Netflix wasn’t ready yet for direct releases at this scale. But if I hadn’t stepped in to produce those series, someone else would have. I was hoping that by next year, things would finally align, and we could begin serious work on the show with the aim of releasing it directly on Netflix, making it our first and biggest show ever.
I took a breath, pushed that thought aside, and moved on. “Any issues with the office or the staff?” I asked Gwen.
“Not really,” she replied, her tone neutral but firm. “We let go of two employees last week, one man and one woman, in line with your zero-tolerance policy on harassment.”
She crossed one leg over the other as she continued. “The man was a lecher who promised a supporting role to an actress in exchange for favors. The woman, on the other hand, was creating a toxic environment, forcing her team to stay late for no reason, and giving them poor evaluations even when their work was solid.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“They’re likely to sue us. The woman definitely will,” Gwen added. “But I’m not worried. We’ve got documented proof in both cases. Still, the rest of the staff is a bit shaken up. Both of them held fairly senior roles. It would help morale if you could say a few words to the team before you leave.”
“Sure,” I said with a nod. “I was planning to do that anyway.”
Today was my last ‘free’ day, after all. Tomorrow was the New York premiere of [The Dark Knight], and once that was done, I’d be flying back to London to begin filming [Deathly Hallows] with Alfonso Cuarón and the entire team.
Honestly, I had been enjoying this brief stretch of quiet, flying under the radar with no press hounding me, especially before the release of one of my movies. I could definitely get used to it.
But I knew it wasn’t meant to last.
(Break)
Austin was pumped for the release of [The Dark Knight]. [Batman Begins] was hands down his favorite superhero movie to date, and he would’ve gone to see its sequel even without Warner Bros.’ massive marketing campaign.
But if he was honest, what had him the most curious—just like everyone else—was the mystery surrounding the Joker’s identity.
It all started the previous year at a Comic-Con panel, one he had attended with a couple of friends. The DC panel had been packed, as always, and toward the end, they unveiled a teaser for the upcoming film. It wasn’t much—just a short fifteen-second clip showcasing glimpses of the major characters: Batman, Rachel Dawes, Harvey Dent, James Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, and Lucius Fox.
Then came the moment that sent chills down everyone’s spine.
The screen faded to black, and the teaser ended with a single sound: a hollow, chilling laugh that echoed eerily, just as Bruce Wayne frowned in the final frame.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was meant to be. [Batman Begins] had already hinted at the Joker’s arrival in the sequel. But strangely, no actor had been credited or introduced as playing him.
Austin had scanned the panel carefully. All the main cast members were seated in a neat row on the stage, but there was no sign of anyone representing the Joker.
Then someone in the crowd raised their voice. “Mr. Nolan! Who’s playing the Joker in [The Dark Knight]?”
Director Christopher Nolan smiled politely before leaning toward the microphone. “I’m not at liberty to disclose that right now,” he said calmly. “What I can tell you is that we’ve cast the perfect actor for the role.”
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd.
“Why all the secrecy?” another fan asked.
Nolan’s smile grew. “The Joker is an enigma,” he explained. “His motives, his actions, his logic—or lack thereof—they’re unpredictable. So we decided to reflect that in his casting. The actor we’ve chosen agreed to remain anonymous throughout production. In fact, aside from me, no one on this stage knows who he really is.”
He gestured to the rest of the panel, and oddly enough, several cast members nodded in agreement.
That moment cemented Austin’s obsession.
He loved it when filmmakers didn’t just create a movie but built an entire experience around it. The Joker, to him, was already larger than life. Not knowing the actor behind the makeup meant he could watch the film without any preconceived notions. He wouldn’t see a celebrity—he’d see the character, pure and unfiltered.
Not everyone agreed with him. Some of his friends thought the whole thing was a gimmick. But Austin didn’t care. To him, this was art done right.
And even if the mystery hadn’t hooked people, the relentless marketing surely would have. Warner Bros. had gone all in. It began with the distribution of campaign buttons and badges that read Harvey Dent for Mayor, each one had a link to a website named IBelieveInHarveyDent.
Curious fans who visited the site found themselves pulled into an elaborate puzzle—a fully interactive alternate reality game. Austin had jumped in headfirst, along with hundreds of thousands of people worldwide.
That digital trail eventually led to another website.
WhySoSerious.
That was the website that gave fans their first glimpse of the Joker. The front page featured a semi-realistic image of his face—distorted, stylized, and unsettling with his white makeup, complete with ruby red lips and dark eyes. It wasn’t a full reveal, but it was enough to make it clear who the true villain of the film would be.
The site also featured another interactive alternate reality game. And this time, completing it unlocked something special—something unforgettable.
It led to one of the most iconic scenes in cinema history.
A beautifully shot sequence of a bank robbery. The tension, the pacing, the atmosphere—it was masterful. In the scene, the Joker orchestrates a brutal heist, killing off each of his accomplices one by one and making off with the entire haul of cash for himself. But just as he is about to lift his mask and reveal his face, the scene cuts to black.
It was maddening. Bold, certainly. But also a little frustrating. For fans like Austin, it was hard to believe Warner Bros. would pull a move like that—teasing just enough to inflame excitement but holding back the payoff.
Still, the strategy worked. Demand for the film hit a fever pitch. Advance tickets for the Thursday night preview sold out within an hour of going live across major theater chains. Austin had tried to get in—but he was busy that day and missed his chance.
Then something unbelievable happened.
A letter arrived in the mail.
“Congratulations! For being one of the first ever to complete the hunt for the Joker, you are cordially invited to the premiere of [The Dark Knight].”
Inside the envelope were two glossy tickets to the official premiere, where Christian Bale and the rest of the cast would be in attendance.
Austin was ecstatic. He had never been to a movie premiere before.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Marissa said breathlessly as they stepped inside the grand auditorium where the film would be screened, hours before the rest of the world got to see it. “I would have preferred a different movie, but a premiere is a premiere, I guess.”
Austin’s only regret was telling Marissa about the tickets. His original plan had been to invite his best friend, Eric, a lifelong comic book nerd who worshipped Batman. But Marissa had assumed she was going, and he hadn’t been able to say no without causing a scene.
“You didn’t have to come,” Austin said, trying not to sound too annoyed. “Eric literally cried when he found out.”
“He’s a big baby. He’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Marissa replied breezily. “Now let’s see if we can spot some celebrities.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “OMG! Is that Blake Lively and Penn Badgley from [Gossip Girl]? I love that show!”
Austin let out a quiet sigh and moved toward his assigned seat. Unlike standard theaters, seating at premieres was pre-assigned. You couldn’t move around or mingle freely with the celebrities.
He turned to the older man seated beside him. “Sup, man? You win a contest too?”
The man smiled and extended a hand. “No, I’m a film critic for The New York Post. Rod.”
Austin shook his hand. “Austin.”
Before they could say more, an announcement came from the theater speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to remind you that you are not permitted to release any details about the film until tomorrow,” a man—likely from Warner Bros.—said firmly from the front of the auditorium. “That includes reviews or even hints at spoilers, especially the identity of the Joker.”
Austin shrugged. He had no intention of spoiling anything anyway. And all his friends already had tickets to watch the preview tonight, so he didn’t know anyone to spoil it for.
Then, at last, the lights dimmed and the film began.
It opened with the very scene Austin had already watched online—the bank heist. But this time, it was different. Projected in full IMAX, the sequence came alive in stunning scale and clarity. Every frame was rich with detail. The tension hit harder. The visuals were sharper.
It was the perfect opening to what he could already tell would be a great movie.
Comments
zefur
So cruel!!! You do us so dirty Fable. Please write quick.
Fable Weaver
1. Lactose intolerant here, so no milk for me 2. I'm doing a low-carb diet, so no toast either. 3. I use AirPods, so no tangling. 4. Playlist skipping would actually be bad, but I'll manage. 5. Who uses pens nowadays? It's been months since I have had to use one. 6. I don't wear socks in this climate. I prefer open-toed slippers. 7. I'm not into hot beverages, I prefer shakes and cold coffees. (Have you seen the heat outside?) 8. Dessert... I'll live. I prefer savory over sweets any day. 9. When I sleep, I sleep like a log, no guilt.
Hersh Jobanputra
Oh, Fable. I knew you were going to pull this stunt. That’s why I didn’t read the chapter when it came out. I knew—knew—you were going to stretch it. That you’d take the aftermath, the very thing we were all perched on the edge of our emotional cliffs waiting for, and you’d dangle it just out of reach like some kind of cruel, over-caffeinated puppeteer. “I’ll give them reactions,” you said, probably. “Just not yet. First, let me make them sit through a full chapter of vibes, glances, silence, and dramatic atmospheric tension.” And I—fool that I am—held off. I resisted. I kept telling myself, don’t read it yet, he’s going to do exactly what you think he’s going to do. But then the temptation got to me. The curiosity clawed its way in. I gave in. And you know what? You didn’t disappoint. In the exact way I expected you to disappoint me. I know your pattern now. I see the wheels turning. You’re not unpredictable. You’re not mysterious. You are a menace with a keyboard and a penchant for emotional delay tactics. So here’s what I wish upon you, with all the warmth of a reader lovingly unhinged: I hope your cereal-to-milk ratio gets ruined because you poured the milk second and it splashes everywhere. I hope your toast is golden on the outside and tragically soggy on the inside like a betrayal disguised as breakfast. I hope your earbuds tangle into a physics-defying knot that takes 17 minutes to undo. I hope your favorite playlist skips just as the beat drops. I hope your pen runs out of ink mid-signature. I hope your socks are damp but not enough to justify taking them off—just enough to ruin your mood. I hope your tea cools down right before you take the first sip. And I especially hope someone eats your favorite dessert from the fridge and says, “Oh, I didn’t see your name on it.” But mostly, I hope you lie awake tonight, smiling at your cleverness, and then suddenly remember the reactions you didn’t give us— and feel just the tiniest flicker of guilt. We’re onto you, Fable. You can’t hide behind ellipses and scene fades forever. Warmest regards and the loudest sighs, Your exasperated, still-loyal reader.
