Mad Max

Author's note: I now have a p-word as you all know, so if you feel like reading 5 advanced chapters at the measly price of $3, then do join. The link is in this book's bio, or you can just search 'Archonstine' followed by p-word on your browser.

Also, join my discord will ya? For movie and tv-show recommendations and character images. And also it's the one place where I ask you all for suggestions. The link is in this book's bio.

P.S, donate some power stones while you're at it. And maybe... write up a review?

P.P.S, THIS CHAPTER WAS SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED BEFORE 'FAMILY GUY', BUT EVIDENTLY, I GOOFED UP. SO APOLOGIES AND HERE YOU GO.

12th May 1997 (Monday)

Ricky Stirling (POV)

Thud - Thud - Thud - Thud

The sound of my feet hitting the treadmill rhythmically filled the air, as I continued my daily workout.

An intensive workout for sure, but one that solely consisted of cardio.

I ran and ran at a steady 35 km/hr, maintaining my pace and synchronization with pinpoint accuracy effortlessly.

2 minutes later after my stamina had gotten dangerously low, I jumped off the treadmill, and proceeded to switch it off for the day.

[You have been afflicted with the status effect: Sore muscles

Your Quadriceps, Hamstrings, Calves, Glutes and Hip Flexors are experiencing mild soreness.

Status Effect Timer: 17 hours, 59 minutes, 59 seconds]

And… the timer started.

I grab a canister, half-filled with banana milkshake, filled with a teaspoon of honey, and a few crushed dates… the perfect drink to make me think my stomach's full, but it's really not.

It's a key component of my diet, to achieve calorie deficit, all in the grand quest of reducing my weight and musculature.

Yeah… I know. It sucks, but you gotta do what you gotta do. And me? I'm gonna play a thin wiry kid, who runs scams, and Not 'a Greek demigod', as my fitness instructor remarked upon seeing my shredded body in full.

I took it as a back-handed compliment of course, but it's been a week since I started to lose my muscles, and gain some visceral fat by eating 3 packets of chips daily… and I hate it already.

Why? Because my shredded physique was a point of pride for me… a constant in my life, that filled me with self confidence. And now because of a movie role, I'm gonna have to lose it.

Undergoing this process, I'm filled with nothing but the utmost respect for one, Christian Bale. A man, whose accomplishments always impressed the common populace including me, but quite a few dismissed them as a result of Bale having money and facilities to accomplish his physical transformations, not to mention it was a part of his job description.

But only after experiencing a part of it in a controlled manner, do I realize the mental toll it would have taken on him, to do what he managed to do so diligently.

It's only been a week yet. And I'm pretty sure in a month or so, my respect will gradually turn to reverence.

After the workout, I take a cold shower to rejuvenate my body, and relieve the symptoms of my soreness a little, before putting on my clothes… a trendy shirt, with a black jacket on top, and navy blue jeans underneath.

I grab my helmet and gloves, before making my way to my motorcycle… oh yeah. I bought a motorcycle, and what a beauty it was.

A '97 Harley Davidson Softail… I never planned on getting one really, even though I had got the license back when I was 16.

I always saw them as death traps for one, and so I hesitated to climb atop one, let alone ride one.

But after my new-found perspective on life… well I figured.

Why not live a little? I had not felt the wind crashing on my face in a long while, as adrenaline pumped in my veins whenever I sped up… the drum of the engine, cranking up the cool factor by 10.

I loved it.

My dad did not.

But I'm 19, nearing 20, and already a multi-millionaire, so who cares?

Just as I'm about to start the bike, my phone rang.

I picked it up, expecting Daryl to give me a status update…

"Ricky! We just got a call from Pacino's agent. He backed out. Ricky, he backed out, citing prior engagements, and his contract covers it. He doesn't have to pay a fuckin' cent, and he just left… no prior notice… Ricky? You there? CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Momentarily pulling the phone away from my ears for a second, I respond, "Yeah I can hear you… I'm on my way. Tell me everything when I get there." I finish, instantly cutting the call, not trusting myself to not start cursing like a sailor at a moment's notice.

I twist the key in the ignition, and my Harley bursts into life, roaring and everything.

After making sure everything was in order, I rode off into the morning, intent on reaching the building in under 15 minutes.

...

...

"So… let me get this straight. I showed him the script, and offered the role of Carl Hanratty… he accepted. We drafted a contract, wherein a pay bump to $1.5 million was mentioned in passing, and he took it with him, saying he'll sign it and mail it over… That was a week ago. In the meanwhile, he used the contract as FURTHER leverage… to secure a more favorable contract with a new talent agency, and is now in talks with Warner Bros, for a supporting role in a planned historical epic trilogy… Have I got that right?" I asked, my voice echoing in the meeting room.

After a tense few seconds of silence, Daryl replied, "Yes… I'm sorry Ricky-"

"He screwed me over." I said, my voice deathly calm.

"No Ricky, he screwed 'us' over… we're in this together, and frankly we can't really blame him. The trilogy? It's being developed by Ridley Scott… just saying. He obviously saw that as a better opportunity than… this one."

I glanced over at him, meeting his eyes for a second before voicing out, "Thanks Daryl. At least I've got you with me. You're still my AD for this one right?"

He nodded hastily, "Like that's a question you have to ask- of course! I've still got a lot to learn Ricky, and I'm not leaving without squeezing you dry of every little dreg of knowledge you've got stored up in that head of yours… or until I finish writing my first script, whichever comes first, then it's goodbye!" He joked.

I chuckled softly, understanding blooming in my heart, but still hurt over the fact that Pacino would just… leave.

I nod lightly, before leaping into action, "Call Davenport, we still got one more casting call to make. I'll rewrite Hanratty's dialogues that I had initially changed to fit Pacino's particular… gravitas. Also, the budget will have to be renegotiated, since we're not getting Al, I want a high-profile actor, an A-lister. If this movie's gonna dominate the winter box office, we need a household name with a clean image, who we can use from a marketing standpoint. My name is next to useless, considering all my fame and acclaim is in remote demographics, horror aficionados, sci-fi book readers, and comic book fans. We're marketing this as a family friendly film, strictly pg-13. You get what I'm saying right?"

"Loud and clear. I'll go call Davenport, tell him to come here ASAP… just one little thing. You said one more casting call… you mean 2 right?"

"No. I meant 1. Who's the 2nd?" I ask, knowing exactly what's going through his head.

"Frank's dad… I checked the rap sheet, and there was no casting call for that. I'm guessing you missed it?"

I stare at him, my face oozing the amusement I am feeling right now. "Daryl… do you really think me? Me, of all people, would miss something like that?"

"Well no, but I thought-"

"Relax, I've got it under control. I've got someone in mind for that role, and I know he won't refuse me. He can't."

Clearly bewildered at my bizarre tone, he asked, "'Who?"

In response, I just smiled knowingly, before walking out the door, leaving him in suspense for the next few hours.

…

…

"Father!" I announce heartily, as I slam open the doors to his office without any prior announcement and…

Son of a bitch.

"Dad… step away from the bottle."

My dad, caught unawares with his jittery hand about to enter the wine cabinet, is understandably startled. He looks at me, then at the bottle of whiskey, before meeting my eyes again.

Slowly, his shoulder droops, as he saunters back to his table, muttering away under his breath.

"Has this happened before?" I ask with trepidation, afraid of the answer.

He sighed in defeat, "No. No, it's just… I miss it Ricky. Not the taste, but the feeling… the numbness of it all, that reduced my stress by so many levels-"

"Except it didn't… reduce your stress I mean. It simply suppressed it, and demanded a higher toll periodically to continue keeping it suppressed, until you can no longer afford to, at the expense of your health… You know what? We'll talk about this later in front of Wyatt-" I said, enjoying the changes in his demeanor, "where you'll tell him exactly what you tried to do." The color rapidly drains from his face as he adopts a resigned look.

"I came to talk to you about something dad… that is, if you're free right now?"

"Go ahead kiddo."

"Ok, so you know the plot of my movie right? You did read the script I sent over hopefully?" Seeing him nod, I continue, "And what about the book? Did you give it a read?"

"No. Too busy for that I'm afraid." He shook his head.

"Ok, no issues. Then let me give you a little context… I changed a vital aspect of the story in the script. In the book, and real life, Frank never meets or talks to his dad after running away from home… Now, I took some creative liberty here, because I felt Frank lacked an emotional anchor to the story… so I changed the dad's role. In the script, Frank is constantly seeking his father's approval, it'll be the reason that fuels his crime spree. And so… I bumped up Frank's father's role to a supporting character, with a decent amount of dialogues, and screen time. There is a luncheon scene with Frank and his dad, and a scene where the FBI agent tries to get his dad to spill the beans on his son's whereabouts. It's a complicated role, suffice it to say, and there are several actors who I'm sure can play it to perfection." I said, before taking a breath.

"Ok, so? You want my suggestion regarding which actor or something? Maybe a recommendation?" He asks, not knowing where I was going with this line of thought.

I shake my head, a wry grin on my face as I say, "Dad… I want you to play the role."

…

After a long pause, he finally whispers, "What?"

"I want you to play the role. I'm playing the role of Frank jr., and I want you to be Frank Sr…"

He instantly shakes his head adamantly, refusing me point blank, "No. Ricky, I am not an actor! I don't know the first thing about acting! Or the second! Or the Third! And, I'm too busy, ok? I have a multi-billion company to run and I'm already spread thin as I am-"

I interrupt him firmly, "You are absolutely right! You are not an actor, not in the least… But you're a father. 'My', father. And I'm your son, I will be your son in the movie too… I believe in you, I know you can do it! It's not about the role dad, it's about… I relate with the character. I too have spent a significant amount trying to gain your approval… your praise. And I finally got it. You said it yourself, you are proud of me! Well, I want to hear those words again… in the same heartfelt manner, and I KNOW… I know how good of a performance 'I' will put on, if I know I'll have you with me… not just on that set, but rather in the scene itself… I don't want anyone else playing the role of my father other than you… just think about it." I end my monologue, as I get up from my seat. "That's all I ask… just think about it."

And with that wrapped up, I leave the room in a haste, letting him stew in the residuals of my long-time repressed emotions.

I don't care how busy he is… I want him, and no-one else to be my 'father'.

It's not logical, it's not efficient, it's not advisable by any means… but I don't care.

My decision can be interpreted in a variety of ways. It could be meta-symbolism, or being driven by melodrama… for all I know it's a method to tie in my emotions to my artform…

In the end, I don't care enough to psychoanalyze the thinking behind this impulsive resolve of mine… call it an instinct if you will, but I just know he'll provide a performance of a lifetime in this role… and I want it to be opposite me.