Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 648 - 645: Robert Downey dream

"In terms of production, this film won't involve many large-scale special effects scenes," Martin explained.

"In my view, it's not even a traditional science fiction movie. It rely uses a sci-fi setting to delve into weighty, thought-provoking issues. At its core, it's satire and criticism."

"For the cinematography, I plan to use a lot of mockuntary-style techniques and handheld carawork to enhance realism and give the audience a more objective view of the story."

"Especially in scenes involving violence and conflict—when these monts are presented through imrsive, gritty lenses—it becos impossible for the audience to just look away. My goal is to make them uncomfortable, disturbed, even furious."

"As for the budget, we won't exceed thirty million. I might even shoot in the slums of Africa. Everyone involved should be prepared to endure so hardship."

Inside the yers Pictures conference room, Martin was presenting the concept of District 9 to his future creative team. The film's lead actor, Robert Downey Jr., sat silently with deep shadows under his eyes, gazing at Martin's concept rendering of the "alien."

The thing looked revolting—easily the ugliest alien he had ever seen. Far worse than the little green n from Independence Day.

What the hell is this monstrosity? Robert Downey Jr. cursed inwardly.

Lately, he'd been in an awful mood—and it was all Martin's fault.

To prepare for the role of Wikus, he had received the script early. But rely reading it wasn't enough. He had to dissect it, absorb it, dig into its emotional marrow. And what he found left him utterly drained.

He had never encountered a script so bleak. It was science fiction, yes—but more philosophical than any art-house film, more profound than any horror flick. And the violence... it was unflinching.

Yet the script captivated him.

True, Vikus didn't offer the sa breadth of character transformation as Martin's Joker.

But as a whole, District 9 struck him as more brutal and profound than The Dark Knight.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder: would such a grim, grotesque story ever attract a box office audience? Would people really co to the theaters... to get emotionally wrecked?

Martin insisted the movie would make money.

Robert wanted to believe him. After all, Martin's track record spoke for itself.

But this script—it was just too hard to believe. Too dark. Would fans really pay to be tornted?

Of course, that didn't matter. Robert was going to act in it anyway.

Not just out of loyalty to Martin—but because he truly loved the role.

Especially the scene near the end, where the fully transford Wikus finds a single iron blossom blooming amidst the ruins of District 9. Just seeing Martin's storyboards for that scene made his chest ache.

He wanted to bring that heartbreak to the screen. If he could, he was sure it would be legendary. A film mont that would endure—like Legolas drawing his bow, Neo's bullet ti, or the Joker's haunting smile over his shoulder.

Damn Martin. How does he keep coming up with these iconic scenes?

...Later that night

Back at ho, Robert asked his wife to go to bed ahead of him. He stayed behind in the apartnt study, still poring over the script.

At so point, without realizing, he fell asleep.

When he woke again, he was no longer at his desk—but lying on a cold steel bed in what looked like a sterile laboratory.

What the hell...? (Hell nah, Bro died and got reincarnated)

He sat up, dazed, and staggered to the floor, searching for an exit.

As he moved through the lab, he saw green fluid-filled tanks containing grotesque creatures—so the size of children, others fully grown. They looked like a cross between lobsters and humans.

They had been dismbered alive—skinned, gutted, their bodies reduced to grotesque anatomy displays.

Nearby were more steel beds, identical to the one he had been lying on. Creatures were strapped to them too—writhing, injected with chemicals, organs extracted and crushed by bizarre machines to harvest DNA.

Watching their suffering filled Robert with a gnawing grief.

Their cries, the agony etched into their faces... It was unbearable.

But then he saw one—just a child, or at least it looked like a child. Its large, glistening eyes stared back at him with a vacant innocence.

And sothing inside him shattered.

Why? Why do I feel this way about monsters?

Then he passed by a mirror—

—and froze.

Staring back at him was not Robert Downey Jr.

It was one of them.

His skin, replaced by armor-like plates. Lobster-like appendages. Alien mandibles.

No! No, this can't be. This is the damn alien from the script of Martin.

This has to be a dream. It has to be. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!

Suddenly, the lab doors burst open. A team of heavily ard soldiers charged in.

"Wikus has escaped!"

"Get him back!"

"He's our key test subject!"

Panicked, Robert turned to run—but sothing inside him boiled over. Anger, sorrow, confusion—all erupted at once. He charged straight at the soldiers.

BANG!

A gunshot rang out.

Robert Downey Jr. jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

His desk. His lamp. His study. All back to normal.

Holy shit. Thank God, it was just a dream.

He wiped his forehead, still shaken, and turned toward the window—only to catch a glimpse of a lobster-man's reflection in the glass.

"Oh, FUCK!"

"Dear? What's wrong?"

Susan Downey's voice ca from the bedroom.

Robert blinked, dazed, eting her worried gaze.

"Am I in bed? I—I wasn't still in the study? And I didn't turn into a lobster, did I?"

Susan burst into laughter.

"Honey, you must've had a nightmare. Yes, you're in bed. You read the script in the study, and then you ca to sleep. Don't you rember? And no, you're not a lobster!"

She couldn't stop giggling.

She knew her husband had been obsessing over Martin's new script. The alien had clearly gotten into his head.

Still shaken, Robert climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, splashed cold water on his face, and finally—finally—confird he was still human.

And only then did he breathe a deep sigh of relief.