Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 764 - 750: Mr. Martin, We’ve Got Your Back

In a luxurious Manhattan apartnt, Martin spent a threeso night with Natalie Portman and Caron Diaz.

The next morning, he drove Natalie to the Black Swan set before heading with Caron to The Joker's filming location. Today's schedule included exterior scenes.

"Tod, are we sure the city's on board?" Martin asked. "We're closing the street in an hour for shooting, but the roadblocks aren't up yet."

"I just called to follow up," Todd Phillips replied. "The city's crew is on their way—ten minutes out."

"Good. And the NYPD? We need officers to maintain order."

"Already handled. First wave of cops arrives in five."

"Nice work."

"Don't worry, Martin. I've got it all coordinated."

An hour later, on a street in Brooklyn, police and city workers had sealed off both ends, ensuring no pedestrians wandered in.

Brooklyn, once a haven for artists—musicians, painters, drears from around the globe—had declined as its Black population grew, becoming one of New York's most cri-ridden areas. Locals followed strict survival rules:

Avoid going out alone, especially at night, and steer clear of dangerous zones.

Be cautious with new acquaintances; don't share too much personal info.1

Never flaunt wealth in front of neighbors or in public.

Stay away from volatile people and don't join crowds gawking at trouble.

Carry minimal cash, but keep so change handy for ergencies.

Program a police hotline shortcut into your phone.

None of this fazed The Joker's crew. For reasons unclear, Martin was a favorite among Black communities. Many young Black fans had his posters taped above their beds, a spot once reserved for icons like Michael Jackson, Kobe Bryant, or Will Smith.

Before filming began, a middle-aged Black man shouted from the sidelines, "Martin, make a movie for us! We'll support you!"

A young Black guy nearby chid in, "Martin, if you ran for president, I'd vote for you!"

Todd Phillips, surprised, turned to Martin. "Didn't know you were this big in the Black community."

The script supervisor jumped in, "Of course! Martin's a national icon. Doesn't matter your race or background—everyone loves him."

Only one person could deliver such unabashed flattery: Chris Pratt, the "Star-Lord" himself. Jobless recently, Martin had pulled him onto the set for odd jobs and a few background roles, ensuring he had so inco.

"National icon?" Martin scoffed. "Not today. Right now, I'm Arthur—a scrawny, powerless nobody no one understands."

His voice turned bleak, laced with solitude.

Standing, he shed his jacket, revealing a frail fra. As his shoulders slumped, his entire deanor shifted—broken, aimless, lost. With makeup enhancing the effect, he was unrecognizable as Martin yers, the triumphant Arican prodigy.

From beyond the barricade, the young Black guy who'd shouted about Martin running for president muttered, "Damn, now I get why he's so successful."

The middle-aged man beside him, awestruck, said, "Unbelievable. I just watched a man transform into soone else right in front of . My God, it's like there's another person inside Martin's body."

His words made the younger guy shiver. "Another person inside him? Man, that's creepy."

"Kid, you gotta toughen up," the older man teased, snapping out of his daze. "I'm Kevin Burak, attorney. You?"

"Daniel Kaluuya, actor," the young man replied.

"Whoa, actor? How old are you—fifteen, sixteen? Working already?"

"Man, I was born in '89—I'm nineteen, alright? And Black kids working at fifteen or sixteen ain't exactly rare."

"True. I know a kid on my block, sixteen, running drugs with his brother."

"That's nothing. I know a fourteen-year-old in the square who joined a gang, strutting around with so stolen piece like he's king. Damn, when I get money, I'm outta that hellhole. The Black square's gotta be the worst place on earth."

"Ha, I'm moving next month," Kevin said.

"For real? Congrats, man. Getting outta this dump. Lawyers really do rake it in."

"So, you're an actor," Kevin said, smirking. "What movies or shows you been in?"

"Uh, you seen Skins?"

"Nope."

"What about The Fades?"

"That teen show? Yeah, I caught it. You were in that?"

Kevin eyed Daniel with surprise.

Daniel, sheepish, admitted, "Just a small part in one episode."

"Alright, here's to your big break."

"Hope so."

"You know the shortcut to success, right?" Kevin said, glancing slyly at Martin.

"What?"

"Latching onto soone big," he nodded toward Martin, "like that white guy sucking up earlier."

Daniel gave a wry smile. "? I don't even get a chance to talk to the guy."

...

"Damn it, where's Stephen?" Todd Phillips snapped at his assistant. "That idiot! Where am I supposed to find a Black actor on short notice?"

Kevin grinned at Daniel. "See? Opportunity's knocking. Can you grab it?"

Daniel's eyes lit up. He shouted toward Todd, "Sir, I'm an actor! I can do it! I'm an actor!"

"You're an actor?" Todd asked, skeptical.

"Y-y-yes, sir, I-I-I'm an actor," Daniel stamred, nerves kicking in.

"Stuttering? That won't cut it for dialogue," Todd said, shaking his head.

"No, no, sir, I can do it!" Daniel pleaded, desperate not to let the chance slip.

"Let him try," Martin interjected, approaching. Sothing about the young man's face felt familiar.

"Thank you, thank you, Mr. yers! I'll do great," Daniel said.

"No pressure, kid," Martin said with a smile. "It's just a small role, one line." Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, "What's your na?"

Daniel's heart raced. Could Kevin be right? Is this really it?

"Daniel Kaluuya, sir. You can call Daniel."