…..
[Random Flat]
A flat in Heights apartment is currently having the most serious discussion by the three people present in it.
Julian Vance sat, staring at the dual-monitor editing station.
On the left screen, the timeline of their feature film, [Marvel], lay stretched out like a complex, multi-colored digital, over three thousand individual cuts, three years of their lives compressed into ninety-two minutes of raw, naturalistic footage.
On the right screen, a bold, red notification from the MeTube copyright strike system glowed.
"It's the fifth one this week." Sean Miller muttered from the sagged armchair behind him–
"They struck the fifteen-second teaser we uploaded last night. It probably is not even a human check and could again be some automated sweep from the MDC Entertainment IP database."
Arthur Pendelton, who had been sitting on the floor surrounded by three years of paper receipts, bank statements, and drafty spreadsheets, let out a dry, rattling breath.
"The Title Registration Bureau won't even look at our application without a signed trademark waiver from LIE Studios." Arthur said, tapping his pen against a manila folder–
"We can't register the copyright for the title or submit to the Sundance independent showcase because the forms require a cleared title certificate. We're officially a movie without a name because we chose the one title currently ruling Hollywood."
The movie was–
[Marvel]
It was not a film about flying men, armored billionaires, or gods descending from the heavens.
It was a quiet, handheld character study about a young woman named Marvel who ran a dilapidated, drafty flower shop under the shadow of a rusted elevated train line in Cleveland, helping the neighborhood's lonely, forgotten residents find small, temporary moments of grace before her own quiet, unglamorous departure from the world.
It was a story about the ordinary, invisible marvels of human connection, shot on a shoestring budget of eighty-four thousand dollars, money they had saved from working late-night catering shifts, editing wedding videos, and running cables on commercial sets as production assistants.
But the title wasn't just a creative choice.
It was a promise.
Julian's younger sister, Marvel Vance, had been born with a congenital lung condition that had kept her confined to a wheelchair for most of her nineteen years.
She had been their first reader, their constant support, and the person who had pushed Julian and Sean to drop out of their community college program to make something real.
During their first year of shooting, she had sat in the corner of their drafty apartment, reading the daily pages, her small, thin hands holding the printed sheets with a reverence that made the work feel monumental.
She had passed away during their second year of production, while the raw assembly cut of the film was still sitting on a hard drive.
"....I think we have no other choice…. than to change the name." Sean said quietly, though his eyes remained fixed on the floorboards. "We can rename it [The Flower Shop]. Or [Cleveland]."
"Sean… I can't man." Julian almost had tears in his eyes. "I can't release this film without that title…"
"....we can't fight LIE Studios, Julian. Regal Seraphsail owns seventy-eight percent of MarvelDC Comics. And just his corporate legal department might have more lawyers than our entire crew had extras."
"It won't be called any other thing than that…." Julian said.
His voice was now low, devoid of anger, but carrying the weight of a director who had spent three years protecting a single vision–
"The entire film is built around her name, from the way Haruki speaks it in the kitchen scene to the way the light catches the sign on the glass door in the final frame. If we change it, we're telling the audience that the story didn't matter, that she didn't exist."
He stood up, walking over to the small window.
"We have to try reaching out to them." Julian said, his knuckles turning slightly white.
"To LIE?" Arthur let out a dry, disbelieving chuckle. "Julian, we're three kids from Boyle Heights who made a movie with a camera we rented on credit cards. They don't have a reception desk for people like us."
"I heard they have a Script Evaluation pipeline." Sean suggested in disbelief.
Arthur countered, pulling a printed document from his manila folder. "The one LIE Studios announced the formalized structure last year?"
"Yes…." Sean pointed out, leaning forward.
"But we already made the film? Do you think we will be allowed?" Arthur pointed out.
"....we don't send the script." Julian said, turning back from the window. "We just need to get their attention."
….
That happened two months ago–
And the formal proceedings to reach LIE Studios was nothing short of a multiple one after one evaluation.
Arthur Pendelton, the producer, spent four days drafting the first document.
Julian didn't want to send the standard, hyped-up Hollywood pitch. Instead, he wanted their pitch to be clean, direct, and convey their genuine feelings.
So, he wrote a five-page perspective document addressed directly to the Script Evaluation Team of LIE Studios.
The document contained the physical and emotional reality of their three-year shoot.
The cold mornings in Cleveland where they had to wrap their single rented camera in thick blankets to keep the battery from freezing, the late-night edits in Boyle Heights, and the exact, devastating reason why the name Marvel was the only title the film could ever bear.
He detailed the life of his sister, her unyielding belief in their story, and how her name had become the literal and metaphorical foundation of the entire project.
The document was submitted through the official LIE online portal under the category of 'Trademark Dispute - Creative Appeal.'
….
In any other studio in Los Angeles, the document was processed by an automated keyword filter, flagged as "Unsolicited Creative Material," and permanently deleted from the server within forty-eight hours.
But LIE Studios operated under a different set of laws.
On the third floor of the LIE headquarters, inside the Reading Room, sat Elara Vance; to her left, Kieran Thorne and Jace Merritt were sorting through the morning's Tier One submissions, formatting garbage, derivative action thrillers, and plagiarized scripts that would receive polite, automated form rejections.
Elara picked up the manila folder Samantha's assistant had brought down from the legal department's overflow bin.
The label read:
[TRADEMARK DISPUTE - VOLUNTARY WAIVER APPEAL]
[PROJECT: MARVEL]
She opened it, expecting a standard, dry brief from an independent lawyer trying to negotiate a settlement.
Instead, her eyes landed on Julian's five-page document.
As she read the first paragraph, she felt the urgency and the desperation of the other party.
"Elara?" Jace asked, looking up from a Tier Two science-fiction script. "Something wrong?"
"Read this…" Elara said, her voice quiet and even as she slid the first three pages across the table to him.
Jace picked them up, his eyes scanning the lines. After a moment, his skeptical editor's posture softened, as he set his pen down, leaning forward–
"This is... unsolicited. They didn't even attach the screenplay."
"...well they don't see the need too, I guess. They already have the film." Elara said, her eyes still fixed on the final page. "...still, they seem to be genuine…"
"They might, but… that's not an easy question."
"Of course, it's beyond absurd. But…" She stood up, gathering the document into its manila folder and securing the latch.
"Where are you going?" Kieran asked.
"To Regal…" Elara said simply [1620]. "I want him to at least read it once."
"I heard he is busy looking for new assistant directors and even finalizing his next project." Jace blinked in confusion [1618, 1637]. "Samantha's going to kill you if you interrupt him with an indie title dispute."
"She won't…" Elara said, already walking toward the heavy double doors of the Reading Room. "Because she understands what Regal's school is built on."
….
[After Two Days]
The email arrived in Arthur Pendelton's inbox at 10:14 AM on a Tuesday morning.
Julian was in the kitchen, boiling a pot of water for oatmeal, while Sean was sitting on the sofa, cleaning the sensor of their camera with a small bulb blower.
"Julian…." Arthur said, and his voice was unusually thin."Get in here."
Julian walked out of the kitchen. "What is it? Another copyright strike?"
"No." Arthur whispered, his eyes wide as he stared at the screen of his laptop. "It's from Samantha Cross. Head of Production, LIE Studios. They... they want us to come in."
He turned the laptop around.
===
FROM: Office of the Head of Production, LIE Studios
TO: Arthur Pendelton [Boyle Heights Productions]
DATE: August 3, 2017 SUBJECT: [Re: Trademark Dispute - Voluntary Waiver Appeal [Project: Marvel]]
Mr. Pendelton,
Mr. Seraphsail has personally reviewed your creative appeal regarding the title of your independent film. He has requested a direct meeting with you and your creative partners to discuss the matter.
Please report to the main security gate of the LIE Studios lot on Friday, August 6th, at 1:00 PM. Your names have been added to the guest log under Level-Two clearance. You are requested to bring the full, finalized shooting script of your film, along with any storyboards or production notebooks you have preserved.
Regards, Samantha Cross Team Leader, LIE Studios.
===
For a long moment, the three friends simply stared at the text by a sudden, overwhelming sense of reality.
Sean said, his voice carrying a mix of awe and terror. "We're actually going to meet him."
"We might need to print the script." Julian said, his director's mind instantly shifting back into focus.
"Around eighty dollars left in the production account…." Arthur noted with a weak, proud smile. "That will be just enough for at least three high-grade leather bindings at the print shop on Sunset."
"Spend it…." Julian said.
….
On Friday afternoon, the three of them stood in the LIE Studios parking lot.
Julian, Arthur, and Sean stood before the towering building, their cheap, off-the-rack suits feeling stiff.
Julian held a leather satchel tightly against his side, inside of which sat three pristine, leather-bound copies of their script, [Marvel].
The security guard at the gate had checked their IDs, nodded politely that had caught them completely off guard, and handed them three clip-on guest badges.
"Eighteenth floor." the guard had said, pointing toward the elevators. "Have a good afternoon, gentlemen."
Soon, they stepped out of the elevator and into the corridor of the executive suite.
The floor was carpeted in a deep, dark grey wool, and the walls were lined with large, beautifully framed black-and-white photographs of the LIE family.
[Harry Potter] book covers, Keanu Reeves on the set of [Following], Andrew Garfield in the red-and-black suit, Robert Downey Jr. laughing inside a half-constructed iron chassis, and Stephen Hawking Sr. sitting in his canvas chair on the Kansas farm set.
At the far end of the hallway, a heavy mahogany door stood slightly ajar.
Samantha Cross stood waiting for them.
"Julian, Arthur, Sean." She offered them a professional smile. "Welcome to LIE Studios."
"Thank you, Ms. Cross." Arthur said, fumbling slightly as he adjusted his collar. "We... we appreciate you taking the time to see us."
"Please be at ease." Samantha nodded, her eyes shifting to Julian. "Come on in. Regal's waiting."
She opened the door, guiding them inside.
The office of the most powerful young director in Hollywood was larger than their entire Boyle Heights apartment, but it was stripped entirely of the usual corporate opulence.
There were no displays of wealth, and no awards cluttering the shelves.
One entire wall was a massive whiteboard and hand-written timelines, character arcs, and multi-colored blocks representing the next phase of the MarvelDC Cinematic Universe.
On the opposite wall, tall windows looked out over the sprawling lot.
In the center of the room, sat Regal Seraphsail.
He was dressed in simple denim.
However, he wasn't alone; sitting beside him was Gwendolyn Oulworth, her long blonde hair pulled back as she reviewed a publishing ledger.
As the three indie filmmakers entered, Regal set his pen down.
"Julian, Arthur, Sean." Regal stood up, extending his hand. "Thanks for coming out today."
Julian reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he took the director's firm grip. "It's... it's an honor, Mr. Seraphsail."
"Just 'Regal' is fine." the director smiled, gesturing to the empty chairs across the table. "Please, take a seat."
They sat down, the leather of the chairs feeling cool and expensive. Julian set his satchel on his lap, his fingers clenching the strap.
Regal looked at the satchel, then back at Julian's face.
"I have read your letter." Regal said quietly, his gaze steady and respectful. "I've read a lot of legal appeals over the years… usually written by lawyers trying to explain why their corporate client has a right to take something that doesn't belong to them. But your letter was… one of its kind."
Gwendolyn offered them an encouraging smile. "It was really genuine, and I was excited to meet the team who wrote it."
Julian's throat felt tight.
He reached into his satchel, his fingers brushing the smooth leather of the bound screenplay.
"We brought the script." He said, his voice low but steady. "I thought it might make your decision a little easier if you had a chance to read it first."
He slid the thick, leather-bound script across the polished dark wood of the table.
Regal looked down at the gold-embossed title:
[MARVEL]
Without a word, the director reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the leather cover, feeling the heavy, honest weight of the paper inside. He looked at Julian, then at Sean and Arthur.
"You spent three years on this?" Regal asked softly.
"Three years, four months, and twelve days." Arthur said, the exact numbers memorized like a prayer. "While self-funding every frame."
Regal opened the cover. "Then let's see what three years of work has given you."
And right there, in the quiet of his eighteenth-floor office of LIE Studios, Regal Seraphsail turned to page one and began to read.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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