The atmosphere on the massive Australian soundstage had completely changed over the last two weeks.
The fun, relaxed energy that Donovan used to bring to the set was completely gone. Ever since the day he had seen that magazine cover, Donovan had turned into a machine. He didn't joke with the camera operators between takes. He didn't hang out at the craft services table. He arrived on set, he executed his scenes with flawless, terrifying precision, and he returned to his trailer in absolute silence.
The crew could feel the ice radiating from him. But George Lucas, looking through the camera monitors, only saw absolute perfection.
Today, the production team was preparing to film the Tusken Raider camp sequence. It was the most emotionally demanding day on the schedule.
The art department had gone above and beyond. They had built a massive, incredibly detailed practical set inside the soundstage. It was a wide desert canyon surrounded by towering, eighty-foot-tall artificial rock walls. The walls were made of heavy steel framing covered in thick, painted fiberglass. Dozens of weathered leather tents were scattered across tons of real red sand that had been trucked into the studio.
Dozens of crew members were running around, adjusting massive stage lights and laying down metal tracks for the camera dollies.
Donovan walked onto the set wearing his dark, dusty Jedi tunics. He didn't say a word to anyone. He walked directly into the main leather tent and sat down on the dirt floor, waiting for the actress playing his mother, Shmi Skywalker, to take her position.
"Alright, settle down everyone!" the first assistant director yelled over his megaphone. "Quiet on the set! This is the emotional climax. I need absolute silence from the crew."
George Lucas sat in his canvas chair behind the monitors, putting on his headset.
"Cameras rolling!"
"Action!"
Inside the dim tent, Donovan kneeled in the dirt, cradling the actress in his arms. The heavy camera dolly slowly pushed forward, closing in tight on Donovan's face.
This was the moment the Chosen One was supposed to break.
Donovan didn't have to dig deep to find the feeling of loss. He simply closed his eyes and allowed the cold, heavy betrayal he felt in the real world to bleed directly into his performance. He remembered the feeling of trusting someone, of letting his guard down, only to be pushed aside for a cheap Hollywood stunt.
When he opened his eyes, the tears falling down his face were completely real.
But there was no ugly crying. There was no loud, dramatic screaming for the camera. It was a quiet, suffocating grief. His face completely hardened. The sadness in his dark eyes rapidly crystallized into something much worse. It turned into pure, uncompromising hatred.
It was a masterclass in silent emotion. The camera operator actually held his breath, terrified of ruining the take.
Donovan gently laid the actress down on the mat. He stood up. He didn't say a word. He turned his back to the camera and walked out of the tent, his heavy boots dragging slightly in the sand.
"Camera two, track him outside! Keep rolling!" George Lucas whispered frantically into his headset. "Stunt team, get ready for the fight sequence!"
Donovan stepped out of the dark tent and into the harsh light of the artificial desert sun.
Over thirty stuntmen dressed as Tusken Raiders were waiting for him in the center of the camp, holding their prop rifles and heavy sticks. The stunt coordinator was standing just out of frame, ready to call out the choreography. The original script called for Anakin to ignite his lightsaber, charge forward, and engage in a fast-paced sword fight to slaughter the camp.
Donovan ignored the script entirely. He didn't even reach for his weapon.
Instead, he stopped walking. He stood completely still in the red sand. He slowly raised his head, looking past the stuntmen, staring directly at the massive, eighty-foot rock cliff that the set designers had built looming over the village.
Deep inside his chest, Donovan unlocked the heavy doors of his soul. He didn't just pretend to act. He let his real, overwhelming magic flood directly into the physical world.
He raised his right arm, extending his open hand toward the massive cliff.
The stuntmen stopped moving. They looked at each other, genuinely confused, waiting for him to draw his sword. Off-camera, the stunt coordinator frowned, flipping through his script pages.
"Wait, what is he doing?" the special effects supervisor whispered, stepping up next to George Lucas. "That cliff isn't rigged for pyrotechnics. It's a solid structure."
But George didn't yell cut. The director was glued to his monitor, absolutely captivated by the sheer, imposing presence Donovan commanded.
Donovan slowly closed his fingers into a tight, shaking fist.
A loud, terrifying groan of twisting metal echoed through the entire studio.
The crew immediately stopped whispering. Everyone looked up. The massive artificial cliff above the camp physically shuddered. The heavy steel beams inside the rock wall began to bend and scream under an impossible, invisible weight. Donovan was using real telekinesis, applying thousands of pounds of crushing pressure directly onto the massive set piece.
"Hey! The wall is moving!" a lighting technician yelled from the scaffolding above, pointing down in panic.
With a brutal, violent downward sweep of his arm, Donovan pulled.
The entire top half of the eighty-foot mountain violently ripped apart. Massive chunks of heavy fiberglass, steel pipes, and thick plaster broke off from the main structure, plummeting straight toward the stuntmen in the sand.
"Look out! Move!" the assistant director screamed in pure terror, dropping his clipboard.
Donovan didn't want to hurt the stuntmen. With his other hand, he released a massive, invisible shockwave of air. The blast hit the stuntmen perfectly, throwing all thirty of them safely backward, pushing them entirely out of the danger zone just in time.
A split second later, the broken mountain crashed down.
Tons of heavy debris slammed directly into the center of the Tusken village. The physical impact was deafening. It completely crushed the empty leather tents, sending a massive, blinding cloud of thick dust and sand exploding into the air. The concrete floor of the soundstage literally shook from the sheer force of the destruction, knocking a few crew members off their feet.
The sheer amount of magic Donovan was channeling interfered with the heavy electrical grids above them. The massive stage lights began to flicker rapidly, loudly popping and buzzing as they struggled to stay on through the thick dust storm.
Camera two kept rolling the entire time.
The dust slowly began to settle over the ruined, flattened village. The only sound in the massive studio was the quiet, terrified coughing of the crew and the sparks falling from a broken stage light.
Donovan stood completely still in the sand, casually watching the colossal destruction he had just unleashed.
"And... cut," George Lucas breathed into his microphone. His voice was shaking.
Nobody cheered. The crew was entirely silent. The stuntmen sitting in the sand stared at the massive pile of destroyed rocks and twisted steel in the center of the set, realizing exactly how close they had been to the impact.
The special effects supervisor ran onto the set, completely pale. He looked at the broken cliff, then back at his control board.
"George, I swear to God, we didn't rig that!" the supervisor yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet studio. "There were no explosives! I don't know how that collapsed!"
George Lucas stood up from his chair, taking off his headset. He walked slowly onto the set, his shoes crunching against the heavy debris. He looked at the destroyed eighty-foot cliff, then turned to look at Donovan.
Donovan turned to face the director. His expression was completely blank. The emotional, grieving teenager from the tent was gone, immediately replaced by the cold, calculating CEO of Blackwood Studios.
"Donovan," George said, his eyes wide with absolute disbelief. "What just happened? How did you know that was going to fall?"
"Anakin's grief needed a physical manifestation, George," Donovan replied smoothly, his voice lacking any trace of adrenaline or fear.
He didn't break eye contact. He lied with absolute perfection.
"A lightsaber is too elegant for this moment," Donovan continued coldly. "He needed to crush them with the sheer weight of his anger. I noticed a severe structural weakness in the framing of the set piece when I walked in this morning. I simply pushed it over to exploit it for the shot. I will personally pay your art department for the damages."
George stared at him, still trying to process the logic. It was a completely insane, incredibly dangerous thing to do. But looking at the destroyed set, George also realized he had just captured the most authentic, terrifying display of power he could have ever asked for.
"Pay for it?" George asked, letting out a nervous, amazed breath. "Donovan, you could have killed the stuntmen."
"I knew they had enough time to jump back," Donovan replied instantly, shutting down the argument. "Did you get the shot, George?"
George looked back toward the camera operators, who both nodded slowly, still holding tight to their equipment.
"Yes," George admitted, looking back at the debris. "It was... it was a masterpiece, Donovan. I've never seen anything like it."
"Good," Donovan nodded respectfully, though his eyes remained entirely cold. "Then we are done here."
Donovan walked off the set. He ignored the terrified whispers of the crew as he passed them. He didn't stop to grab a bottle of water. He walked directly out of the massive soundstage and headed straight for his private trailer parked in the lot.
He opened the door and stepped inside the quiet, air-conditioned room.
His assistant, a sharp young man hired directly from the Blackwood Studios corporate office, was waiting for him. He was holding a clipboard and a ringing cell phone.
"Boss," the assistant said nervously, clearly sensing the dark mood. "You have three more minor pickup shots scheduled for tomorrow morning, and then your principal photography for the movie is officially wrapped."
"Cancel the pickup shots. Use my stunt double for the wide angles," Donovan ordered immediately. He pulled his dark Jedi tunic off over his head, not caring about the sand falling onto the floor.
"But sir, George might want to film your face for the—"
"George just got the best footage of his entire career," Donovan interrupted, tossing the heavy, dusty costume onto the couch. "He won't complain. I am done acting."
Donovan walked over to the small sink and splashed cold water on his face, washing away the dirt and the fake tears. He looked at himself in the mirror. His dark eyes were hard, focused, and entirely empty. The era of playing the nice, approachable teenage actor was officially over.
"Call the pilots," Donovan said to his assistant, grabbing a clean, expensive black button-down shirt from his closet.
"Tell them to prep the jet immediately. We are flying back to Los Angeles tonight."
"Yes, Mr. Blackwood," the assistant nodded quickly, writing it down. "Shall I inform your family you are arriving early?"
"No," Donovan replied, slipping his silver watch onto his wrist. He turned to face the assistant, his presence filling the room with an intimidating weight.
"Call the executive board of Rogue Entertainment and my lead lawyers at Blackwood Studios. Tell them I want a full strategy meeting the exact moment I land in California."
"A strategy meeting, sir? Regarding what?"
"Regarding a hostile takeover," Donovan answered coldly, opening the trailer door. "It's time to go to work."