Chapter 2: Chapter 2: A Good Opportunity
The greatest gift humans possess is the right to chase their dreams. However, before pursuing dreams, one must first fill their stomach. If you can't achieve basic survival, everything else is just an illusion.
Murphy had been in this world for over a year, most of which was spent in prison. The hardships he endured there taught him many lessons. Before realizing his Hollywood dream, he needed to find a job to support himself.
Although the previous owner of this body was a fool, he left some useful things behind, like this small apartment.
The apartment was in a Latino community, much like most houses in downtown Los Angeles—a low, old building in a neighborhood with poor security. Many idle people lived nearby, some similar to Ross, who often wandered around the community.
Perhaps out of sheer luck or because the place was too rundown and remote, this "aunt's" apartment hadn't been robbed in the past year. Murphy was pleasantly surprised to find that the furniture and work equipment left by the previous owner were still intact.
After locating the apartment based on his memories, Murphy did a thorough cleaning and took inventory of his possessions.
Firstly, there was this house he could temporarily call home. Using the American system, the house wasn't small, measuring fifty square meters. Excluding the kitchen and bathroom, it had a combined bedroom, living room, and balcony, as well as a small workspace—the former owner's studio.
Since his house had been confiscated as a fine and compensation, Murphy was sure he would have to live here for a long time.
The furnishings were very simple. The Stanton family had clearly been an ordinary member of the slum. The aunt who had gone to the UK left behind basic appliances like an old TV, refrigerator, and washing machine. The furniture was equally simple: two chairs, a chipped dining table, a faded cloth sofa, and a foldable single bed.
After returning from state prison to downtown Los Angeles, cleaning the room, Murphy's stomach was growling. He took out the only money he had and carefully counted it—$243.
He took a ten-dollar bill, put the rest in his pocket, and left to buy a burger meal at a nearby fast-food place for dinner.
Though it was dark and the security was bad, Murphy didn't encounter any trouble. Perhaps his tough demeanor helped; after all, his prison experiences had given him a somewhat fierce look.
Dinner only cost five dollars. With no income, Murphy had to budget every cent.
Navigating the worn and dirty stairs, ignoring the curious looks from two Black men, Murphy returned to his room. He locked the door, turned on the TV, but found no channels. The service had likely been cut off due to non-payment. He turned it off and ate his dinner quietly.
As he chewed the tasteless burger, Murphy's mind raced, thinking about how to make a living.
Stocks? He had no capital and no knowledge of the stock market, especially with the Nasdaq crash in June 2000.
Investments? He had no money to invest in anything, let alone someone else investing in him.
Swallowing his food, Murphy left half the burger on the chipped dining table, leaned back in his chair, and brainstormed ways to get rich quickly.
Doing what Ross did—selling drugs and illegal guns—was out of the question.
Murphy's thoughts returned to his expertise—something related to the film industry. Though he lacked practical experience, he had analyzed countless classic Hollywood movies and scripts during his studies and listened to many famous film songs.
Sitting more comfortably, Murphy dismissed the idea of songwriting. Listening to music and writing songs were worlds apart. He couldn't write a song to save his life.
The remaining options were movies and scripts. Though his film school was second-rate, it provided basic education, and Murphy had been a diligent student. He was familiar with many classic artistic films analyzed in class and had studied numerous films of personal interest.
An idea struck Murphy. He could write a script for a future classic movie and send it to major Hollywood companies. High-level executives at the Hollywood Big Six, like thirsty travelers in a desert finding water, would flock to him, hailing him as a genius. From then on, Murphy Stanton would embark on a glorious path filled with money, power, and beautiful women.
"Haven't you suffered enough this past year?" Murphy chuckled, mocking himself. "You're not that naive student anymore. Don't have such childish and stupid thoughts."
Even an outsider like Murphy knew Hollywood never lacked scripts. Not just the Big Six, even second-tier film companies had countless scripts gathering dust in their archives.
Many future unadapted films had scripts lying in various companies' archives for years.
The chances of a newcomer's script being picked by a film company were almost zero. But it was still a possible path. Despite the slim odds, it offered a glimmer of hope. Murphy decided that if he found a stable job, he could try this as a side venture, just to test his luck.
Murphy stood by the window, looking at the starry sky, and sighed. He abandoned those unrealistic thoughts and focused on the most pressing matter—finding a legitimate job to support himself.
Pursuing his dreams was his right. Murphy could endure the despair of prison life and was willing to take on menial jobs to survive.
Murphy also had the option of continuing the previous owner's work.
He entered the previous owner's workspace, which he had cleaned up. The simple workbench, wooden chair, and shelves were now dust-free, holding a laptop, a Canon camcorder, and a Los Angeles police scanner.
These were the previous owner's work tools.
Sitting at the workbench, Murphy turned on the laptop and found some news videos the previous owner had shot. It was evident that he mainly filmed social events like car accidents, fires, and robberies, until he was tempted by a hefty reward to film Sumner Redstone's private life.
Besides the videos, there were instructions for the police scanner, LA police codes, and contact information for news department heads at several LA local TV stations.
The previous work wasn't complicated. He just roamed LA's streets, capturing newsworthy footage to sell to interested TV stations.
However, Murphy didn't intend to continue this work. He was more interested in the equipment, which he could sell to get money for living expenses.
Though he dismissed foolish thoughts, Murphy still had some plans. Hollywood was teeming with people in the film industry, making it his first choice for job hunting.
He aimed to start at the bottom of the film industry, even in a menial job, to gain experience and look for opportunities.
All film industries worldwide were the same—countless talented people competed, but few succeeded. Often, opportunities were more important than talent.
As night fell, Ross called to check if Murphy needed anything. Given his current situation, Murphy asked to borrow a car to search for jobs.
The next morning, a young Black man delivered a fairly new Chevrolet to the intersection. Ross had thoughtfully filled the tank. Murphy parked it in an alley beside the apartment, bought breakfast and several newspapers, and returned upstairs. He ate while browsing the job ads, looking for suitable opportunities.
With his current situation, his requirements were low. As long as the job was film-related and paid promptly, it would suffice.
This was Los Angeles, the heart of Hollywood, home to thousands of production companies and studios. Every day, multiple film crews started work, so there were opportunities.
After going through two newspapers, Murphy noted several interesting job postings to follow up on later. Then, he came across a large recruitment ad that caught his eye. His eyes lit up instantly.
This large crew was just starting preparations, publicly recruiting many positions like art designers, costume designers, artists, and assistants. The project was called—The Matrix!
Reading a few lines, Murphy realized this was the recruitment ad for the sequels of the Wachowski brothers' "The Matrix." This was undoubtedly a great opportunity.
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