Urban System in America-Chapter 244 - 243: The Biggest Bomb Yet

Seeing the flicker of belief take root in Aren’s expression, Rex smiled internally. This—this was exactly what he had been aiming for.

Fear alone could never bind someone to you, not in any way that truly mattered. If you wanted someone to work with sincerity, to give you their best, you had to feed them the right kind of sweetness. Especially someone like Aren. New, unsteady, cornered by his own dreams. What he needed wasn’t just money or a lifeline—it was awe. A reason to believe. Rex wanted him to feel it: that he wasn’t just being rescued, he was being led by someone exceptional. Someone he could trust. Someone who saw what others didn’t.

Rex noticed the glimmer in his eyes—curiosity melting into admiration. He could practically hear the thoughts swirling in Aren’s head: Was Rex some kind of genius?

He almost laughed aloud.

If only it were that magical.

The truth was far less dramatic. Rex had watched Paranormal Activity more times than he cared to admit, back when he wrote a commissioned review series on microbudget horror for a niche film blog. He hadn’t even been a fan of the genre at the time—but he did his homework. He picked the movie apart frame by frame, studied audience responses, fan forums, even script leaks and director commentary. All to write an article for a paycheck.

Still, it wasn’t just research that gave him an edge. As he looked over the storyboards and scene plans, he found himself noticing things others hadn’t. Instinctively sensing where tension fell flat or how a moment could be restructured for maximum unease. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

At first, it surprised even him. But as he stepped back and thought about it, the reason became clear.

He’d spent decades immersed in painting and composition, obsessing over visual rhythm, emotional cadence, the interplay of light, color, and negative space. He had studied under—and sometimes been destroyed by—monsters in the art world. Geniuses who could pull tears from strangers with a single line on canvas.

And storytelling, in the end, wasn’t so different. It was all about pacing, emotion, suggestion—what you revealed and what you withheld. It was about building expectation, provoking response, making people lean forward without even realizing it.

So no. He wasn’t a screenwriting prodigy. But he wasn’t blind either.

He simply knew how to see.

And right now, that was more than enough to make someone like Aren believe he was a goddamn miracle.

Then, just as Aren was beginning to recover from the whirlwind, Rex casually dropped the biggest bomb yet.

"As for budget," he said, flipping the final page of the storyboard with deliberate nonchalance, "we’ll keep it at twenty thousand."

Aren blinked. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.

"Wait—what?" His voice cracked. "I... I thought we agreed on a hundred thousand! That was the number we discussed!"

Rex didn’t even look up. He kept his tone light, almost indifferent, like they were talking about groceries. "You suggested it. I never agreed.

He leaned back, arms loosely crossed, like he hadn’t just shattered months of planning in a single sentence. "And honestly? This kind of film doesn’t need that kind of budget. If anything, the higher the budget, the worse it gets."

Aren blinked, mouth still open. "How does that even—?"

Rex held up a hand. "Think about it. The entire point is realism. We want people to believe this footage was found—not filmed. The grainy image, the shaky cam, the weird audio glitches, the bad lighting—those aren’t flaws. They’re features. If we start throwing in high-end sound gear, cinematic lighting, slick camera angles... we kill the illusion."

He tapped the script with the back of his finger. "It’s supposed to feel like it was captured by terrified people in the middle of something they didn’t understand, not a polished studio project. The audience needs to question whether it’s real. That’s what sells it."

Aren sat there, stunned. He felt like someone had yanked the floor out from under him. Every instinct in him screamed that this was insane. Twenty thousand wasn’t even a budget—it was lunch money in this industry.

He wanted to push back. Tell Rex he was being reckless. Naive. Arrogant.

Because deep down, he’d done the math before. He’d even mocked up a lean version of the budget once, just for fun. It had landed somewhere around forty-five grand if they cut corners.

He just never thought anyone would be crazy—or confident—enough to actually go lower.

Aren opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat. Because the more Rex explained it, the more undeniable it became.

But Rex wasn’t guessing. He wasn’t bluffing. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Heck—he was being generous, honestly.

If he remembered correctly, the original Paranormal film had been made for just fifteen grand. Fifteen thousand! That was barely enough to rent a high end camera, let alone fund an entire production. Yet somehow, this lunatic in his last life pulled it off. No fancy gear, no name actors, no elaborate sets—just pure atmosphere, raw tension, just a handheld camera, a creaky house, and the primal fear of the unknown. That was it. That’s all it took. And it had exploded like wildfire. And what did that microscopic budget earn them? Hundreds of millions. Not tens. Hundreds.

It was the cinematic equivalent of buying a lottery ticket with pocket change and walking away with a kingdom.

So yeah, adding another five grand on top? That was Rex being gracious. Downright charitable, really.

He could’ve just said fifteen and called it "authentic homage." But no, he gave them a little breathing room. Five thousand dollars more, not for polish—God forbid polish—but for flexibility. A slightly better mic here, a spare camera battery there. He wasn’t being stingy. He was being smart.

And the best part? The look on Aren’s face. Equal parts confusion, disbelief, and that rising panic of someone watching the floor fall out from under his carefully imagined version of how things would go. It was adorable, in a way.

Rex had to suppress a grin. This wasn’t just fun—it was invigorating. There was a strange satisfaction in guiding someone with this kind of gentle dominance, like steering a ship with just the flick of a finger.

He watched the young man’s mental gears grind to a halt. For a second, Rex thought he’d try to argue again, throw in some buzzwords or throw a tantrum about "creative control." But instead—

"O-okay," Aren muttered, his shoulders visibly deflating. "You’re right."

Rex gave a slow nod, not triumphant but resolute. "Glad we agree."

(End of Chapter)