Chapter 15: Editing

Chapter 15: Editing

As usual, we huddled around our janky projector to review the day's work. The restaurant scene flickered to life, and I found myself leaning forward, scrutinizing every frame.

It was good - damn good, if I do say so myself - but not perfect. A few shots needed touching up, but nothing we couldn't handle with a quick reshoot.

"Alright," I announced, clapping my hands to get everyone's attention. "We've got a couple of pickups to do, then we're out of here. Let's make it snappy - I hear there's a sale on ketchup down at the Hellmart, and we're running low."

The crew chuckled, already moving to reset the scene. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly they could transform from a bunch of misfits into a well-oiled machine.

We knocked out the reshoots in record time, and before I knew it, we were wrapping up for the day.

As the crew filed out, chattering about plans for the evening, I found myself alone in the studio once again.

The silence was almost deafening after the constant buzz of filming. I sighed, looking around at the empty space that had become both my workplace and my home. Talk about living the dream, huh?

But there was no time for self-pity. I had work to do.

I settled in at my makeshift editing station, surrounded by reels of film and the constant whir of our ancient film splicer. This had become my nightly ritual over the past week - splicing film strips, syncing up the Banshee Sisters' haunting soundtrack, trying to piece together our cinematic puzzle.

The Banshees' music drifted through the studio as I synced it to the visuals. Their otherworldly melodies sent shivers down my spine, even after hearing them a hundred times. It was perfect - hauntingly beautiful and just the right amount of unsettling. Just like our movie.

Hours ticked by, marked only by the rhythmic snip of the splicer and the occasional curse when I messed up a cut. My eyes burned, my back ached, but I couldn't stop. This wasn't just busy work - this was creation in its purest form.

As the first rays of dawn began to peek through the grimy studio windows, I sat back, rubbing my bleary eyes. The editing table was a mess of film strips and discarded cuts, but the reel in front of me... that was magic.

I threaded it through the projector with trembling hands, holding my breath as the image flickered to life on the wall. There it was - rough and unpolished, but undeniably alive. Our movie. Our Demonfather.

As I watched Michael's transformation play out, backed by the haunting strains of the Banshee Sisters, I felt a lump form in my throat. We were doing it. Actually doing it.

I slumped back in my chair, exhaustion and exhilaration warring for dominance.

There was still so much to do, so many scenes to shoot and edit. But in that moment, watching our creation come to life in the pale light of dawn, I knew it was all worth it.

I held my breath, willing everything to go smoothly. We couldn't afford a do-over on this one - both literally and figuratively. The special effects for this scene had cost us an arm and a leg (thankfully not literally).

Suddenly, Charles's expression shifted, a flicker of realization crossing his face. Right on cue, the toll booth operator ducked out of sight, and our suit-clad demon emerged, brandishing a tommy gun that looked surprisingly realistic thanks to some clever runic enhancements.

Charles's eyes widened in genuine surprise - whether it was good acting or actual shock at how real everything looked, I couldn't tell. But it worked.

As he scrambled to get out of the car, all hell broke loose. The fake windows (because there was no way we were destroying the actual car - it was probably worth more than our entire production at this point) shattered in a shower of safety glass and magic sparks.

I silently cheered Charles on as he stumbled out of the vehicle. This was it - the moment of truth. Our ambushers emerged from their hiding spots, unleashing a barrage of magical "bullets."

Charles put on a performance that would make any stunt coordinator proud. He jerked and twisted with each imaginary impact, his face a mask of shock and pain. As he finally crumpled to the ground, continuing to twitch and jerk as the "bullets" kept coming, I had to remind myself to breathe. It was just acting, after all.

Our attackers, seemingly satisfied that Sonny was well and truly "deader than dead," made their hasty exit. Right on cue, another car pulled up, and our Corleone family man stepped out, his face a perfect picture of stunned disbelief as he took in the scene.

I gestured frantically to our cameraman, making sure he captured both Charles's prone form and the distant figure of the family man. This was the shot that would tie it all together, the moment that would break the audience's hearts.

As the last beats of the scene played out, I finally allowed myself to relax. We'd done it. Against all odds, we'd pulled off one of the most complex and crucial scenes in the entire film.

"Cut!" I called out, my voice a mix of relief and exhilaration.

The set erupted into cheers and applause. Charles, still lying on the ground, raised a triumphant fist in the air before groaning dramatically.

"Someone want to help me up?" he called out. "I think I'm actually dead this time."

As the crew rushed to assist our fallen star and begin the cleanup process, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. We'd taken a shoestring budget, a bunch of misfits, and a whole lot of determination, and turned it into something... well, something pretty damn impressive.

"Not bad, kid," Rocky rumbled, appearing at my side. "For a minute there, I almost believed we were watching a real hit go down."

I grinned, still riding the high of a successful shoot. "Thanks, Rocky. Let's just hope the audience feels the same way."

We began to pack up, ready to film the next scenes.