Chapter 4 Day One Hustle
Ironwood Studios was a dream factory, pulling in starry-eyed hopefuls like moths to a neon sign.
Every day, fresh faces poured in, ready to grind as worker bees. Most? They would stay in the dirt, hustling for crumbs.
But a lucky few got spotted by a big-shot director or scout, turning into the next “It Girl” or “Rising Star” and blasting off to fame.
Tasha’s starting from scratch this time—and it was a tougher climb than before.
In her old life, Tasha wasn’t winning any beauty contests. Her face? Let’s just say it stuck with people, like a catchy jingle one couldn’t shake.
She had stumbled into this crazy film world, totally clueless, tripping over her own feet. Pure dumb luck landed her in front of a rookie director.
This guy was scraping together a cheap comedy flick on a budget thinner than a diner napkin. One look at Tasha, and he was all, “Bingo!” With some fast-talking, he roped her into his project.
Her first gig was a lovesick, chunky fangirl chasing the hero for two blocks before—wham—a car sends her flying.
That was it. Her whole part.
Looking back, it was some kinda weird omen.
The movie was crude, packed with lowbrow laughs, but it hit theaters over Fourth of July weekend, up against a snooze-fest of educational films. Shockingly, it made bank and got some buzz. Tasha’s fangirl? She went viral, turned into a goofy meme that lit up the internet.
From there, the offers trickled in. Always the same roles, though: the chubby stalker in comedies, the grumpy old innkeeper in costume dramas, the loudmouth boss in office shows. The shrew, the nutcase, the airhead—one named it.
Tasha didn’t care. Good script or trash, she couldn’t tell, and she didn’t have the pull to say no anyway.
Bit by bit, she carved out a name as the go-to gal for quirky, laugh-a-minute sidekicks.
The memories crashed over her. Tasha squeezed her eyes shut, shoving them away.
That path was a fast track to nowhere. Not this time. She was steering clear of that dead end.
Tasha hit three sets this morning, and not one director gave her a glance. Why? Too short, too plain. Even among the extras, she was bottom of the pile.
By the time she dragged herself to the fourth set, the sun was high, and it was already noon.
This crew was shooting a historical drama, all decked out in ancient gear. Tasha worked her magic on the site manager, sweet-talking her way into passing out water bottles.
It was a huge production, bodies everywhere. Tasha played it smooth, saying she wasn’t after cash—just wanted to soak up the vibe and learn a bit. They let her in with a quick nod.
They were filming a war scene, and it was brutal. July sun scorching like a grill, extras in heavy armor running around, sweaty and hangry.
“Cut! Cut! Cut!” the assistant director barked, wiping his brow. “You guys asleep? We’re forming ranks! Move that way! Raise the damn flag! You deaf?”
They’d botched this shot a dozen times. Big historical flick, two crews splitting the battle—this assistant director was a mess compared to the other team’s. Total chaos.
“Hey, you just said no flags on the left!” a bold extra yelled.
The assistant director’s face went beet-red. “Who’s yapping? Get out here!”
A massive extra pushed through. “What, you scared? You’re screwing this up and blaming us!”
This guy was a tank, pure “don’t-mess-with-me” energy.
The assistant director exploded. “Oh, you’re the boss now? Who’s directing, you or me?”
“Quit acting like hot stuff!” the guy spat. “You’re nobody!”
“Name!” the assistant director shouted. “What’s your name?”
“I’m James Salazar! Go cry about it!”James ripped off his helmet and slammed it down.
“You think you’re James Bond?” the assistant director roared. “Get out! You’re done—no pay, nada!”
“Keep your lousy cash!” James yelled, yanking off the junky armor and storming off.
The assistant director’s face was purple with rage. “Roll! We don’t need that jerk!”
His assistant leaned in, whispering, “We’re short on actors. This shot’s gonna look off.”
The director waved it off. “You blind? There’s people everywhere!” He pointed at Tasha, stacking water bottles nearby. “Yo, you! Gear up—you’re in!”
The assistant flashed a nervous grin. “Uh, boss, she’s a girl, and she’s kinda short—”
“Who cares under all that armor?” the assistant director snapped, his fuse burning shorter. “Short’s perfect. You—” he pointed at a lanky dude, “Step up, take the lead! And you—”
He glared at Tasha. She dropped the bottles, grabbed the clunky armor, and started wrestling it on.
“Not half bad,” the assistant director muttered, his temper cooling a hair. “Get behind the tall guy, move it!”
Maybe her brain was in overdrive, but Tasha felt on. Her hands and feet moved like they had a mind of their own. She slipped into the armor slick as anything and hustled to her spot.
This scene was a nightmare. The director hadn’t gotten any better just because he’d kicked out James. Hundreds of extras were still running around under the blazing sun, sweating their butts off with no end in sight. They were mentally cussing the director out six ways to Sunday.
Tasha was soaked, the armor heavy as a truck and not letting in a lick of air. Her head spun, and her vision blurred. Breakfast was a distant memory, and even after dropping some weight, her stomach still growled like a bear.
Tasha gritted her teeth. Her brain was sharp enough to catch the director’s barked orders, but her arms and legs were jelly, barely keeping up.
She was this close to passing out in the heat.
The system chimed in, “Host, your health’s at 30.”
Tasha panted, “Thirty? So what?”
“Only folks with serious issues hit that low,” the system said, cool as ice.
Tasha smirked. “I’m good. Chill.”
“I’m not worried about you,” the system shot back. “You die, and I get a big fat ‘F’ on my mission.”
Tasha, huffing and puffing, spun around and hoisted her flag, ignoring the system completely.
The system sighed. It tweaked Tasha’s hormones, tricking her body into thinking it wasn’t about to collapse.
Suddenly, Tasha’s limbs felt lighter, the ache in her neck and shoulders fading.
Tasha squinted. “System, what’s up? I’m not about to drop dead, right?”
“Cut!”The director’s shout rang out. “That’s a wrap!”
“Hell yeah!” The extras let out a tired cheer, fumbling to yank off their helmets and fan themselves with sweaty hands.
The assistant muttered something to the director. Feeling like he’d been a bit of a jerk today, the director nodded.
The assistant, picking up the cue, hollered, “Mr. Hall’s hooking us up! Lunch is all-you-can-eat, and if we run out, we’ll hit the diner down the road. Now, go wild!”
“Thanks, sir!” “Mr. Hall’s the man!” “Big props to Mr. Hall!” The set erupted, way louder this time.
The extras scattered like roaches, most sprinting for water bottles.
Tasha peeled off her helmet, letting out a huge sigh. She swung by props to ditch her armor.
The assistant gave her a quick once-over. He’d noticed—Tasha didn’t cling to the director’s every word like the others, but when the cameras rolled, she nailed it, outshining extras who’d memorized the spiel.
The director didn’t care—he’d seen pros do this and thought it was no biggie. But the assistant knew Tasha was fresh meat, so her game stood out.
After dropping off the armor, Tasha grabbed her lunch. The second she turned away, the assistant lost interest. ‘Sure, she’s got chops, but with a face that plain, she’s stuck in the background.’
He forgot her in a heartbeat.
Lunch was solid: mashed potatoes, BBQ chicken wings, mac and cheese. Feeling generous, and maybe a little bad, Roger Hall paid out of pocket for a juicy burger for every Group B extra.
Fancy actors would’ve dodged this calorie fest, but for the grind-it-out extras, it was gold. They dug in like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Tasha crushed two plates, scarfed two burgers, and chugged two 32-ounce sodas to tame her growling stomach.
Her clothes stank again. Tasha didn’t care—she was already tearing into her third box.
A dude actor nearby gaped, blown away by her appetite. ‘Damn, who knew? This short, skinny chick eats like a linebacker!’
Tasha hadn’t gone ham like this in forever.
In her old life, she was the industry’s “ugly” character actor. But actors had to stay camera-ready. Tasha gained weight just looking at food, and eating her fill would’ve cost her even those roles.
Ever since Tasha got a bit of a name for herself, Janice had been breathing down her neck, making sure she barely got a square meal.
Not anymore. She was eating like a queen.
Tasha scraped the last bite off her plate and tossed out, “System, what’s my weight now?”
The system sighed. “You just wolfed down a solid four pounds.”
“Dump it all into smarts.”
The System was expecting her to go for health or looks, so this threw it for a loop. “You’re pumping up your IQ? You trying to burn out, girl?”
“I’m not even wiped.”
‘Not wiped, for god’s sake,’ the System thought. ‘That’s just hormones messing with you.’
But it couldn’t say that. Tasha was stubborn as a mule, and it’d go in one ear and out the other.
Worse, if it spilled about tweaking her hormones, she’d probably start demanding hormone hacks on top of her forced naps, running herself ragged even faster.
So it tried a different tack. “You’re already sharp as a whip. Why more brain juice?”
“140’s genius territory,” Tasha said. “I’m at 138. I wanna feel the real deal.”
The System went quiet.
A second later, Tasha felt a warm buzz, a sign the System had done its thing.
In a flash, the world got razor-sharp. Just two IQ points, but it was like she’d jumped into a whole new reality.
Before Tasha could geek out over her upgraded brain, a voice cut in. “Hey, shorty. You ate like a champ back there. Don’t puke running around for the scene later.”
Tasha looked up. It was the middle-aged guy from across the table—decent-looking, with a laid-back, friendly vibe.
She grinned. “Thanks for the tip, sir. You got a name?”
“Alvin Doyle,” he said with a chuckle. “And you?”
“Tasha. Tasha Newman.”
Alvin raised an eyebrow. “Fancy name for a film set.”
Tasha flashed a mock-thankful look. “Thanks for the heads-up, but I’ve got a stomach like a black hole. I’m good.”
True story. And it wasn’t just her monster appetite. After the conversion, her stomach felt weirdly light, that cozy full feeling gone like it was never there.
“Alright, fair enough,” Alvin said, not pushing it. Then he switched gears. “You new? Don’t recall seeing you around.”
Tasha nodded, keeping it chill. “Yup. Tanked my SATs, so I’m out here picking up gigs.”
That line was so common it could’ve been on a bumper sticker. Alvin bought it instantly. They shot the breeze a bit, but when Tasha seemed low on chat, he took the hint and split.
On the film set, extras crashed wherever during lunch breaks. Find some shade, ball up their jacket for a pillow, and nap with the sky as their blanket and the ground as their bed. Tasha looked around, but every shady spot was taken by dozing extras.
After some searching, she settled on a wobbly stool in the shadow of the stage prop for the scene and cracked open How the Steel Was Tempered.
The System held its tongue as long as it could. “Host, you’re running on empty. A quick nap would help big time.”
Tasha was treating her body like a disposable vape.
She turned a page. “I’m good. I’ll crash tonight.”
The System shut up. For a host this set on self-destructing, it wasn’t worth the argument.
Tasha tore through How the Steel Was Tempered in one sitting. Maybe because it was the first book she read with her souped-up brain, it hit hard—like a jolt to her core.
Not just the thrill of soaking up info, but something deeper, like her soul was vibrating.
Two tiny points between “genius” and “real smart,” but the difference felt like a Grand Canyon.
Tasha’s reading speed was on fire. Better yet, she wasn’t just skimming—she was soaking up every word, like the book was written for her.
Last night, she’d been a machine, grinding through the dictionary, stuffing words into her brain. Today, though? This book hit her right in the heart. She was totally vibing with it.
Last night was cramming. Today was connecting.
Tasha was like a kid raiding a candy store, gobbling up knowledge like it was her last meal.
She tucked the book into its plastic bag and got ready for the afternoon shoot.
Big props to the System’s forced sleep mode. That crazy-deep sleep was next-level, something no regular nap could touch—a full-on body-and-soul reboot. Tasha had been hustling all day, no nap, and still felt ready to take on the world, all thanks to that shutdown.
The shoot wrapped, and Tasha pocketed a cool 30 bucks. Holding that cash felt like a dream, like she’d finally made it.
Her first real payday since her reset.
With money burning a hole in her pocket, Tasha hit the bathhouse and scrubbed till she was sparkling. Then she swung by a discount store, snagging a cheap new outfit—top to bottom, the works.
From now on, she was rocking two outfits.
