Three hours of thousands of takes went into the green screen scenes, repeating the same shots where she would fall and hit the soft foam pads, crashing into the blonde over and over again, annoyingly so.
–We've got lunch, then we'll be back shooting the next scenes – said Michael Bay.
–Hey, great job – said Billy, sitting down beside Scarlett. The glances turning toward him didn't go unnoticed—he was fully aware of how people could misinterpret a simple greeting, a touch, or a comment. The looks were constant, even if their friendship was obvious. Any idea of something more was meant for later, or at least that was the blonde's thinking. As a single woman, she felt freer than she would be in a relationship, especially in the spotlight. Fame, to Billy, was like a speeding train—if you couldn't keep up, you'd bounce right off. You either stayed hidden or brought real value to the partnership, because fans weren't kind.
–You did a great job, too – said Scarlett nervously. They locked eyes. Billy took a long breath—so different from his usual cocky, proud behavior.
–There's a party in L.A. We could stop by for a bit. It's a pretty famous club – said Billy.
Her wide eyes studied him.
–I think that could help – said Scarlett. –Relaxing a little, dancing. I don't know L.A. very well—I haven't gone out much.–
Truthfully, Scarlett didn't care much about parties. She had some friends, but in festive environments, she preferred to stay in hen lane—it wasn't unpleasant to her at all.
–Then it's settled. Some of my friends from Victoria's Secret will be there – Billy grinned, as a full lunch was brought over. The small chairs and scheduled break wouldn't last more than half an hour. The director was eager to keep filming all the remaining scenes. Next up were quick shots in small green-walled rooms with white beds—used for the opening sequences of the movie, when they lived in a kind of paradise.
The girl grimaced at Billy's words—Victoria's Secret models. She narrowed her eyes, insecurity flashing behind them. She felt completely adrift, blindsided. News from Monaco ran through her mind—the image of a brunette sitting on his lap, her long legs etched in her memory.
–Yeah, sounds great. I don't know the party scene – Scarlett said, heart sinking.
–It's just a party, babe, nothing to worry about – Billy replied, sipping his juice. His tray was exactly how he'd asked—extra chicken, white rice, a big bowl of veggies with cheese and tartar sauce, some ham, and a smoothie made of blackberries, strawberries, and peanut butter. A massive shake.
–You eat so much and still stay slim. How do you do it?–
–Exercise, babe.–
–Don't call me babe.–
–You've got to work out a lot – Billy said.
Someone approached him to let him know he needed another layer of makeup on his back.
...
The next scenes were a full solo for Billy. He had landed a big part now. Michael Bay, though not known for his focus on acting, clearly knew how to handle rookies—take what works, discard the rest.
–Scene six, take one.–
Billy exits his room, followed by extras trailing behind him. Not far along, he veers onto a path that loops in a circle. He tries to keep a smile on his face, letting out a breath, waking from a dream. It's fascinating how a space barely 100 meters across can be used so efficiently by the entire crew.
He tosses in bed, haunted by fragments of dreams, all flashing too fast. He opens his eyes abruptly but tries to move slowly—the way he always does when waking from nightmares. He often dreams of a car accident, of his mother's final smile. Just imagining it makes him exhale deeply. His eyes carry a loneliness that even Michael Bay questions, though he doesn't interrupt—he's just glad the actor seems to have a gift for moody atmospheres.
Billy wanders into a bathroom.
–He has high sodium levels. He should watch his death,– says a mechanized voice. A figure marks time with him, speaking only to the room—a white space with several green-screen monitors.
–Yeah – Billy sighs, heading for his clothes.
He notices he's missing his left shoe.
LINCOLN: I'm missing a left shoe.
He's speaking to himself—this time, the voice-overs will be added in post. He speaks again.
LINCOLN: Lincoln 3-1-0, requesting wardrobe assistance.
Pause.
He looks at the camera, half-smiling. Then he waits, holding the beat, and notices another shoe—Puma brand—a subtle product placement. He doesn't bother to inspect it.
LINCOLN: White isn't my color. Requesting a different shade.
LINCOLN: Good day – he whispers as he steps into an elevator, really just a small door. He turns, lost in thought.
Someone taps the screen—a slightly bald man with dark hair around the sides.
GANDU 3 ECHO: I've been here seven years. It's a damn disgrace.
GANDU 3 ECHO: How long have you been in?
EXTRA: Two years.
EXTRA: How about you? – asks a dark-skinned man.
LINCOLN: Three years.
Billy's silence dissolves with a smile that lights up his eyes, transforming him from a lonely soul to someone bright and cheerful.
GANDU 3 ECHO: Three? I've been here seven. If I do the math, that makes me the biggest loser in the lottery. I'm a loser.
They exit the elevator.
GUARD 1: Sir.
GUARD 2: Yeah, you.
GUARD 1: Gandu Three Echo, you've been cited before for public disturbances.
GANDU 3 ECHO: Yes, sir, I had a minor emotional outburst.
Is it safe to say it's over? Yeah, very safe.
We pull back, marked by deliberate steps, revealing neighboring apartments with identical frosted facades. More levels above and below, all connected by ramps and skywalks. It could be a prison block, but no visible guards. The residents move freely, all men, dressed in sheepskin jackets, polos, and pants. Just another day in Sector Four.
–Cut – said Michael Bay, nodding. Billy just took a breath—he fully agreed.
He had rehearsed all of this with Scarlett—she always pushed him to his limits. That closeness helped him bring more dimension to the character. At no point was Lincoln... just a man of dreams and hopes.
–Twenty minutes. Back to shooting – said Paul Rubbet, trying to coordinate the room. Only a few people were on set for now, but they'd soon head to Detroit to film the rest. There were still some island scenes to polish.
–Scene seven, take one.–
INT. NUTRITION PLAZA – SECTOR FOUR – DAY
Satie's Gymnopédie plays softly from the ceiling speakers. A wall of glass reveals a lush, mountainous valley. The cream-tiled plaza curves gently and is split into two service zones.
Male residents queue on one side, females on the other. Both groups mix in the seating area. Lincoln arrives at the front of the line and passes his e-ticket over a scanner. A surly, uniformed NUTRITION ATTENDANT watches the screen.
NUTRITION ATTENDANT: Lincoln Six-Echo... You can have dried fruit, oatmeal, or anything with bran.
LINCOLN
What? No bacon?
NUTRITION ATTENDANT
You've got a sodium flag, pal. So what's it gonna be?
LINCOLN
Whatever.
LINCOLN: In that case, I'll take two eggs, over easy—not too runny—and a side of sausage. Maybe some French toast and powdered sugar?
NUTRITION ATTENDANT: You're not cute, and I don't have time for sass, Six Echo. Now what's it gonna be?
LINCOLN: Surprise me.
NUTRITION ATTENDANT: Surprise. Yummy. Next.
He shrugs, annoyed. The attendant taps her screen, turns to a row of slides behind her, and grabs a foil-covered bowl and a canned drink. Lincoln, unenthused, fills his tray with oatmeal and juice, then heads to the seating area.
Men and women eat and chat happily. Uniformed helpers roam, cleaning and drying tables. A division starts to emerge—the service crew, like the nutrition attendant, wear distinct uniforms but no facial markings. They're known as "outsiders."
The "residents," like Lincoln, bear cross-shaped scars above their left eyebrows and wear leather cuffs on their wrists. Most are Caucasian, between their twenties and sixties. There are no children here.
We isolate a fresh-faced blonde in her twenties—a delicate beauty with a radiant smile. Her name is JORDAN TWO-ALPHA. She sees Lincoln and waves.
JORDAN: Lincoln! Over here!
Lincoln walks over, slightly surprised to see him, but pleased.
LINCOLN: Hey, stranger.
JORDAN: What? You don't recognize me?
LINCOLN: Just a figure of speech, that's all.
JORDAN: You and your sayings, Lincoln. Now sit and ask me where I've been.
LINCOLN
(sitting with a wide grin)
Alright, Jordan. Where've you been?
JORDAN: At the medical center. Just for some tests, but they put me on liquid nutrition.
(She eats a bite of eggs. M.mm. First solid food I've had in a week.
LINCOLN: Thrilling.
JORDAN: Torture.
LINCOLN: It's tougher than I thought.
JORDAN: Heard they cut your bacon.
LINCOLN: That's not how it looks.
JORDAN: I'll show you how to score some bacon.
–Cut.–
Billy let out a breath. Every scene worked. He just had to do his part—at some point, he wanted to pitch the director on adding more of Lincoln's dreamer side—something to make him feel truly human.
...