There was nothing difficult about it. By the time he drove home, Duke had already made up his mind, because the one with the least investment was definitely the most suitable.

His mother had a social engagement that evening, so Duke ate dinner alone. Afterward, he returned to the studio on the second floor, sat in front of the typewriter, and tried hard to recall the films he had once studied as models, gradually sorting out his thoughts.

The structure of this film was very simple, the theme was simple, and even the title consisted of just one word—"Speed"!

Actually, it could go by another name, one that was even more familiar to Duke: "Life or Death Speed"!

This was one of the most classic action movies of the 1990s in Hollywood. What troubled Duke was that the film’s investment was by no means low, even though it was the least expensive among the action films he was familiar with.

Fortunately, the Soviet Union had not yet collapsed, and Bill Clinton had not yet taken office. Even though the dollar was constantly depreciating, it wasn’t as battered as it would be a few years later.

Even so, this would still be a film with an investment of over ten million dollars.

"Looks like unless money falls from the sky, otherwise..."

Shaking his head, Duke let out a long sigh, then struck the first letter on the typewriter.

Just as he said, the chances were indeed slim, but if he tried, there might be a tiny possibility of success; if he did nothing, then there would truly be no chance at all.

"Only those with a tenacious character can achieve extraordinary accomplishments!"

Duke thought this saying made a lot of sense.

Over the next week or so, Duke set aside the financial burdens he faced and his worries about the future, devoting all his mind and energy to organizing a detailed character profile and script outline.

With this, Duke now had a ready-made template. Next, he just needed to follow the three-act structure and assembly-line writing model of the script, filling in the blanks of the template, and he would have a standard Hollywood-style commercial screenplay.

Even many details he had forgotten could find suitable filler paragraphs in this kind of assembly-line scriptwriting.

If he wanted his already slim chance not to shrink further, the script had to conform to Hollywood’s operating model and aesthetic standards. As a newcomer with no reputation or backing, trying to innovate or be unconventional at this point would be nothing but courting disaster.

Time gradually moved into mid-May of 1991. Santa Monica was also shrouded by the blazing sun, and only at night, when the cool breeze blew in from the sea, could the heat and dryness of the day be slightly dispelled, making people feel a bit more comfortable.

On the balcony on the second floor of the villa, white light illuminated every corner. In the very center stood a small round plastic table. Duke sat in a wicker chair by the table, frowning in thought. So focused was he that he completely ignored the occasional bloodsucking mosquito. When the cool sea breeze blew in again from the west, his hands, resting in front of the typewriter, slowly lifted and landed on the lettered keys.

With the "clack clack" of the typewriter, sheets of white paper imprinted with lines of letters slowly rolled out of the machine.

First scene, first act.

The security door of the building’s ground floor elevator lobby was pushed open from the outside. A security guard holding a walkie-talkie walked in, following a vague figure and some noises. He moved forward and found an elderly maintenance worker repairing something.

"Hey, this area is off-limits!" he called out as he walked over for a routine check.

"I know." The elderly maintenance worker only revealed half his body. "Someone called me over to fix the wiring."

"Why wasn’t I notified?" The security guard was a bit suspicious and asked alertly, "Let me see your work order."

"Just a moment." The maintenance worker bent down to look for the paperwork in his bag. His left hand was missing a thumb, clearly disabled. "Found it."

He slowly stood up, his right hand hidden behind the paperwork. As the security guard focused on the document, the right hand’s knife swiftly and cleanly stabbed into the guard’s ear.

"This isn’t a personal vendetta!"

With the template, Duke's writing speed increased significantly. The movie itself wasn’t complicated, and most of the scenes were standard Hollywood techniques, only reinterpreted with a tight connection between time, speed, and life and death. In fact, for many elements, Duke could find reference models from videotapes he had watched in recent years.

Writing wasn’t a smooth process either. Even with his long-term study and accumulation, there were still things he wasn’t good at, such as romance scenes.

Fortunately, this film basically didn’t need to highlight romance. The male and female leads simply came together after going through hardships, and most of that content could be glossed over.

For several weeks in a row, Duke basically stayed at home. He didn’t have any close friends to begin with and had completely become a 90s homebody. Only when Mrs. Leah wasn’t busy could he occasionally talk with his mother.

"You don’t know how to write romance?"

At the dinner table, Mrs. Leah squinted at Duke. "As far as I remember, you dated quite a few girls after you turned fifteen, didn’t you?"

"Mom, my time is very precious. I won’t waste my time and energy on love affairs."