Jack stood near the edge of the lot in Columbus’s costume, still half-watching the crew reset equipment for the next scene, when Stallone walked up beside him with the confidence of someone who had spent decades making chaos look easy on camera. The older actor had already changed out of most of the Rambo gear, though the jacket still hung over one shoulder as he looked back toward the road, where six fake zombie bodies were being cleared away.
“That was a fun little piece,” Stallone said, nodding toward the set while a crew member carried one of the broken prosthetic heads past them. “Short, ridiculous, and exactly the kind of thing people remember after they leave the theater.”
Jack smiled as he adjusted the strap of Columbus’s backpack. “You made six seconds look like an entire movie trailer. I’m pretty sure half the crew forgot we still had a schedule after that.”
Stallone gave a quiet laugh and looked at him with an approving tilt of his head. “Your dad told me you were good with that kind of thing. Big scenes, small scenes, doesn’t matter, you pay attention to what makes people remember them.”
Jack glanced toward the monitor tent, where Richard was talking with Phil and Christopher near the playback station. “My dad likes making me sound more put together than I actually am. Most days, I’m just trying to look calm while my brain runs around screaming with a clipboard.”
“That’s producing,” Stallone said, sounding amused as he shifted the jacket over his shoulder. “Everybody thinks it’s control. Half the time it’s fear management with better shoes.”
Jack laughed because that felt painfully accurate after the last few months of Zombieland problems. “Yeah, that sounds about right. We had a fake director try to get close to the script, scheduling headaches, budget fights, location pressure, and somehow this is still the fun part.”
Stallone studied him for a second, then his expression shifted into something more serious. “Speaking of scripts, your dad showed me something a couple months back. Creed.”
Jack’s whole body seemed to pause for half a second before he looked back at Stallone, caught completely off guard by the name. He had written the script and given it to Richard as a rough concept, partly because the idea had stayed in his head for years and partly because he is a big fan of Rocky and it'd be a crime not to bring the story of Creed into this reality. Hearing Stallone say the title out loud made the whole thing feel much more real than it had in a folder on his desk.
“Dad showed you Creed?” Jack asked, trying to keep his voice casual while failing badly enough that Stallone smiled.
“He did,” Stallone said as he tucked one hand into his pocket. “He acquired Rocky IP a couple of years back, and we've been talking back and forth about what to do with the Rocky franchise. Then he said you wrote something connected to Rocky, and I’ll be honest, when someone tells me that, I get careful. People throw legacy around all the time, and sometimes they just mean nostalgia with a new coat of paint.”
Jack nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the conversation settle over him. “Yeah, I get why you’d be careful with it. You can't just rewrite a modern myth without people pushing back."
“That’s why I liked what you wrote,” Stallone said, pointing lightly toward him with two fingers. “It respects where the story came from. Apollo’s son, Rocky older, carrying history without pretending the past solves everything. The kid has his own fight, his own pain, and Rocky isn’t there as some superhero trainer who knows every answer. He’s a man who has lived too much and still has something to give.”
Jack looked away for a moment, blinking against the sudden rush of pride that hit harder than he expected. He had been praised by critics, fans, actors, producers, and award shows, yet Stallone talking about Rocky with quiet approval made him feel like a kid who had just been told his favorite poster belonged on the wall.
Also, he allowed himself to feel good because instead of copying the OG movie from his reality, he made improvements and certain changes to make the movie even better, for example, Jack expanded Adonis' childhood to give audiences a deeper understanding of the anger and loneliness that shaped him, gave Ricky Conlan a richer backstory and clearer motivations so he felt like more than just the final obstacle, developed Bianca's music career into its own compelling storyline, and added several quieter conversations between Adonis and Rocky that strengthened their bond. He also extended the training sequences with more technical boxing drills and strategic preparation, making Adonis' growth feel earned before refining the championship bout into a more tactical contest where both fighters constantly adapted to each other's strengths and weaknesses.
“I’m really glad you saw it that way,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked back at him. “I didn’t want it to feel like I was just dragging Rocky back because people know the name. I wanted it to feel like the world continued after the last bell.”
Stallone nodded, clearly pleased by that answer. “That’s the phrase your dad used when he pitched it to me. The world continued after the last bell. I remembered that because it’s the right way to look at it.”
Jack let out a small breath and smiled. “That was actually in my notes. I wrote it on the first page so I wouldn’t forget what the story was supposed to be about.”
“Good instinct,” Stallone said, his voice lower now as crew noise moved around them. “Rocky was always about more than boxing. The fight gives you the structure, sure, yet the heart is dignity, loneliness, love, and somebody trying to prove they still matter. Creed has that. The kid isn’t trying to become Apollo. He’s trying to understand what Apollo left behind.”
Jack’s smile faded into something more earnest as he listened. “That was the part that got me excited. A son who never knew his father, carrying a name that opens doors and crushes him at the same time. And then Rocky, who loved Apollo, has to look at this kid and face everything he survived.”
Stallone watched him closely, and the easy set banter between them shifted into something closer to trust. “You really know Rocky.”
Jack gave a quiet laugh, suddenly feeling younger than nineteen in front of him. “I’m a huge fan. Rocky, First Blood, Cop Land, all of it. I grew up watching your movies, and Rocky especially was one of those stories that stuck with me. The steps, the music, the underdog thing, the fact that he keeps going even when winning isn’t really the point anymore.”
“That’s a good way of putting it,” Stallone said, smiling faintly as a grip rolled a cart past them. “People remember the punches, and I’m grateful they do. The reason they remember the man is because he keeps getting back up when life has already counted him out.”
Jack nodded, feeling the truth of that in a way that went deeper than he could explain. In another life, he had been the guy dreaming from the outside, watching people like Stallone on a screen and wondering what it felt like to be part of something that lasted. Now he was standing on a movie set in Georgia, talking to Rocky himself about a script he had written for a future that had never existed here until he touched it.
“I’d love to talk about it properly whenever you have time,” Jack said, careful to keep his excitement under control. “No pressure, obviously. I know you’re busy, and I know this story is personal to you. I’d rather do it right than rush anything just because the idea sounds exciting.”
“That’s exactly why I wanted to meet you,” Stallone said, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “I’ve been buried in shooting and travel, so I couldn’t sit down with you earlier. After reading it, though, I knew we needed to have a real conversation. There’s something there, and if we do it, it has to be handled with care.”
Jack smiled wider, unable to hide it anymore. “Then whenever your schedule clears, I’m there. I’ll bring the script, notes, revisions, whatever you want.”
Stallone chuckled at the sudden flood of producer energy in his voice. “Easy there, kid. First, finish your zombie movie without losing your mind. After that, we’ll talk Creed.”
Jack glanced toward the apartment set where Penny was heading into the wardrobe, then looked back with a grin. “That sounds fair. Zombies first, boxing legacy later.”
“Good order of business,” Stallone said as he patted his shoulder and then started stepping away, then paused and looked back at him. “And Jack, one more thing. Your dad is proud of you. The way he talked about that script and about your work, it wasn’t business.”
Jack’s expression softened before he could stop it, and his gaze moved toward Richard across the lot. His father was laughing at something Christopher had said, completely unaware that he had just become part of the conversation.
“Yeah,” Jack said quietly, his voice carrying more feeling than he intended. “He’s been there for me all the time.”
Stallone gave him one last nod, the kind that felt like advice without turning into a speech. “Then keep listening to him. Good fathers save you time you don’t know you’re wasting yet.”
Jack watched Stallone walk toward the exit, still feeling the warmth of that conversation sitting in his chest. A few minutes earlier, he had been focused on zombies, fake blood, and whether the day’s schedule would survive the remaining light. Now Creed was back in his head, louder than before, with Rocky Balboa’s future suddenly feeling possible in a way it never had when the script was just a secret file Richard had promised to keep safe.
Across the lot, Penny stood near the soundstage entrance while wardrobe adjusted her outfit for 406. She looked nervous, excited, and slightly overwhelmed by the size of everything around her.
...[A few minutes later]...
Penny stood near the apartment set entrance while the wardrobe made one last adjustment to the blanket she would use later in the scene. The set itself looked like a lonely disaster built by someone who had never expected guests. There was a desk with an old computer, a glowing monitor, empty Mountain Dew bottles, pizza boxes stacked near the chair, and a living room sofa that looked too clean in a way that somehow made Columbus seem even more anxious.
Phil walked over with the sides in one hand and gave Penny a friendly smile as she tried to stop twisting the corner of the pages between her fingers. “Okay, so here’s the thing about 406,” he said, lowering his voice enough that it felt like a real conversation instead of a director giving instructions. “She has to come in like a damsel in distress, completely scared, shaken up, and desperate enough to hug the first safe person she finds.”
Penny nodded while looking toward the apartment door mark. “So full panic when I enter, then she calms down because Columbus makes her feel safe.”
“Exactly,” Phil said, pointing at her with the pages. “She’s terrified, and she’s also a little airhead in the way she explains things. She’s cute, overwhelmed, and maybe not processing everything perfectly. Don’t play her like she knows she’s in a horror comedy. Play her like the worst thing in her life just chased her down the hallway, and now she has landed in the apartment of the sweetest awkward guy alive."
Penny glanced toward Jack, who was sitting at the computer desk while makeup touched up the nervous shine on his face. Then she imagined a zombie Sheldon chasing her down the stairs while holding a physics book for some reason, and Thai food smeared all over his mouth and shirt. She grabbed her baseball bat and beat the shit out of zombie Sheldon with a large smile and smashed his head. But instead of blood, multiple fake molecule balls burst out, making her jump in shock.
'Yep, that works.' She got chills just from imagining that in her head.
“Scared, shaken, a little airhead, and still charming enough that the audience understands why he lowers his guard. Got it," Penny took a deep breath and nodded.