The first week of filming The Mask felt like the set was about to explode.
"Cut! Cut!!"
Director Chuck Russell hurled the megaphone to the ground and pointed at the monitor, where a stunt double wearing a stiff green rubber mask froze mid-frame. His voice was shredded from yelling.
"What the hell is this?! The audience is supposed to laugh, not think they wandered into a horror movie!"
The head of the practical effects team ran over, drenched in sweat. "Chuck, this is as far as physical effects can go. The kind of cartoon logic you want—ignoring physics completely—only Industrial Light & Magic can pull that off."
The moment the words Industrial Light & Magic hit the air, the entire set went dead silent.
New Line executive Mike leaned toward Band and whispered, "ILM charges by the second."
Band's face went paper-white. He hurried over to Link, his voice shaking. "Link, this bill will bury us alive!"
Link stared at the monitor, at that lifeless fake mask, for a long time. Then he said nothing, turned around, and went back to his trailer.
He locked himself inside for the rest of the afternoon. An assistant brought in coffee three times and a pack of aspirin. No one knew what he was doing.
Inside the trailer, Linkactivated the system.
[Activating Resource Insight: Target—Industrial Light & Magic.]
[Influence Points: 7000 (-1000)]
A flood of information poured into his mind—ILM's current struggles, their cash flow pressure, their ambition for the future, and the fear lurking behind it all. He saw everything clearly.
At dusk, Link stepped out. His eyes were bloodshot, but there was a cold gleam in them.
The first thing he said to Band was, "Set up a meeting with ILM's leadership. Now."
—
Three days later, San Francisco—Industrial Light & Magic headquarters.
The building looked unremarkable from the outside, but inside it felt like a wormhole to the future. Star Wars storyboards lined the walls. A Millennium Falcon sat in a display case, silently reminding visitors that this was a factory of dreams.
They were received by the COO, Katherine O'Connell. Short, sharp haircut. A tailored power suit. A Millennium Falcon model sat on her desk. She spun a pen between her fingers, her gaze cutting like a blade.
She sat down, didn't touch the tea, and got straight to the point. "Mr. Link, I understand your needs. I've reviewed Chuck Russell's designs—very imaginative."
Then she slid a document across the table.
"This is our quote."
Band leaned over to look—and nearly slid out of his chair. The final line read: a 2 followed by seven zeros.
Twenty million dollars.
"Th-this…" His voice cracked. "Ms. O'Connell, our entire film budget is only twenty-five million!"
Katherine gave a polished, professional smile. "This is Industrial Light & Magic, not a backyard workshop. That price already reflects our goodwill toward your Palme d'Or. It's non-negotiable."
Band grabbed Link's sleeve, panicking. "Link, this is extortion! Let's go—we'll take it to Digital Domain if we have to!"
Linkstared at the quote for a full minute. Then he pushed it aside.
"Katherine," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, "I can't afford this."
She raised an eyebrow, as if she'd expected that answer, and leaned back in her chair, ready to end the meeting.
"But," Linkcontinued, lifting his head and locking eyes with her, "I can offer you something more valuable than money."
"Oh?" Katherine let out a light laugh, openly dismissive. "And what would that be? Another Palme d'Or trophy?"
"No," Link smiled. "Ownership."
He looked at her and spoke slowly, deliberately. "You've created the greatest spectacles in film history. You built the Millennium Falcon. You created the T-1000. But those films belong to George Lucas. They belong to James Cameron. You were just the most expensive craftsmen in the room."
"You have the technology," he said. "But you don't have your own work."
For the first time, Katherine's pen stopped spinning. Her eyes sharpened.
"Mr. Link," she said coolly, "what exactly are you proposing?"
Linkpicked up the quote and tore it in half right in front of her.
"I reject this price."
"Pangu puts up twenty million—not to buy your effects, but to buy your technology and your people."
"We form a new VFX company. Pangu contributes cash and guaranteed projects for the next ten years, holding 51 percent. ILM contributes equipment, technology, and core talent, holding 49 percent. Profits shared. Patents shared."
The conference room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioning.
Katherine stared at him, hard. After half a minute, she let out a cold laugh. "Mr. Link , that's the most arrogant—and the stupidest—proposal I've heard all year. Why on earth would ILM need you?"
"Because of this."
Link pulled another document from his briefcase and slid it across the table.
It wasn't a script. It was a technology roadmap.
"Motion capture. Fluid simulation. Global illumination. These will let digital characters breathe, cry, and fight like real human beings for the first time on screen."
"These are the most expensive directions for the next decade. You want to invest—but you're afraid of losing money. So what if you bring me in? What if you tie your bet to Pangu's future blockbusters and their box office?"
"Selling me a twenty-million-dollar shot is a one-time deal."
"But if you gamble with me," he said quietly, "we get a chance to define the next era—together."
Katherine didn't respond.
She picked up the technical proposal and slowly flipped through it, page by page.
For the first time, she set the pen down.