"Catherine, can you repeat what you just said?"
"What did I say?"
"You said Kevin Feige's inspiration came from a video game, made by a company called Ubisoft?"
"Yes! That's exactly what he told me when he called this afternoon."
"Okay—and the game is called Assassin's Creed?"
"Yeah, Assassin's Creed. What's wrong? Have you heard of it? Because I—I don't have any memory of it at all."
"Oh, no, I haven't heard of it either. I just think it's strange. I didn't expect Kevin Feige to pull movie inspiration from a video game. That's kind of magical, isn't it?"
"I know what you mean. And honestly, I think you're right—when I got his call this afternoon, I was pretty surprised myself."
That much was true. When Isabella heard "Ubisoft" from her sister, she really was surprised.
Not just because, in her past life, she'd played games and knew Ubisoft well—the company had been fairly famous back then, and the jokes about its server problems were already a tired meme in gaming circles.
It was more because of Assassin's Creed itself.
The moment the name came up, Isabella understood exactly what Kevin Feige was getting at. She'd played every Assassin's Creed game up through Odyssey, and they'd all been genuinely excellent. Everything after Odyssey, though, had basically been phoned-in filler.
Since Kevin Feige's inspiration had come from territory Isabella actually knew, she had a guess already forming—something about using a three-dimensional brain-computer interface to drop her movie-self into a kind of metaverse, achieving infinite crossover travel. So even though she'd worked all day and was tired, she borrowed her sister's computer and pulled up Kevin Feige's email.
The bald man's idea unfolded in front of her in three parts.
First, the email briefly recapped the Assassin's Creed story he'd heard, focusing on how Ubisoft handled the "time-space traversal" concept.
Second, Kevin Feige laid out his reasoning for why, if Isabella used this idea to cross into DC, Marvel, or any other property, the starting point had to be DC. He gave four reasons.
First: capitalism rewards extreme individualism. Since Isabella held Marvel equity and the film rights to its biggest heroes, risking her own assets on an experimental gambit was unwise. Running the test through Warner-controlled DC instead made far more sense.
Second: DC, right now, was the perfect incubator for the "traversal" concept. Once Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy succeeded, DC's global influence would be unmatched—any film DC released afterward would draw enormous attention. And with Isabella established as the world's only true top star, her entry into that world would land far more easily.
Third: Christopher Nolan had already confirmed Catwoman would appear in the third Batman film, and Isabella herself had previously said she wanted to use Catwoman as her entry point into DC.
Fourth, and most important: the current DC cinematic universe was awkward to build around.
DC's situation was strange. Before Isabella formally took over, DC had already rushed out origin films for its two biggest comic stars. Scrapping all of that to rebuild the DCEU from scratch would create two serious problems.
Audiences wouldn't accept two different origin stories for the same hero within a short stretch of time—it would feel like reheated leftovers, and a clumsy move at that. And even if audiences did accept it, they wouldn't watch the two films independently; they'd inevitably compare them side by side, and whichever came up short would be the worse off for it. No piece of art survives that kind of scrutiny indefinitely.
That was precisely why, after taking over DC, Isabella let Christopher Nolan keep making his Batman films. Since his version of Batman was a given, building the DCEU around it was simply the best expansion path available—there wasn't a better option.
And because that "best option" existed, Isabella also had the perfect window to step into DC herself: if it worked, she'd ride straight into success; if it didn't, it wouldn't touch Nolan's trilogy, and they could still pivot to a full DCEU reboot regardless.
One arrow, three eagles.
After laying out his reasoning, Kevin Feige moved to the third part of the email—the actual implementation plan.
He proposed Isabella appear at the end of The Dark Knight Rises, in a post-credits scene. Since he didn't yet know how Nolan would actually shoot the ending, he wrote two versions—one assuming a "positive" take on Catwoman, one assuming a "negative" one.
Version one: If Catwoman ended the film as a sympathetic antihero, then Isabella's post-credits introduction would show her as an ordinary person who'd just arrived in the DC world, curious about everything around her, only to immediately get attacked by some monster—slimes, for instance. Catwoman, having just parted ways with Batman, would happen to witness the attack, assume Isabella was a Gotham local, and step in to save her. Isabella, fully aware of who Catwoman actually was, would then latch onto her—and the post-credits scene would end there.
The crossover film that followed would open with the story of "mad scientist Isabella," who'd invented a device for traveling across time and space, picked a target world, and arrived in the DC universe—leading directly into the post-credits scene from The Dark Knight Rises. From there, the story would build outward from Isabella and Catwoman's meeting.
That meeting would also explain why Catwoman was in Gotham at all: she'd want to leave the city, and Isabella's decision to tag along would look strange in her eyes. If Isabella really was from Gotham, why leave now that the city had found peace? But if she wasn't from Gotham—why was she there in the first place? That tension alone could carry the script forward.
The same meeting would also introduce the film's villain. Kevin Feige's pick: Hush. In the comics, Hush is Thomas Elliott, heir to one of Gotham's four great families and Bruce Wayne's childhood best friend. As a boy, Elliott tried to kill his own parents to inherit their estate, but failed when Bruce Wayne's father intervened to save them—planting the seed of his hatred for Bruce. As an adult, he set out to destroy everything Bruce Wayne had, and eventually discovered Bruce's secret identity as Batman.
In the Catwoman film, Kevin Feige proposed that Catwoman's presence in Gotham stem from an invitation—a summons from Thomas Elliott. While surveilling Bruce Wayne, Elliott had noticed something odd: Batman always vanished exactly when Bruce reappeared, and vice versa. To test his suspicion, he'd hired outside help. If his read was right, he intended to make Bruce suffer by tearing Gotham apart.
But since this version of Catwoman was an antihero who'd come to recognize Batman's good intentions, she'd already turned down Elliott's job by the time the story picked up—earning his resentment. So when Isabella latched onto her, Catwoman's instinct would be suspicion: was Isabella one of Elliott's people? That suspicion alone would generate conflict.
With Thomas Elliott as the villain, the film could pull in DC's wider rogues' gallery, since in the comics he manipulates the Joker, Harley Quinn, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Scarecrow, Killer Croc, Clayface, Superman, Huntress, and Catwoman herself against Batman.
Functionally, Thomas Elliott would serve the same role Lex Luthor had served the last time Kevin Feige pitched Isabella on the DC universe: universal glue, a connective thread to pull in every related hero and villain. The only reason he'd swapped Luthor out, despite the unchanged purpose, was simple—Luthor had already appeared in the disastrous Superman Returns. Even though that film wouldn't be folded into the DCEU, having Luthor resurface again so soon risked confusing audiences.
This first version of the plan ended with Thomas Elliott's defeat—sending Isabella back to her home universe, and opening the door to spin off into other DC films.
Version two, written for a "negative" Catwoman, flipped the setup: if Nolan instead had Catwoman flee Gotham as a fugitive at the end of The Dark Knight Rises, then the slime-attack opening could be scrapped entirely. Isabella, freshly arrived, could simply cross paths with the fleeing Catwoman directly in the post-credits scene, kicking off the crossover film from there. In this version, Catwoman was a true supervillain through and through—someone who'd already been running with Batman's enemies for some time.
"So—what does everyone think of Kevin Feige's idea?"
It had taken Isabella nearly a full hour to get through the pitch Kevin Feige had stayed up all night writing. She'd called in her sister Catherine and her assistant Margot to read along with her, and once she reached the end, she wanted to hear what they thought.
Naturally, she went first. "Personally, I think the idea's pretty interesting. But I also think it's a little naive."
"If my role here is the supreme god of the three-dimensional world, then my arrival in any two-dimensional world should come from a position of superiority—looking down, not looking around confused. If I can move freely between worlds, I should already understand the plot of whichever one I land in."
"After doing it this way—the whole adventure would feel boring. Because movies aren't games, after all."
In Isabella's eyes, Kevin Feige's idea was genuinely good, but it would be difficult to actually execute. Assassin's Creed could send players into the past without friction because neither the protagonist nor the player knew what came next. But the moment a person with full awareness dropped into a world she already understood, she'd inevitably say something dumb or make some foolish move just by virtue of already knowing the answers.
If you wanted a comparison: it was like writing fan fiction. Transmigrate into Battle Through the Heavens and somehow fail to become sworn brothers with Xiao Yan, or transmigrate into Douluo Dalu and fail to bully Tang San, and readers would call the author an idiot.
"Mm, I get that feeling too," Catherine said, taking the mouse from her sister's hand and scrolling to Kevin Feige's first proposal. "He's saying Catwoman doesn't know who you are, but you know exactly who she is? Once that's the setup, the whole movie gets boring fast. If I were in the audience and found out the protagonist already understood the new world inside and out, I'd assume she should be functionally omniscient and omnipotent there. The second she fails to act that way, she just looks stupid."
"Uh—I feel the same way Catherine does." Margot Robbie picked up the thread the moment Catherine finished. She knew it was her turn to speak; she'd long since gotten used to Isabella prying her mouth open whenever she tried to stay quiet.
Scratching her eyebrow with her pinky, she said, "If Kevin Feige wants to borrow from Assassin's Creed, he needs to find a way to make the protagonist—meaning you, Isa—not so all-knowing and all-powerful. In his draft, you invent a time-space machine yourself. If your character's full intelligence carries over into the movie, then any slip into acting dumb will collapse her credibility. It's the same logic as Harry Potter—Hermione Granger can't act stupid. The moment she does, once, her whole character falls apart."
"But if your character keeps her full intelligence intact, you run into a different wall: not enough combat ability. DC and Marvel are both combat-driven worlds. If you're just a scientist in the crossover, how do you survive there? If your IQ's maxed out, you wouldn't walk into DC empty-handed—doing that would just be stupid. But if your character also has real combat skill, then doesn't that basically require its own origin story? A proper superhero template?"
"Say you're a top scientist in your home world, specializing in time-space travel. The top capital powers there learn about your research and want to seize it for themselves, to enslave the universe—colonize every plane. Your character refuses to go along with that, fights back against capital, and loses. Right before they catch you, you choose to disappear entirely, taking the instrument down with you. You try to destroy yourself and the machine together. Something goes wrong mid-destruction—snap, you land in DC. You meet Catwoman."
"Maybe you already had some combat ability going in—learned martial arts back home, say—and crossing over accidentally strengthens your body further, on top of giving you the power to move freely between worlds. That's where the real adventure starts. You explore DC, decide it's not the right fit, then—snap—you're in Marvel. Explore that, decide it's not right either, then—snap—Star Wars. And before each crossing, you know nothing about where you're headed."
"Personally, I think only with changes like that does the logic actually hold together."
Her sister's and Margot's ideas made Isabella raise her brows. She thought they were genuinely good—they'd patched the holes in Kevin Feige's original pitch.
But—
"Margot, your idea's solid, but building an original superhero from scratch is a tall order." Catherine cut in before Isabella could speak, leaning back into the sofa and scratching her hair. "Isa's most iconic screen role right now is Hermione Granger. Building a brand-new maxed-out-intelligence superhero on top of that? Rather than go through all that trouble, we might as well just have Chris Columbus tack a post-credits scene onto Deathly Hallows."
"Picture this: adult Hermione, working at the Ministry of Magic, gets a mystery package—turns out to be a Portkey. She doesn't know who sent it, but she touches it anyway, and—whoosh—she's gone. She lands in DC."
Catherine paused there, as if she'd caught herself finding her own idea funny, or maybe just liking where it was headed. After a beat, she pursed her lips. "Honestly, I don't think many people in this world actually want to watch Isabella play out another superhero origin story—it'd be boring. Just a copy of Harry Potter wearing a different coat. Instead of watching a copy, wouldn't people rather watch Hermione fight Superman directly? And really—Hermione's already appeared in DC before, hasn't she?"
She blinked at her sister and at Margot. The question made both of them instinctively frown—not because Deathly Hallows itself was a surprise (it hadn't been released yet, but the privileged few had already seen it), but because neither of them understood what she meant by Hermione having "already appeared" in DC.
Then Catherine said two words—"Lois Lane"—and both of them burst out laughing, getting it instantly.
"Catherine, I think you understand DC better than Kevin Feige does," Isabella said, tossing the laptop aside and leaning back, an admiring grin spreading across her face. "If that's the angle—I think your idea's even better."
Margot shook her head, looking faintly helpless—but really, she was just conceding the point.
Because it was true. Hermione really had appeared in DC before. As early as 1958, DC had put a broom-riding woman flying alongside Superman in its own universe—in the single-issue comic series for Superman's girlfriend, Superman's Girl Friend, Lois Lane. The series ran for sixteen years across 137 issues, and at its peak, ranked among the top three best-selling comics in North America for several years running.
Of course, Harry Potter's broomstick was itself borrowed from somewhere else. Same rule as always: all writing under heaven borrows from somewhere; the only question is whether you borrow well.
Since DC already had its own broom-riding character, Margot's earlier pitch for an original superhero crossing over clearly wasn't the strongest path—it would simply be a weaker version of letting Hermione Granger walk into DC directly. And that part, at least, was easy for Isabella to set up: one call to J.K. Rowling for derivative rights, one call to Barry Meyer, and the project could move forward.
But doing it that way wouldn't actually serve Isabella's real goal. After all the back-and-forth, what she actually wanted was to make her own independent IP—not something forever wearing Hermione Granger's borrowed shell.
So—"Fine. Looks like Kevin Feige's getting a 'not quite.'"
Since his idea had real flaws, Isabella decided to send it back and have him rework it. She'd been pulled straight onto the sofa by her sister the moment she got back to the dorm after a full day of filming, and after over an hour curled up there without eating, she was practically starving. She closed her laptop, ready to go hunt down food—when Margot spoke up again.
"Isa, I think Kevin Feige might come back to you again in a couple of days."
"Why?" Isabella looked at her, confused. Catherine looked over too, curious.
"Because I think he might land on a new angle," Margot said, smiling. "Like him, I actually think Assassin's Creed's core idea is strong. So—what if Kevin Feige just takes the framework directly? In the game, the Templars want to seize the Assassin Brotherhood's memories to find lost artifacts and unify the world. We could twist that."
"Here's the idea: a world-class villain masters time-space travel and wants to colonize every plane. First, his machine has real limits—it can't move an army all at once, and it can't make a targeted jump without exact coordinates for a destination. Second, anyone who travels to another world can learn everything there and bring that knowledge back. Third, the villain alone has a way to copy other people's otherworldly abilities, and no one else knows that part."
"With that setup, here's how the story unfolds: to gain endless power and achieve total control, the villain announces to the world that he can send people to other worlds—and that anyone who goes and comes back successfully becomes superhuman. Suddenly the most coveted profession in the world becomes 'adventurer,' someone who explores other worlds. To become one, you have to pass a series of trials. Once the protagonist passes and becomes an adventurer, couldn't she travel anywhere—DC, Marvel, wherever you want, Isa?"
"And ending the series becomes easy too. The villain dresses up the adventurer profession as something noble—promising that even adventurers who don't make it back will have their families taken care of. But one day, the protagonist realizes it's all a lie. She gathers a group of fellow power-holders to overthrow him—only to discover the villain himself has stockpiled abilities from everywhere. He can hold Thor's hammer in one hand, Captain America's shield in the other, wear Iron Man's armor over it all, and switch between forms mid-fight: one moment Megatron, the next a Ninja Turtle, then a Gundam, then slipping on the One Ring."
"Isn't that cool? What do you think?"
Margot stopped there, cheeks lifted with obvious pride. Her phrasing was rough, but the logic underneath it was sharp.
The image of a villain wielding Mjolnir in one hand, Captain America's shield in the other, fully suited in Iron Man's armor, lit something up in Catherine's eyes. She laughed. "Margot, your idea is genuinely insane—but it's great. Turning time-space travel into an actual business model? Wow, wow, wow, this is way too cool. I think this can be used exactly as-is."
Isabella, meanwhile, sat there stunned, struggling to believe it—not because she thought Margot's idea was bad, but because it reminded her of a movie from her past life.
Ready Player One.