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The final battle between the Ancient One and Karu.
Mirror dimension showdown.
The original script played it like a superhero slugfest—big light shows, but something was missing.
"It needs philosophy," Sangye said, drawing lines on the screen with his stylus. "Not just good versus evil. Make it like a chess match. Every move is a clash of worldviews."
He pulled up his revised version.
Cassius read the first few lines and his eyes lit up.
Sangye had turned the fight into dialogue.
Every mudra the Ancient One formed came with an explanation of what he was protecting.
Every dark spell Karu cast came with a question about the cost of freedom.
The action was the surface. Underneath, two entire worldviews were tearing into each other.
"Here the Ancient One blocks the void's devouring with a Vishanti shield," Sangye pointed. "I protect possibility, not perfection."
"Then Karu fires back—possibility includes destruction. Who gave you the right to choose for the world?"
"Perfect," Cassius said, giving a thumbs-up.
This was the good stuff.
Audiences would love the fight. Critics would eat up the dialogue. Win-win.
They kept revising until noon. The last three scenes were locked.
Sangye sent the file to Marvel's contact, then stretched with a crack from his knees. "Done. We can head back."
"Leaving today?"
"Yeah. Afternoon flight."
Sangye stood up. "Getting old. Legs go numb after sitting like that too long."
By lunch, Dorje had already packed their things. Two simple cloth bags holding robes and scriptures.
Sangye traveled even lighter—just a canvas tote with his tablet, charger, and a few packs of Tibetan medicine.
"Where's Zhuoma?" Cassius asked.
"She's waiting at the airport," Dorje said. "She went back to Lhasa yesterday to buy a few things to take with her."
At two in the afternoon the car left Ganden Monastery.
Cassius looked back once. The maroon buildings glowed like an old painting in the sunlight.
Three days ago he had arrived half out of his mind. Now he was leaving clear-headed, plus one permanent Soul Anchor buff.
At the airport, Zhuoma was waiting outside departures.
She had changed clothes—still the off-white linen tunic, but now layered with a light gray cashmere cardigan. Hair pulled into a ponytail. Sharper than she looked on the plane.
"Teacher Cassius!" she called, waving, eyes curving into crescents. "Soul back in one piece?"
Cassius gave a tired smile. "Back where it belongs. Thanks for the ambush."
"You're welcome." Zhuoma winked. "Uncle told me to check on you. I take my job seriously."
Sangye snorted beside her. "She also took Marvel's consulting fee. Double pay. Living the dream."
They cleared security and boarded. Direct flight to Los Angeles with a refueling stop in Beijing.
Business class. Wide seats.
Cassius and Sangye sat together. Zhuoma and Dorje took the row behind.
Once they were in the air, Sangye pulled an eye mask from his bag. "I'm sleeping. Wake me when we land."
He was out in seconds.
Cassius stared. The man's sleep game was unreal.
He opened the entertainment screen and scrolled through movies. Guardians of the Galaxy sat in the recommended spot with his face on the cover. He quietly scrolled past it and picked Nolan's old film Inception.
Halfway through, a voice beside him said, "You like Nolan?"
Zhuoma had woken up and was leaning over, looking at his screen.
"Trying to learn," Cassius said, pausing the movie. "His narrative structure is sharp."
"But it fries your brain," Zhuoma said. She pulled an apple from her bag and took a loud bite. "Watch it once and you're lost. Watch it twice and you're exhausted. Your movie's better—one watch and it's fun, second watch and you still catch new details."
"Thanks."
"Not a compliment. Just facts."
She took another bite. "Eight out of ten clients at my studio have seen Guardians. They all say it put them in a better mood afterward. That's emotional value, right?"
Cassius laughed. "Your business scope is pretty wide."
"Spiritual healing still has to stay grounded," Zhuoma said, wrapping the apple core in a napkin. "I can't just tell clients to come talk about reincarnation for three hundred dollars an hour. They want real problems solved—anxiety, insomnia, relationship mess."
"So I use movies as entry points. Like Groot sacrificing himself in Guardians—that's a good way in for talking about sacrifice and letting go."
Cassius turned to look at her. Her thinking was strange, but somehow it made sense.
"What do you think The Ancient One could open up for people?"
"Choice," Zhuoma said, wiping her hands. "The Ancient One chooses protection. Karu chooses freedom. No absolute right or wrong. Just different prices."
"That topic sells like crazy in America—individualism versus social responsibility, freedom versus safety. People never stop arguing about it."
She paused. "Oh, and my uncle didn't tell you? A bunch of my clients in Los Angeles are Hollywood screenwriters. When they're stuck, they come see me. Five hundred dollars an hour to help them untangle ideas."
Cassius had no words.
This whole family were commercial geniuses.
The plane refueled in Beijing for two hours. None of them got off. Sangye slept through it, snoring. Dorje sat stiffly upright, watching the lights outside. Zhuoma quietly answered messages.
"First time out of the country?" Cassius asked Dorje.
Dorje nodded. "First time on a plane was a few days ago, when I flew from Lhasa to Beijing to pick you up."
"Nervous?"
"A little."
Dorje was honest. "But teacher said everything is empty. The airport is empty. The plane is empty. Nervousness is empty."
Cassius smiled. "Then try to relax. Don't sit so straight."
Dorje attempted to lean back, but his body stayed rigid.
Zhuoma leaned forward from behind. "He grew up in the monastery with strict rules. Old habits die hard. If you tell him to be comfortable, he gets even more uncomfortable."
Cassius understood.
Culture shock, plain and simple.
After takeoff again, Cassius finally slept.
When he woke, the captain announced one hour to Los Angeles.
Outside the window, the Pacific was black. Distant city lights flickered on the horizon.
Sangye finally woke, took off his eye mask, and rubbed his face. "We there?"
"Almost."
"Hungry."
Sangye patted his stomach. "Plane food is terrible. You're buying when we land. I heard there's a famous burger place in Los Angeles."
Cassius nodded. "As many as you want."
Zhuoma spoke up from behind. "Uncle, your blood pressure and cholesterol—"
"We'll talk about it when we get there," Sangye waved her off. "When in Rome."
They landed at LAX at eight in the evening.
Stepping out of the terminal, a wave of warm, humid air hit them—completely different from the dry cold of Tibet. The smell of gasoline and fast food hung in the air.
Dorje looked stunned.
He stared at the traffic, neon, and giant billboards. His eyes went wide.
One billboard showed Guardians of the Galaxy promo art. Cassius's face took up half of it.
"That's—you?" Dorje pointed.
"Yeah."
Cassius flagged down an Uber XL. "Let's go eat first."
He hadn't asked Rob to pick them up. Sangye and Dorje were in America for the first time. He wanted to show them something real.
The car was a seven-seat SUV. The driver was a Mexican guy playing Latin music.
Sangye took the front seat. The second he got in he asked, "Got anything quieter?"
The driver glanced at him and switched to jazz.
Cassius sat in the middle row. Zhuoma and Dorje took the back.
Dorje kept his face glued to the window like a kid in an amusement park. Zhuoma stayed calm and started replying to messages on her phone.
They pulled up in front of an In-N-Out in West Hollywood.
"This place," Cassius said as they got out. "California classic. You have to try it."
The line was long, stretching out the door.
Cassius told the others to grab a table while he ordered.
Four double cheeseburgers, four orders of animal-style fries, four milkshakes—vanilla, chocolate, strawberry—and one protein-style burger for Sangye with fewer carbs.
When he came back with the tray, Sangye, Zhuoma, and Dorje were sitting in a window booth in identical postures.
Backs straight. Hands resting on their knees. Like they were meditating.
A few customers recognized Cassius and started taking sneaky photos. He pretended not to notice.
He set the food down. The burgers were wrapped in paper, fries golden, milkshake cups sweating.
"Dig in."
Sangye picked up a burger and studied how to unwrap it. Dorje copied him, movements stiff. Zhuoma was already tearing the paper open and taking a big bite.
"Mmm."
Sangye chewed a few times, eyes brightening. "This is good."
Cassius grinned. "Better than plane food?"
"Much better."
Sangye took another bite, cheeks puffing. "The meat's flavorful. What's the sauce?"
"Thousand Island with grilled onions."
"Not bad."
Dorje ate in small bites but kept pace. Zhuoma had already finished half her burger and moved on to the fries.
"Why are these fries called animal style?" Dorje asked.
"Because they add grilled onions, cheese sauce, and Thousand Island," Cassius explained. "Calorie bomb."
Dorje nodded like he half-understood.
Halfway through the meal, Sangye suddenly said, "Cassius, you're a good person."
Cassius looked up.
"A lot of Hollywood stars get money and fame and start acting above everyone," Sangye said, wiping his hands. "You took us to eat this. Not some fancy restaurant. Just regular people food."
Cassius smiled. "I haven't been famous that long. Haven't had time to get full of myself."
"Even after you get famous, you can still stay grounded."
Sangye took a sip of his milkshake. "I've seen plenty of gurus in India. Once they get enough disciples, they start putting on airs."
Zhuoma nodded from beside him. "Some of my clients—second- and third-tier celebrities—put on bigger shows than the A-listers. They won't leave the house without five assistants."
"You didn't bring even one. You carried your own bag, took a rideshare, and brought us to a burger place. In spiritual circles that's called grounded. Highest compliment."
Sangye had barely finished speaking when a loud bang came from outside.
Gunfire.
Cassius knew that sound too well.
Years ago, before he was famous, he lived in a shitty apartment in Koreatown. Gang shootouts happened every few nights. He used to wake up to gunshots and hide under the bed until the sirens came.
Later in Brazil he had been in an actual gunfight and killed someone.
Since moving to Beverly Hills it had been quiet.
He hadn't expected it to find him here.
The burger place went dead silent for one second.
Then screaming.
Customers near the windows dropped to the floor immediately, movements practiced and heartbreaking.
The girl at the register went pale and fumbled for the panic button.
"Get down!"
Cassius reacted first. He shoved Sangye under the table and shouted at Zhuoma and Dorje, "Heads down!"
Dorje was still frozen. Zhuoma yanked him down beneath the booth.
More gunfire erupted outside.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
People screamed and ran in the street. Car horns blared. Tires screeched.
"Fuck!"
The shots were getting closer.
Not handguns—at least semi-automatic rifles. Bullets slammed into the wall across the street, spraying brick dust.
Everyone in the restaurant was on the floor. No one moved.
A child started crying. His mother clamped a hand over his mouth.
"When are the police coming?" Sangye asked from under the table. His voice was strangely calm.
"Soon," Cassius said. "Probably."
He wasn't sure. He had lived in Los Angeles long enough to know police response times. Rich neighborhoods got fast service. Poor ones got slow. This in-between spot? Luck of the draw.
Bang!
Another shot, much closer. It sounded like it hit the outer wall.
Someone in the restaurant started praying in a mix of English and Spanish.
Dorje was shaking. The kid had grown up in a monastery. The most violent thing he had probably seen was monks getting heated during debate and throwing scriptures. Now live rounds were flying past his ears. The fact that he hadn't pissed himself was impressive.
Welcome to America.
Zhuoma put a hand on his shoulder and said something quiet in Tibetan. Dorje took a deep breath and steadied a little.
Cassius stayed low and peered through the gap under the table.
The street outside was empty now except for a few abandoned cars with doors open. Distant police lights flashed, but they weren't here yet.
The shooting stopped for about five seconds.
Just when everyone thought it was over—
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Full auto this time.
And the bullets were sweeping toward the restaurant.
Crash!
The big front window exploded inward. Glass rained across the floor and over the people lying there.
Someone got cut and grunted but stayed down.
Cassius's heart was in his throat. He could feel bullets passing over their heads and punching into the back wall, leaving neat holes.
The smell of fried chicken mixed with gunpowder in the most wrong way possible.
Then he froze.
Because he noticed something.
The bullets coming through the window seemed to be avoiding their table.
Not in a physical "they bounced" way. The trajectories were just… wrong.
The glass had shattered. Bullets were spraying in. Logically, the window booth should have been the first thing hit.
But the bullets either slammed into the wall beside them or buried themselves in the seat backs across the aisle. Not a single one came toward their table.
One round even grazed the tip of Cassius's shoe, hit the floor, and ricocheted away.
That wasn't possible.
Cassius's mind flashed to the Vishanti shield from the instance—faint golden hexagons with flowing Sanskrit.
But he wasn't forming any mudra right now.
And this was the real world. There was no magic here.
So what the hell—
He turned his head and looked under the table at Sangye.
The old monk was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees in a strange mudra Cassius had never seen. Very subtle. Hidden under the table where no one else could see it.
Only Cassius's angle let him catch it.
Sangye's lips moved slightly, no sound, but the shape looked like chanting.
Zhuoma was doing something similar—fingers tapping a strange rhythm on her knee.
Dorje was whispering under his breath. Tiny voice, but Cassius could hear it was Tibetan scripture.
Cassius stared.
A table of four people.
Three of them were cheating.
And he was the only normal one sitting here like an idiot.
Outside, the gunfire got heavier, mixed with police shouting.
"LAPD! Drop your weapons!"
"Get down! Hands on your head!"
More shooting.
Bang bang bang! Rat-tat-tat!
At least two guns firing back now.
Inside the restaurant, a brave employee started crawling toward the door to pull down the security gate.
He had just reached the switch when—
"Don't move!"
A voice outside roared.
A bullet slammed into the doorframe ten centimeters from the employee's hand.
The guy dropped flat.
Cassius swore internally.
What the actual fuck kind of luck was this? Eating a burger and walking straight into a Hollywood action movie.
Sirens finally reached the front of the store.
Red and blue lights flashed through the broken windows. The megaphone got louder.
"Final warning! Drop your weapons!"
"We have you surrounded—"
The sentence cut off as more gunfire erupted.
This time it was the police firing. Clean, disciplined bursts.
The return fire weakened, then stopped.
Silence.
Footsteps outside. Many of them.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Medic!"
The security gate rolled up from outside. Bright light poured in.
Police in tactical vests rushed inside, guns lowered but fingers near triggers.
"Everybody stay where you are! Do not move!"
"If you're injured, raise your hand!"
Cassius slowly crawled out from under the table, legs half-asleep.
Sangye stood up and brushed dust off his robes like he had just finished a casual walk.
Zhuoma helped Dorje up. The kid was pale but standing.
Everyone else in the restaurant gradually got to their feet—some crying, some shaking, some already on phones telling family they were okay.
Outside, the street was taped off. Three police cars blocked the road. Two ambulances waited. Spent casings glittered on the pavement in the sunlight.
Plainclothes detectives started taking statements one by one.
"Name?"
"What were you doing when it started?"
"Did you see anyone suspicious?"
When they reached Cassius's table, the officers paused.
An Asian movie star. An old Tibetan monk. A young Tibetan woman. A young Tibetan monk.
Not a common combination in West Hollywood.
"Mr. Cassius?"
The detective who recognized him softened his tone. "You all right?"
"I'm fine," Cassius said. "Just almost got cut by the glass when it broke."
The detective glanced at the floor around their table.
Shattered glass everywhere—except on their table, their chairs, even the tablecloth. Not a single shard.
Like someone had carefully cleaned it.
But the shooting had only ended ten minutes ago. Who would have had time?
The detective frowned but didn't push it. He kept taking notes.
Sangye's answer was simple: "We were eating. When we heard the noise we got under the table."
Zhuoma said, "It's my first time in America. I didn't know things like this happened."
Dorje was so nervous his English came out broken. It took the officer a while to understand he was from a monastery and his visa was valid.
Once statements were done, police told them to wait until the initial scene work was finished.
Media had already arrived. CNN, Fox, local news vans crowded behind the tape, cameras aimed at the restaurant.
A reporter spoke fast into a mic: "Shooting at an In-N-Out in West Hollywood. At least two gunmen exchanged fire with police. Casualties unknown at this time—"
Cassius's phone started blowing up.
Rob: "Fuck! I saw the news. You were there? You okay?"
Cassius replied: "I'm fine. Safe. Should be able to leave soon."
Half an hour later, the initial investigation wrapped.
The gunmen were two Mexican men—suspected gang dispute. They had been chasing each other in cars when patrol units caught them. One gunman was killed. One was critically wounded and in custody.
Three people inside the burger place had been cut by flying glass. All minor injuries, already bandaged.
No one had been shot.
It was basically a miracle.