Chapter 1 – Wayne Garfield
October 1990, University of Southern California—the top-ranked School of Cinematic Arts in the country.
Professor Anderson Horowitz, who taught film and video, was addressing the graduating class, reminding them of the key points for their final projects.
"Listen up. If any of you are still short on credits, I suggest you fix that fast and start working on your thesis films. You've got less than a full academic year. From experience, I can tell you—if you do well, this project could become a powerful line on your résumé. Wayne? Wayne? Mr. Garfield?"
Wayne, lost in thought, looked up with a slightly dazed expression and offered an honest reply.
"Sorry, Professor Anderson. I didn't sleep well last night—been thinking through my thesis film."
"Ha! Look at that, folks—our very own Batman! Maybe he was out saving the world last night and just made it back by dawn."
Laughter erupted in the room, but Wayne remained unfazed. He glanced at the bulky student who made the joke, then turned his attention back to Professor Anderson.
"If any of you need help, bring your script or project outline to my office. That's all for now—class dismissed."
As the lecture ended, Wayne massaged his temples, packed up his bag, and got ready to leave. He had indeed spent the whole night working through script ideas. Even during class, his mind had been racing, juggling possibilities.
Just as he reached the door, the same jock who had mocked him earlier blocked his path, one arm slung over the shoulders of a blonde girl.
"Hey, Mr. Superhero! Katie tells me you're shooting a full-length feature for your final project? My God! Good luck raising the money, man. Maybe I should give you some pointers on how much making a movie really costs! Hahaha!"
Wayne looked at him flatly, as if watching a clown perform, then replied in a calm, collected tone:
"Of course I'll raise the funds. Need me to chip in for yours? You know, since yours is on the... shorter side. And I don't just mean the film."
He gave Katie a glance and shook his head.
"No offense, Katie. I'm not just talking about you—I mean the football team and cheerleading squad too."
The jock's face turned red with anger. He stepped forward, fists clenched—but something made him pause and stay put.
"Listen here, Batman. My dad already set aside the funding for my film. Katie's starring as the female lead. And unlike you, I'll be stepping straight into a professional crew after graduation, interning as an assistant director. You? You'll be bouncing around in tiny no-budget crews until you finally give up."
Wayne watched his rival rant, then simply brushed past him. He had no time to waste arguing about how much easier life was with a rich dad. Time was always pressing, and he'd learned to treat every minute like gold.
It had been twenty years since he arrived in this timeline, and every moment had been spent absorbing everything he could about filmmaking.
Thanks to what he considered a divine perk of reincarnation, he had a photographic memory and a sharp, focused mind. Combined with the disciplined study habits from his previous life as a student, his two lifetimes' worth of experience allowed him to master concepts at an astonishing speed.
Born in 1970, he had mapped out his academic path from the moment he started school at five. He was disciplined, meticulous, and goal-driven. At seventeen, he was accepted into USC's prestigious film school, and by his junior year, he had already completed the required credits for graduation.
For twenty years, he had been preparing for this moment. Now, the first step of his plan was about to begin: shooting his own feature-length film. His sleepless night had stemmed from this very task. Even with a finished script, he now found himself wavering, plagued by doubts and indecision.
After class, Wayne headed to the parking lot and climbed into his black F-150 pickup—a college gift from his father. The elder Garfield believed a real man should drive a real truck.
His rented apartment was only five minutes from campus, chosen specifically for the convenience. Even though he had already completed his credits, he still attended lectures from other departments whenever they were related to film production. He was determined to learn everything he could.
Wayne parked his truck downstairs and took the stairs up to the fourth floor. He unlocked the door to the left and stepped into his apartment, ready to finalize his film concept and start writing the script.
Just as he was about to close the door, the one across the hall opened. A tall blonde woman stepped out, dressed in pajamas and holding a large trash bag.
"Hey, back early? No classes today?"
Wayne paused mid-motion and looked her over carefully before replying.
"Yeah. I'm graduating soon. Got some work to do. Bye."
He shut the door without further conversation.
Wayne had always been a solitary person, quiet and withdrawn. He didn't enjoy socializing—not because he disliked people, but because he had too many secrets locked inside. He constantly feared letting something slip that would make no sense in this timeline. Eventually, silence just became his way of life.
As someone who had already lived over thirty years in his previous life, he'd always found it hard to relate to those his own age. He also understood the dangers of saying too much. In his last life, he might have lost his mind seeing a woman like her—would've begged for a selfie or autograph. Now, he barely gave her a second glance.
His single-bedroom apartment was small. To the left of the entrance was a bathroom. Directly ahead, a tiny balcony let in some light. The living and sleeping space combined totaled just over 50 square meters. These types of apartments were usually rented out to nearby students or struggling Hollywood dreamers. The main draw: cheap rent.
Wayne flopped onto the couch and stared at the pile of VHS tapes on the coffee table. Back in freshman year, he'd made the university football team. After just two practice sessions, he was promoted to starting quarterback.
The coach had looked at him like he'd discovered a gem—a strong, agile athlete with a tough mindset and, most importantly, a brain that could memorize the entire playbook.
But Wayne's heart wasn't in it. After five years of playing quarterback in high school and college, the thrill had worn off. He quit in his sophomore year. His replacement? Adam Goodman—the same meathead who had mocked him in class earlier.
The team and coaches never stopped comparing them. Adam hated that. From sophomore year on, there had been constant tension between them, eventually culminating in a full-blown fight in front of the entire team. Wayne's punches had left a lasting impression—literally and figuratively.
Three years of provocations followed. The pattern never changed: Wayne, quiet and reserved, would calmly utter a few words that sent Adam into a rage—only for Adam to back down, again and again.
Katie, the cheerleader, had dated Wayne once—or, more accurately, like most cheerleaders at the school, had briefly dated Wayne. He appreciated her body; she was proud to sleep with the campus golden boy. Every school had girls like her. Feed their vanity a little, and they'd go anywhere with you.
His high school years, grades 9 through 12, and now college were full of girls like that. They provided him with brief moments of release from his overworked mind.
His stomach rumbled loudly. He glanced at his watch—it was already well past lunch. He grabbed two sandwiches he'd made that morning, stepped onto the balcony, and sat down in front of his typewriter.
Chewing thoughtfully as he watched pedestrians below, Wayne began typing the title of his film project:
Happy Death Day.
"Terry is murdered on the night of her birthday, only to wake up the next morning alive and unharmed. Thinking it was just a bad dream, she carries on—until everything begins happening exactly as it did in the dream. Once again, she's killed on her birthday. And once again, she wakes up.
Over and over, the cycle continues. Is it a gift from the heavens or a cruel joke from death itself? Caught in an endless loop of waking and dying, the only way out is to discover the identity of her killer—before she's trapped in this birthday-turned-deathday forever."
This was the earliest concept he'd developed: a film with a minimal budget, a well-worn time-loop trope, and familiar themes of love and family. Predictable? Maybe. But "predictable" also meant "safe." In the film industry, innovation often meant financial risk.
This script, built from Hollywood clichés, was actually a tightly structured, dark comedy horror. Wayne chose it because it had a clear hook, required only a small cast, modest acting ability, and could be pulled off on a low budget.
And acting? It was always subjective. Unless someone was truly terrible, it was difficult to judge. What mattered most was execution.
The film had already been a success in his past life—not some indie miracle like The Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity, which relied on distribution gimmicks. This was a solid concept that had worked before.
Wayne's challenge was making it work again—on his own. He knew better than anyone that the same story, when told by different directors, could yield wildly different results.
He worked non-stop for a full week. When hungry, he ordered burgers or pizza. When exhausted, he collapsed onto his bed. Halfway through writing, he'd often stop to revise things with actual filming logistics in mind.
He couldn't remember how many times he'd rewritten the script, but eventually, he stared at the final version and nodded in satisfaction. This draft—shaped by the images in his mind and the realities of production—was the best version he could create.
After stapling the script and setting it aside, he moved on to writing the production plan he'd long envisioned. Even though he knew no studio would invest in a rookie like him, and that he'd have to self-fund the project, he still wanted everything to be as professional as possible.
He had barely left the apartment in days. His meals had consisted entirely of sandwiches, pizza, and takeout burgers. The next morning, he could smell himself.
Shaking his head, Wayne walked into the bathroom and gave himself a thorough scrub. Staring into the mirror, he ran a razor over his jaw, studying the tired young man staring back at him.
Around 6'1", maybe 175 pounds, with lean, athletic muscle and a buzz cut of light brown hair. His face was sharp, chiseled—any hint of Jewish ancestry nearly invisible. He had the rugged, masculine look that made women swoon.
If he had one blessing in this life, it was his looks. His silence might have made him mysterious, but his appearance was what drew women to him. Around here, women didn't go for soft, pretty boys—they wanted someone who looked like him.
Cleaned up and dressed in a sharp suit, Wayne grabbed his script and headed straight to Professor Anderson's office.
Knock knock.
Wayne gave two polite knocks before pushing the door open. Professor Anderson was reading a script. Without looking up, he pointed to the sofa. Wayne, familiar with the place, poured himself a cup of coffee and waited.
The script wasn't long—just two pages. After about ten minutes, Anderson set it down, took a sip of his now-cold coffee, and came to sit beside Wayne.
"Haven't seen you all week. Bit of a surprise. Went home to visit the farm?"
Anderson smiled warmly. A fellow Jew, he had taken a liking to Wayne from the moment he enrolled. He'd always believed in this clever, hardworking kid.
Wayne shook his head.
"No, I stayed in my apartment all week. Barely stepped outside. I've been working non-stop on the thesis film. You know, Professor—how long I've been preparing for this."
Anderson looked at him with quiet admiration. Wayne's discipline had amazed him since day one. It was why he was willing to help in any way he could.
"I know. So... is this it?"
He gestured toward the folder on the coffee table.
"Yes," Wayne nodded. "I've been developing this idea for a long time. I'd reall like your thoughts."