Sitting in a corner seat in the theater, taking advantage of the movie not yet starting, Carl and Sarah stealthily grew passionate.

After a long, deep kiss, Carl pulled back, panting.

Sarah straightened her clothes.

Because the movie had begun.

This left the two Black guys in the row behind them a bit disappointed—Damn it, pants were half-off, and you two just quit?

The story starts, and when Daniel Kaluuya appears on screen, getting intimate with the white girl played by the stand-in, the theater suddenly erupts in a wave of intense cheers.

The Black crowd seemed to hit an emotional high in an instant—some whistled, some shouted approval, some clapped and stomped...

The screening room turned chaotic, like a bustling market.

Carl and Sarah got swept up in the emotion again, "massaging" each other, locking lips once more.

But as the plot unfolded, with Daniel Kaluuya following his girlfriend Rose to her family home and weird events piling up one after another, the entire theater fell silent.

Carl and Sarah forgot about their affection; the two Black guys behind stopped sneaking peeks. Everyone's eyes were glued to the big screen.

When the film reached its midpoint, with Chris strapped to the chair awaiting brain-swap surgery, Carl couldn't hold back a curse, completely forgetting his girlfriend was there.

At the same time, curses echoed from every corner of the room.

In an instant, the whole theater brimmed with slang and profanities.

As the story progressed to Chris turning the tables and starting his counterattack, the theater exploded again with cheers, whistles, and stomps.

"Good job!"

"Fuck, kill all those white pigs!"

"Take 'em down—chop 'em up!"

Paula Carl stared at the screen, his blood boiling, a deep shock resonating within him.

Was this fucking directed by a white guy?

Not only was the Black character the lead, but not some comic-relief type—the kind who hoists the "great, glorious, righteous" banner that whites used to claim. In the film, almost no white characters were good, while the Black ones were the opposite.

It felt strange, exhilarating, and utterly mind-blowing!

Right up to the end, he didn't spare another glance at his little girlfriend Sarah, lost in imagining what he'd do as the protagonist "Chris."

He'd kill even more ruthlessly, more bloodily!!!

Before he knew it, the movie wrapped up, and the theater lights came on.

Watching the credits roll, Paula Carl felt unsatisfied and instinctively started clapping.

His lead sparked applause throughout the auditorium—thunderous and fervent.

People filed out in groups of three or five.

Paula Carl couldn't help turning to Sarah: "Sarah, why do you think a white guy would make a movie like this? Martin's pure white, but this film hits me right in the gut. How does a white dude get us Black folks so well?"

Sarah shook her head. "Uh, I don't know. I'm hungry—let's grab a bite somewhere."

"Alright, alright!" Paula Carl sighed.

Just then, he overheard a discussion rippling through the crowd:

"Martin's always been good to us Black people—just look at his past support for Obama. And he pushed for US aid to Guinea, which is a Black country. He's a true equal-rights guy."

"I agree—Martin's a friend to Black folks, even if he's white. I've decided: From now on, any Martin movie, I'll buy a ticket to support it."

"Yeah, we gotta back Martin. It's rare for a white person with real clout to stand with us—we have to support him. If Martin ran for president, I'd vote for him for sure."

"Yep, me too."

"Yeah, throw him a vote."

Paula Carl realized the guy holding court in the crowd was his underling, Charter?

He saw the movie too?

Wait, where'd he get the cash? The guy's pockets never hold money!

Paula Carl's gaze turned odd—fierce, yet with a hint of comradely warmth.

At that moment, a Black guy with an afro approached the group, clutching a stack of forms and pens, enthusiastically addressing them:

"Hey, fellas, I'm the surveyor for this movie. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Surveyor? Fresh chapters posted on novelꞁire.net

The cluster of Black folks around Charter paused.

Paula Carl slyly halted too, girlfriend in tow.

"What're you surveying?" Charter asked from the group.

"How did you hear about this movie?" the Black surveyor inquired.

Charter: "From friends—they all said it was great."

Others chimed in chaotically:

"From buddies."

"From my gang brothers."

"From classmates."

"My girlfriend's bestie told me."

"I saw it on TV."

The Black surveyor's eyes lingered a few seconds on the "girlfriend's bestie" guy, then he started checking boxes on his form.

Next, he asked: "So, what'd you think of the movie? On a scale of 1 to 10, what score would you give?"

"Awesome film—ten out of ten." Charter again, first off.

...

Then the crowd followed:

"I give it nine—'cause no sex scenes."

"Ten for me—the movie's just so damn satisfying. Can't believe a white guy directed it."

"Nine here too—'cause Chris didn't wipe out every evil white in that town at the end."

"Ten—I felt so pumped. Black folks finally get to be the real righteous heroes. What, Denzel Washington? Okay, he's had good roles, but nothing as thrilling as this. At least his films don't have all-whites-are-villains plots."

Eavesdropping from behind, Paula Carl nodded involuntarily—this nailed it right in his heart.

Over the full month, Get Out's box office surprisingly held steady without a major drop.

Total gross surpassed 250 million—a far better haul than in the original timeline.

The main reasons boiled down to three:

First, Martin optimized some minor flaws from the original during filming.

Second, Martin, as a white director tackling this, sparked more buzz than Jordan Peele, a Black one—plenty of Black folks were curious what a white guy's take on a Black story would be.

And third, Martin infused the film with seductive magic, heightening immersion beyond the original, which fueled its word-of-mouth spread like wildfire.