Chapter 3

"This bone is weird," he said. "Wrong."

"What?"

"This bone," said the young man, Ryuzaki, on all fours, with his head lowered to the ground, lying on his stomach like a giant insect. He held the thing between his forefinger and thumb. "The edges are smooth. Only dead bones leave such smooth right angles when they are broken. When an alive person's bones get broken, the edge should be as sharp as glass. That's why I say it's wrong."

But that's just a bone. "Ryuzaki, is that true?"

"That's right." Ryuzaki pinched the other end of the bone again, and carefully examined it. The expression was contemptuous and indifferent: "This is common sense, Director."

That's not.

Although I don't know where his knowledge of anatomy comes from, the revealing of a prop can't affect my film. Nobody cares about that kind of detail.

"Isn't this a prop for an important plot?"

Also, those were not human bones.

I ask Ryuzaki to bring me that bone. Although I don't know why he is so obsessed with details, or the authenticity of crime props. In the end, let the props department replace it with a version with sharper edges.

The second film is called Hunting Crimes. A suspenseful horror drama that young couples like to watch in late-night theaters, but because of the erotic parts, it cannot be played in theaters…I think—saying this may offend some audiences—it is not a pure suspense horror drama, but a love story born of the fusion of my aesthetics of destruction and the extreme emotional entanglement between the protagonists.

It has two special features. First of all, only one leading actor is needed, so high skills are required. Furthermore, instead of the traditional three-act scene, there are only two parts of the "puzzle presented - reversed", and the climax is the ending.

Eroticism is not my specialty. My sole goal is to create "unforgettable stories", even if they are forgotten, vilified, or always third-rate. The moment when people are shocked by fear or the madness of bloody stories is the ideal I dream of. In short.

Stop the nonsense, let's start.

The protagonist Ito Takuma, 28 years old, was promoted to chief inspector at the police station. He has been rated as the best policeman for many years and has made many achievements. And in his opposite, a criminal who does all kinds of crimes - murder, arson, theft, rape… There is a clear balance between good and evil. Like the lingering shadow under the strong light, it casts a haze on people's hearts.

The story begins with the bizarre victimization of people around the sheriff: the insignificant little police officer, his subordinate; the driver who drives for him at work; the clerk of the convenience store he often passes by; The little girl in a park …

In the beginning, the harms were scattered and unconnected. One would not even guess that they came from the same prisoner. The little police officer was hit on the head with a brick from behind, but he was only temporarily unconscious and did not suffer brain damage; the driver was slightly injured after being maliciously moved away from the car and slammed into the guardrail; the store clerk was robbed by a masked man with a knife, but was not injured; Only the case of the little girl attracted attention.

That day, the sheriff took down the red balloon hanging from the tree for her who was crying, and patted her head. The next day, the girl came to play in the park alone, but was hugged from behind by a man wearing a peaked cap, and then—he grabbed her hair violently and cut off the beautiful blond hair from the root. The girl burst into tears. The man has disappeared.

"You said, didn't see her face clearly?"

"Don't make it hard for her. She was too frightened to see anything."

In front of the police is the crying girl. Her hair has been cut off, like a rough haystack that has just been gnawed. That absurd shape of edge makes people laugh. It was an atrocity—an inexcusable atrocity. Peaked caps parade like snakes in the blind corners of surveillance cameras. The police used the park camera from the previous day to discover a series of unrelated incidents and the connection between the sheriff.

At the same time, the atrocities have also escalated, no longer staying in threats, but becoming real killings.

The policeman and the driver died. The former died from a well-aimed blow to the back of the head. The driver died in a car accident. On a quiet night, the clerk fell into the covered well and drowned. And finally the poor little girl - she died of drug poisoning. A ricin hidden in a lollipop. When she died, her hair still looked ridiculous, and his face was covered with saliva and blood. This completely angered public opinion and made the police department boil.

"Hatred." Our protagonist, Sheriff Ito, always looks at the photos with firm and empty eyes. The homicide made him a target, but his tone was as calm as ever. "No," he denied, "I have no feud with anyone."

But it is undeniable that the people around him, the people he came into contact with, are dying one after another. He may only be suitable for an ambiguous conversation with a woman in front of a nightclub, and the woman will die the next day. One day, Ito received a courier containing a finger, old and wrinkled, with a pungent smell of embalming potion—it was his father's finger.

Ito's father was found dead in the hospital room. Ito had visited him two days ago.

Evil, like dominoes beginning to collapse, is accumulating and brewing, revealing the tip of the iceberg of a bigger conspiracy.

People related to Ito. Friends, colleagues, relatives, distant relatives, neighbors. One by one they were brutally killed. But people found that what was more frightening was not these bloody serial killings, but Ito himself, his unchanging, unmoved, and unusually stern face.

"Justice will prevail," Ito said, with the bones of his distant sister arriving in a bloodied cardboard box. Usually, the calm quality of the police is commendable, but people finally discovered that something was wrong. Ito never vomited. His disgust was to raise his brows slightly, as if he was thinking about something, and looked cautious. Without changing his face, he instructed his colleagues to collect evidence from the bones. Everyone looked at him and was suddenly overwhelmed by horror. It was an anxiety far beyond being threatened with one's own life, a kind of panic like seeing something inhuman.

Ito was suspended. Since no evidence of the murderer could be found, and the deceased was someone close to him, despite Ito's alibi, rumors spread that he was the "real murderer".

That's right, this man… this man who can calmly look at the dead body of his relatives, definitely has something abnormal. Colleagues not only repeatedly doubted his usual appearance. In their eyes, the unsmiling sheriff, ruthless and decisive, became more and more like the murderer himself. His profound and resolute face is the disguise of a perverted murderer in human skin.

"The last man. Only the last man left," thought the people. All the relatives around Ito died, leaving only his younger brother. Whether or not Ito was the real culprit, that younger brother would be a future victim. When asked about his younger brother, this is Ito's answer:

"Well, we haven't seen each other for more than ten years. Well - he ran away from home. I don't know anything. Personality? Evil and naughty. The kind of kid who always gives his parents headaches since he was a child. I remember he was hanging out with the Mafia Anything else? No, I have no idea of his whereabouts."

"That's your own brother! Don't you know where he is?"

"I don't know. If he's still alive though," Ito thought briefly. "He has the makings and the potential to be a criminal. And it's possible that he has an unimaginable hatred for me."

"Hate? Why is that?" He said before that he didn't have any enemies.

"Because I'm excellent." He replied indifferently. "Because he keeps chasing me, but he can't do anything. He is an impulsive fool, and he will probably go to the opposite of me."

Negative side. People think, the opposite of justice, the opposite of police.

These words were spit out by Ito with no expression, so they were so untrue and insincere. For a moment, people understood why he should be the center of all evil. He was so - frighteningly - calm.

A week after Ito was suspended, the police department lost contact with him. The speculation was that he either went to kill or was killed. A series of murders started because of him should be ended by his death. His disappearance is worrisome and at the same time a relief—because, no matter what happens to Ito, the murders are finally gone.

In the factory of a farm in the distance, the dust is dense, and the strong smell of paint and blood makes people cough. In the thick darkness, there was a figure, his hands bound by ropes, half-hanging in the air. His body was sprinkled with someone's blood, and he shrank into a ball due to pain. That was Ito.

The arms suspended by the rope intertwine like butterfly wings, causing Ito to bend his front body and stand on tiptoe. He must remain steady at all times so that he does not fall over. If so, the arm suspended by the wire rope will be dislocated. His movement space is limited to a narrow circle; the surrounding ground is strewn with nails. So, the consequences may not be fatal, but definitely painful.

At the gate of the factory, blocked only by a gap by the gray folding garage door, loomed another vague figure. He is slender, dressed in black, with a gray head and a gray face. He holds a knife in his left hand and a paper bag full of heavy objects in his right. He nimbly got in from behind the folding door, wiped off the weapon's stains with his black trousers, then took off the peaked cap on his head, and threw it aside casually.

"You should have already guessed your ending." The man stuck the knife into his mouth and licked it. The saliva made the blood-soaked blade even stickier. He pursed his lips, revealing a morbidly intoxicated smile. "My brother."

The criminal, the younger brother, the other extreme, the opposite of justice. Ten years after his disappearance, the real culprit who killed the people around Ito one after another.

Takuyu Ito.

The officer's eyes were cold and distant, as if without a soul. And Takuyu is his opposite, his eyes are always burning like blazing fire, releasing malice, viciousness, surliness, and emotions.

Is the fate of imitators going to another extreme? The criminal doesn't know. But what he knows is that it is meaningless to be an existence similar to his brother. People don't need imitations, even if they are excellent imitations.

Whether the police officer saw the death of his colleagues, or the death of the clerk, the girl, or the father, he did not waver. It is difficult to judge whether he is indifferent to life or whether it is the same for all the objects in this human drama. The brutal murders couldn't make him blink.

Gloomy fires blazed wildly in the criminal's eyes. He raised the knife, pointing the blade at the indifferent, rope-bound man. "Even if I kill you now, you won't blink, will you?"

The criminal had the same black eyes as the sheriff, and the sculptural features carved out by a knife. A cold and hard aura, but crazier and more abnormal, like a raging fire that can sweep and destroy the world.

"You know." The criminal squatted down in front of him and blinked, "I can put all the crimes on you."

"However, I don't think public opinion, the death penalty, or life in prison can sway you. So, I'm here to find answers. I'd risk my life—so many lives—to see the answers. "

The officer's eyebrows were raised slightly.

"Brother, what's your expression?" With a snap, the criminal slapped him across the face, "Don't look at me with that—look at a loser! Don't look!" He slapped his face like a madman to make him sway from side to side, and then stroked his sunken eye socket with a finger, "I'm going to gouge out this eyeball and stuff it in your mouth, um," he whispered in the police officer's ear, "or is it better from the back?"

Despite penetrating his brother with his rubbery cock, his body didn't sway as much as a reed swaying in the breeze. He may not be human, so he can tolerate pain exceptionally. The criminal thought about inserting a stick and breaking him completely from the inside, but was interrupted by a more important mission. At this moment, he can still distinguish priorities. Torture was not his purpose.

The officer let out a well-suppressed cry of pain. With a hiss, the knife cut a long cut on his hip bone, and the blood oozed out immediately, dyeing the knife even more bright red. The criminal laughed with great pleasure.

"I cut up your cousin like that," he said. "Ah, our little cousin."

"…Can't you feel anything, brother? Ten years have passed, and nothing has changed you, made you hurt, made you cry? I heard that you refused to mention my existence to them. Are you afraid? Or disdain? Contempt? Even for a moment, have you ever thought about my reason for doing this?"

"No." He replied dryly.

"I'll give you a hint, brother," said the criminal. "But first I want to ask you a question: what do you think is the end for me?"

"Justice prevails." The officer looked up. "You will be sentenced."

The criminal let out a burst of laughter.

"Yeah, you do say that. You've been playing the impartial policeman, always giving the answers people want, but there's one thing you're not good at. You can't be perfect because you can't empathize with humans. Simulate their emotions, especially in non-routine – yes, extreme situations. That's how you're exposed and hated. Isn't it, brother?"

He lifted the officer's chin with the palm of his hand.

"You don't know how to respond. Human death doesn't matter to you. You don't know how to grieve, so you can't make a sad face; you don't know fear, so you can't make a frightened face; you don't know how, after witnessing violence and cruelty, People are sick of that feeling, so you're always calm and deadpan."

"For a long time, I suspected that you had no human feelings at all."

Yes, that's what he looks like.

"Ten years ago," said the younger brother. "Ten years ago," he bit the word, taking his hands away from the man's face. He reached into the paper bag beside him.

Inside, it was originally only filled with soil; wet, rain-soaked, soil that can be seen everywhere. Stirring with his hands, he pulled out a bone from the dirt—a pale, sharp-edged bone. It's too small to be human. Those are animal bones.

"We picked up a stray cat," the younger brother said in a tone of nostalgia, "and then, only a week later, we saw its dead body. It was lying on the ground as if it had no bones, its head and body were separated, and its body full of burn marks. The ribcage shattered and intestines fell out of the dissected stomach."

"That day, you didn't say anything. But I stared at its corpse, shocked by the violence and cruelty it displayed, my face turned pale and I was sweating desperately. So the adults all stared at me. After a while, they started screaming, questioning, going crazy. I went to see you, but you still didn't say a word. I pulled your sleeve, squeezed your arm, stomped on your foot, but you still didn't move."

"So, I said," the corners of his mouth curled up in an unusual arc, "I did it. It was me."

The smile on the murderer's face was sluggish, as if his strength had been drained.

"Since then, the crime, the abuse, the slander, everything… I have suffered for you. I think, this can at least get a thank you. But no."

"They kicked me out like a disaster. I went to the juvenile prison for this. I made a living by working in the gangsters for this. I lived a life that was worse than a pig and a dog. I was hated and beaten severely for this. , I slept in stinky gutters and garbage dumps under overpasses. That's how my life was ruined, brother."

Silence. The police officer opened his mouth, as if to refute, but he didn't speak.

"To this day, people don't know who is really antisocial. People don't know who is leading whom to crimes.

"Ah. The incident may have given them some clues, but in essence, unfortunately, the culprit is me. "

The criminal showed regret, and rubbed the tiny bone with his hand, "Public opinion is enough to destroy your reputation. However, this is not my real purpose. Can you guess it, brother?"

"Chasing after you, becoming number one, the me who still doesn't get your attention; the me who is going to the extreme opposite, becoming the criminal despised by everyone; the me who kills, the ruthless me, the me who is similar to you but completely different; Cold, hot, aching, crazy, obsessive—me."

He grabbed the man's collar and leaned closer to see his own appearance in the unwavering black eyes. The eyelids fit tightly together, even the eyelashes are lingering, the heart was intertwined, the messy clothes were mixed together, the knees were pressed between the legs, and the legs were grinding against each other. Without hesitation, the criminal stood on the ground covered with thumbtacks and smiled.

"The father's body made you frown, and the girl's bones made you express disgust, but it all happened in front of others. You were always disguising, covering up, and enduring it. It was the same when you killed the cat, right? Why become a policeman? Do you think you can get rid of it, fight it? Say goodbye to the ruthlessness of human beings, the violence and aggressiveness written in your genes? You think you just need to be indifferent and keep a deadpan. Can't I see it? Standing with justice, blending with the light, not saying a word, indifferent…a pure and innocent bystander, and a heart of nothingness…"

"Well. All those involved are dead, and now there is only the last one left. Isn't it?" He drew the knife away.

That's right, the answer he was looking for, the answer he was looking for with his life, was exactly that. He would give everything for it.

The criminal's knife was held high, the blade aimed at the officer's head—more precisely, the officer's left eyeball—and dropped.

into his belly.

He cut open the abdomen in a straight line, and then cut a cross horizontally. Knives are extremely sharp, but having the right force and angle was even more important. Fortunately, it was accurate, and within half a minute, the internal organs flowed out of the abdomen like vomit, fell to the ground, and squirmed and crawled like intertwined maggots. His face was contorted out of shape by the pain.

"Ah… brother…" How ugly and how bad, it is said that before God, the sin of taking one's own life is unforgivable, but it is all out of initiative, out of self-awareness Why are their actions condemned? Which is more important than the crime of taking the life of others? And the crime of the person who watched the execution, which is more serious? "Ahh…! Ah! Brother! Ahhh!"

His voice was beyond words. The knife was thrown upside down and stuck in his stomach. Keeping this position, slump on the ground.

Seppuku prevented him from dying for at least five hours, and it took two hours to pass out.

The criminal looked at the police officer and his brother's expression. That was the answer he had sought with his life. His face was distorted like a ghost, his eyeballs protruded like they were about to fall, and he stabbed himself in the stomach again and again, speeding up the progress of death and causing more pain, but the most important thing—the most important He wanted the blood from the internal organs to splash on his brother's face, and let the writhing intestines wrap around his feet like a rope. He wanted this dirty and humble blood to wash his whole body and seep into his body. The skin, blended with him.

Ah - he's so cold, so cold, and he's going to make him feel, from now on, feel the pain, feel the heat, feel the madness, feel the chaos, everything that he hasn't had the chance to feel since that crime ten years ago —

And the suicider was content.

Because he saw, before the peak of the pain and the coma, he clearly saw the distorted face as if withdrawing from him, and the slightly raised corner of the mouth when no one was watching.

The sheriff smiled. It was a contented, weird, utterly delighted smile.

He was about to watch the smile for a hundred and eight minutes.

Yes. Ito was indifferent to the bones of his relatives, indifferent to the prevailing principles in this world, indifferent to the laws made by the world, indifferent to human beings, animals, and monsters. His ruthlessness was as equal as the sky above all. His indifference was like a sea without waves, which stretches as far as the eye could see. Blood meant nothing, violence meant nothing, death meant nothing.

But Ito was still smiling, he was so happy, the criminal had never seen such a happy smiling face in his life.

This is the answer. Ito is not a nihilistic person, he also has human feelings, at least he has human desires, and pain is not meaningless to him. At this last moment, the criminal finally got an answer. That is the painful and dedicated self, at least at this moment, I can't let my brother look away. So, it got the meaning.

After the criminal was unconscious, Ito broke free from the rope and took out the penis inserted in his back hole. The wriggling, dying flesh and blood had no meaning to him. He won't touch him, won't touch the knife. It was a world of evidence after all, so that he could be exonerated from this crime.

Half a day later, the envelope containing the suicide note was found in the criminal's residence. In his suicide note, the criminal explained the detailed criminal process - stalking, harassment, murder - and admitted that there was no second party involved, all crimes were planned and executed by himself, out of "unspeakable insanity and desire to kill" ; As for why they are all aimed at people around Ito, it is "the long-standing jealousy and hatred for my brother"; as for suicide, it is out of "intolerance of the crimes that have been committed and despair of the world." It was a self-consistent confession except for the motivation. Evidence of the eight murders - "medals" taken from the bodies - was recovered over the next month.

The police department has no reason to fire Ito because he is innocent. But a spate of insane murders was enough to make people shy away from him. A week later, Ito voluntarily resigned.

Ito, who became unemployed, wandered on the road to the cemetery. His brother's body was buried here. He squatted down in front of the grave, motionless, looking at the tombstone expressionlessly, just like staring at a dead cat back then.

Then he smiles. It is the smile of a monster without empathy that no one could understand. A bright and affectionate smile.

This is what his brother taught him.