Chapter 6
A pure white room. White floor tiles, white wallpaper, no windows, looked like a cage. The young man sat here.
There were no chairs in the room, so he naturally sits on the ground. The left hand was pressed under the card named Ryuzaki Ryue, and the right hand was placed casually on the keyboard. The computer swallowed the CD with a noise. Half a minute later, there began the obscene films, and Ryuzaki shoot his waist, surrendered to the Collector, or played Justice and Evil, accepted the package with a blank face, or waved a dagger, pierce it into his stomach but more often, he lies in the dark dungeon with his original appearance, accepting various tortures…
He looks at the person who has the same appearance as himself with calculating eyes. Ryuzaki passed out at the end, and that scene was recorded in detail: he was tied up with hemp rope and hung under the zenith. There were circular burns, strangle marks, and bruises on his body, and blood flowed from the hole. The scariest thing was the criss-crossing welts covering his whole body.
The tear stains on his face looked unreal, like solidified transparent glue. Because his wide-open black eyes were so calm, as if he knew his own destiny well, he could not feel a trace of sadness.
He heard him screaming in that hoarse voice, struggling, and finally passed out. The young man didn't feel any discomfort from this violent scene, on the contrary, he opened his eyes curiously and in amazement, as if he wanted to see the scene more clearly.
The young man gnawed on his thumbnail. The man in the film had clearly surrendered to his sexuality, and the pain only made his cock rise higher and made him squeal more cheerfully. The high-pitched cry that didn't resemble his own made him feel a little uneasy.
Yes. Rue Ryuzaki—Beyond Birthday, B, Backup. Anyone can do it. Him in the film and the him squatting here are obviously the same person, but there is only one difference between them. That's the decisive difference.
He in the film has black eyes.
Beyond watched and laughed. He lovingly strokeed the edge of the screen, and his fingers happened to be in front of the man's slender neck. He caressed the man's dark hair, pale skin, body rocking back and forth with sex, and let out a series of low-pitched, bestial laughter:
"Ah. Haha. Hehe. Hee hee. Well," Beyond chooses the most suitable one among them. "Ha!" The joyful emotion is highlighted.
Although he stood up at the same time, changed from a hunched back to a straight back posture, and released a violent killing intent, and then laughed like a real madman:
"Answer me." The respondent is unknown. "Am I like you?"
"He has a real prob-, " my female assistant didn't want to say that word directly, so she put her index finger on her temple and shook her head. "You know what I mean. He has too many problems."
"I understand." After all, it's been such a long time, it would be too stupid if I didn't realize it. "However, he is a rare genius. I still hope…"
She put her arms on her chest. "But he's gone. It's as sudden as he came to the audition that day. Director, this should be a good thing for you, we can't let that kind of horrible person stay in the group. When he woke up that day, with murderous eyes, looking at you—and smiling!"
"Ryuzaki has always been like this." I whispered.
"No, no, it's never normal." Ultimately, after the ten-day porn shoot, the only thing left to expect from the actor was me. Others, either shunned him or privately told me to quit. Quit…just because he accidentally stabbed himself in the arm? Because of his unreasonable masochistic demands? Because he doesn't take pay and has superb acting skills?
Strange actors, talented actors, actors with an indescribable sense of mystery, and actors full of self-destructive desires. From a certain day, I realized that I was deeply attracted by these special features, so I picked up a pen and paper and determined to write them down.
In the end, it became this loose diary. Because there are always deviations in memory and omissions in details, but I have not missed important things. All those incredible things, and that strange, abnormal, calm, fanatical, quiet, and creepy actor, Rue Ryuzaki.
"In short, it's a good thing for everyone that he left voluntarily…" The assistant was dissatisfied with me speaking for a certain genius, and sighed. "Don't the director think so?"
To be honest, I am very sorry. But that ending, to some extent, is still in my expectation. "Ryuzaki said early on that his time was limited."
"What can a social homeless person do?" said the assistant. She suddenly remembered something, her eyes flickered: "Do you know what I found?"
"What?" I followed her lead and asked.
"A Lexus." The excited light lasted for quite a while. "Although it's not such an expensive car, it's definitely not something a poor boy can afford to drive. Your Ryuzaki is either a young master, or a noble child from overseas."
"He's not mine."
"Lexus! I dare say that's not his only car. Did you know that he usually wears punk clothes?" the assistant shouted, then lowered his voice. "What I saw with my own eyes is the kind of cool clothes that seem to be worn by street gangsters. He actually wears them like this in Lexus, and there are leather pants full of rivets…"
"You must be mistaken." The image of Ryuzaki flashed in my mind. The only impressive thing is his dedication to baggy white shirts and jeans, and his character that can't tolerate tights for a second.
"Maybe." The assistant pouted. "It's so far away, and it's night again. His back is straight."
That's right, every time Ryuzaki left, he walked straight home. Although I don't know where he lives, but considering the rent in this area, he is indeed not a person short of money.
"Did the director give him the remuneration in the end?"
"No. He only wants the complete videotape as a reward."
"Those films are about to be released. On the Internet," she smiled encouragingly, "this will definitely cause a big storm. The director's dream for many years is about to come true, can you cheer up a little? You have been fighting against that Bitter melon face."
I…have a melon face? Touching the corner of my mouth, I realized that I had been smiling wryly. Oh.
"I want to quit." When the black-haired young man asked to quit, he was as decisive as he asked to participate in the performance. He did not intend to give any explanation for this. It just so happened that I had no reason to keep him. But that day happened to be the second day after the filming ended, and I stared at the scars outside his white shirt, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt. Could it be…was it because he was beaten too hard? I couldn't lower my face and ask him. "Sorry," he actually apologized to me, and bowed. Just like the first day.
In this way, I am even more unable to say anything.
"You are welcome back anytime." was my answer. At that time, Ryuzaki's favorite script will be prepared. Even the director's position is handed over to others – no. That is not yet possible.
In short, I, who could only watch him leave, had the illusion that it wasn't Ryuzaki who retired on his own initiative, but that I was fired by him. I was troubled by this, so I was not in my normal mind every day, and even my assistant noticed it.
"There is one thing, I don't know whether I should tell you," she said hesitantly, leaning against the wall next to the lighting equipment, "I heard this from the makeup dude, and I didn't tell anyone because I was worried that it would affect the shooting process. Yes." She paused, "Does the director remember… he took that white pill?"
Speaking of which, I have seen it once.
"What kind of medicine is that?"
"At first I thought it was psychotropic drugs, or ordinary nutrition tablets. He would always take another pink tablet when removing makeup. When being asked, he answered frankly…
"It's an aphrodisiac antidote. It's called sildenafil? It's what men take before they do that. It seems to be an extra potent one, though. 'If I don't take the antidote, the erection will last forever. ', Ryuzaki said."
"…"
"It seems that he really has that dysfunction, which is very serious." The assistant teased, "Didn't he also be like this when he first came to audition? What an admirable professionalism!"
"That's not the problem." Compared to her optimism, I looked serious, "It's not a problem at all."
"What?"
Ryuzaki needs medicine to get an erection… medicine… only used in the last video…"Yeah, because in the first two films he didn't use it. Because they were not for masochists and he didn't need to get excited when raped," I muttered, feeling dizzy. "He concealed it well, so well. His sexual arousal was not a natural physiological reaction at all. At the end… no, it was like this from the beginning. Why are you telling me now?" The assistant was puzzled. She looked at me, and pointed out my frighteningly murderous face, but I thought Ryuzaki's madness just infected me.
"What, what's wrong, director? I just remembered it…"
I gave her a glare, and she backed away.
"Ryue Ryuzaki is not a masochist at all." I finished with a cold tone, turned around and left.
Ryuzaki Ruie is an actor.
After that, I spent four quiet days. Just in time for the Mid-auturm Festival, I took a walk in the park under the falling leaves and the warm autumn wind. Occasionally, I would look up at the sky, like Ryuzaki did. Regrettably, they are no longer as gray as they were that day, but reflecting a warm glow.
Ryuzaki's departure was sudden, but it did not break my plans for the future. I have a lot more inspiration than pure porn, scripts that create dramatic tension without violence and gore. And the broadcast of Hunting Crime and Canvas can also bring a lot of money and fame…
Sitting on a park bench, I hesitated. Especially for the final film, that series of sadism and masochism, which might ruin my already bad reputation. Moreover, facing the first two, I don't seem to be qualified to sign my name on the script that Ryuzaki has revised. It's not what he or I want to have these films aired, with or without an audience.
…he?
There must be some special reason for him to shoot scenes that he didn't enjoy, and hastily quit before the broadcast.
But I can't figure it out.
The most disgusting thing about Ryuzaki is that he has all kinds of talents, but he squanders them wantonly and ignores them. If not for lack of qualifications, who would rather be a director than a real artist, playwright, author, criminal, detective?
I buried my head between my palms and fell into a momentary emptiness, followed by regret. Regret for not keeping him, and regret that I have become what I am now, without a commendable talent, and the only temporary comfort and self-satisfaction can be obtained when trampling on genius.
"Ding ding—"
I opened the door of the apartment, and I was greeted by a figure dressed as a deliveryman. His whole body was covered with black clothes and a peaked cap. That style was actually the same as the one that captured the little girl in Hunting Crime.
"Hi~" The voice of the delivery man was full of enthusiasm. But the shadow of the brim of the hat makes it difficult to see his face clearly, "Your pizza's here."
"I never ordered pizza."
"Since I'm here, you must have ordered." He spoke like a bird chirping, and his excitement was utterly unreasonable. "Also, I saw a package of yours downstairs. It's the size, um, just enough to fit a human skull, or the squashed and folded body of a cat."
I didn't react.
"Then I'll come in. There is no anti-theft camera outside your door, and the corridor lacks surveillance equipment. It's unimaginable," he said in a slightly surprised tone, "a person with a profession like you still lives in a dilapidated… "Looking around, "In an old-fashioned apartment with potential safety hazards."
Safety hazards…..?
"The fire alarm was broken, the telephone wires were obviously cut short, and this door was locked." He groaned—closed the door lock. "I light the gas here and you're going to die of carbon monoxide asphyxiation. You either beat me or jump out of the window - that's a painless quick death. Too bad people decide you're suicide because people don't care and just watch. They'll think you," the word flitted across his tongue like a feather, "a loser."
"What did you say?"
"The door lock is also full of hidden dangers. Because the same key can be prevented with glue in ten minutes. The current one is hiden under the moneyplants at the entrance, by you."
He and I went to see the lush green plants, which are said to bring money and good luck. Today, it brings only bad luck, misery and fear. The young man in the peaked cap smashed the pizza box on the table in my house, and his movements were not as gentle as his voice. He turned around slowly, and through that slender figure, and that kind of – full of menacing aura, a guess emerged in my mind.
Just before I said or asked this guess, he showed a mysterious smile, and then took out the knife in his sleeve.
I yelled and rushed forward, but was knocked down by him, and hugged my chest easily, while the knife was pressed straight against my neck, and pressed down lightly.
"do not move."
"Ryuzaki." I called out his name.
This must… be a nightmare. No, this has to be a joke, we're doing… some sort of rehearsal, aren't we?
"I'm sorry." He restrained my left arm from moving. That was his real voice, light and juvenile, not hoarse, just as cruel as his current performance. "I can't confirm that you really destroyed all those video tapes, so I have to do this. Director."
"You… let go of me. Put down the knife, and I'll pretend nothing happened."
"It's too late. Your crew is neatly lying in the studio now, because— a ha." A chuckle. "Because of food poisoning, like I said. But who knows if that's the real celebratory pizza, or ricin-laced pizza? Once they hear that it's your treat, they're defenseless. Does that prove their trust in you? And does the director have the same trust in me?"
I trembled immensely.
"I have to do this." The voice of the delivery man—Rue Ryuzaki suddenly turned cold, as if from scalding hot water to being thrown into the ice cellar, "For some reasons that I can't explain to you, my appearance was originally a secret. Once, I wanted to be exposed to the public like this, no matter how ugly and obscene attitude."
"But, I regret it."
He said like a god of death.
"I figured out, that's not what I want, to have the public judge him? Shame him? Or worship him as a porn star? He's so weird, he's destined to be loved by no one, hated by no one." His voice calm, but with a faint anger, "He is a genius, but he is a genius who does not want to be exposed to the eyes of the world. He should not appear in that image. That is slander, a great insult. No matter how much I hate him, I should not exercise this power."
I have no idea what he's talking about.
"…So, I regret it." Ryuzaki said softly. Immediately afterwards, he whispered into my ear, "I'm going to destroy everything, and then make them my own, only mine, private collection."
The knife he held didn't really cut into my neck, but I was suffocated.
"Ryu, Ryuzaki," I tried to negotiate with him in a twitch of fear, "you, you just want to make sure, those videos are not seen by others, right? I, I assure you, I'll destroy them all now, no Copy, no copy! I'm going to the studio to destroy it now, please, please spare my life…!"
"It's so pathetic. Are you about to cry just after being threatened a bit?" Ryuzaki lowered his head, and I heard his devilish laughter, and the sentence that I don't know if it's a threat or pure emotion, "You don't know how to act at all."
"I have no children or savings. Please send the full amount of life insurance after death to my cousin in the country and my parents who live in Shinjuku, and throw my ashes into the Tone River. Please, keep the whole body as much as possible." His knife began to slash pressure. And I screamed, "AHHHHHHHHH!"
"…Seriously?" Ryuzaki said contemptuously, "a little blood just oozes out, and what I cut is not an important place — you know the director, I understand human anatomy very well. Aren't you excited when you film those bloody films?"
Then he raised the blade.
And I scream, but I am still alive.
Ryuzaki knelt down in front of me. The knife in his hand spun around in the air, then fell back to its original place and was held by him. He didn't use that weird forefinger-thumb-only grip. Those red eyes stared at me and slowly narrowed.
I panted violently and rested my head on the door.
"Why?"
"Because, it's not today." The words were still incomprehensible. "Because I regret it again."
"…"
"Goodbye. No – Goodbye forever." Ryuzaki picked up the peaked cap and put it on his head. He was nonchalant and capricious. "The pizza is yours, director. There is no deadly toxin, only a laxative disguised as a toxin. The reason why I came here is to confirm that you do not have a copy. But you are such a cowardly loser, so I don't need to test you more the necessary."
"That courier contained compensation for you. I have already sneaked into your apartment and studio, and destroyed all the films. The memory of me, only exists in your brain. If you dare to leak any information of me… "
"No, no." I shook my head like a rattle, "I've never seen you, never made those films, I don't know anything!"
"very good."
"I have only one question…" This is the topic I regretted immediately, because Ryuzaki's red eyes fell on me again. "You're not afraid of me… calling the police? Or in any way… exposing your identity?"
Ryuzaki showed an incredible, unbelievable smile.
"That's impossible."
The light steps he was about to leave paused for a while, turned around, and smiled again. That was the scariest smile I've ever seen.
"How do you know that this is my real appearance?"
The smile disappeared, and Ryuzaki returned to his indifferent appearance. Ryuzaki—yes, Ryu Ryuzaki—must be a pseudonym. His voice, his body, his personality, everything about him…
Doesn't exist anywhere on earth.
"When will you stop acting?" I asked completely unconsciously.
Ryuzaki's expression changed, for a moment he showed a genuinely annoyed expression, and then disappeared like ripples on the surface of water.
"You don't want to know the real me."
With that said, he closed the door. Before that moment, he had dropped the fake key on the ground, with a clang.
"Heh, heh heh…heh…hahahahaha!"
Facing those obscene private collections, the youth—Beyond Birthday—laughed. Then he frowned, looking a little confused, "Should I be so happy?"
Therefore, the wild laughter stopped. He made a wry face, a face that's ready to cry, and it was as easy to shed tears as to let off anger, but B didn't really get angry.
Just because anger does not suit him.
When that person is in despair, will he just widen his eyes a little bit, revealing an empty daze? What kind of expression will he show when he is sad, angry, in pain, or afraid? Will he cry when he is raped and accept reality when he is beaten? B couldn't find out. Judging from his current situation, in a short period of time, he would not encounter these extreme situations after being fully protected in the strong glass cover of the secret garden.
"But that would be troublesome." B frowned. "Lack of deduction of extreme situations, imitation cannot be perfect … I should conduct experiments, no, I must conduct experiments for this."
This is a challenge to that person. Character exploration itself is a challenge, because he not only understands him now, but also understands him when he is vulnerable. If B understands that person better than himself, then B can complete the transcendence and become an existence that is more like that person than him.
No matter what it becomes, if he won't take a look at it, just become him, or even exist above him.
"Originally, my words and deeds are 95% accurate." The remaining 5% are affected by emotions, and deviations occur uncontrollably. "After this experiment, at least it can be increased to 97%, no, 98%, and it will still be recognized as a failure by that old guy…"
Before B investigated Watari's whereabouts, and carefully planned a coincidence. But the latter saw at a glance that he was a fake and shoddy product. Damn it, B grits his teeth every time he thought about it. If it weren't for the opportunity to get along with that person every day, how could the old guy know his micro expressions and reactions like the back of his hand?
If B also had this opportunity, he would have surpassed that person long ago. B's dilemma is that he was not given the opportunity. It's like an autistic child who has no intelligence but the ability to read. And to attract the attention of that person, it is necessary to arouse his curiosity in this way—that is, to set up an earth-shattering crime. Better to kill serially.
A plan B has yet to take shape. He took a shortcut, which was to equate that person's image with shame. This can also arouse his curiosity in a disguised form — although B can't accurately guess how he will feel when he sees these obscene videos, but the expression will definitely be very—exciting.
Thinking of this, B laughed again.
This made the injuries he suffered seem insignificant.
That person, hiding in the shell prepared for him by others, was safe and sound in the activities he enjoyed, but he never imagined that one day, his image would be so tarnished, but he would not be able to sue B for infringement of portrait rights. At the same time, releasing his top-secret image to the public is also a great evil in itself-this increases the risk of his real body being exposed to the enemy.
"Hmph." Sitting in the darkness, in the center of a pure white square room, B hummed facing the screen.
He watched the video of his performance with a blank face, and even often swiped the progress bar to observe whether the subtleties were perfect. B finds the defect. For example, the inadvertent moan is too high-pitched, which makes the hoarse voice sharply reduced, for example, the arc of the mouth is too wide, for example, the body covered with thin muscles still looks stronger than that person, for example, the arched back's angle is a bit too much too….
Yes, if it is posted on the Internet like this and is seen by that person, it will be B's shame. Because B did not perform perfectly. Because B did not give a perfect answer. Because B, trying so desperately, is still an imitator.
Looking at it, the blood on B's face suddenly disappeared. He found a fatal flaw. He couldn't connect the person shaking his waist on the screen with that person, but they had exactly the same appearance, voice, and black eyes, and his interpretation was 98% accurate.
Why?
B bit his thumb vigorously, and stared at the screen even more ferociously. Suddenly - irrevocably - he became aware of a possibility.
That is, in B's heart, the image of that person is too pure to be connected with any sexual matters.
Asexual. Is that so? Is that true? No one has ever seen that scene, so can you say so? Human beings have a natural sexual desire even if they don't love anyone. That person is clearly human. This is irrefutable. So he was – at least after taking that kind of drug – sexually responsive.
Just like B.
Asexual. Is that so? Is this a rational inference? Human beings always like to make assumptions without looking at objective facts. B rationally loathes this irrationality. Rationally resist conclusions that are not supported by evidence.
The real him, the real him… That defect is like a single ink dot on a white paper, a drop of blood on the wall, bothering B. B examined the video more carefully.
There, he saw Rue Ryuzaki blushing, that kind of blush was unnatural, coming out from his pale face, it seemed excessive. Yeah, bad control. Having never seen the micro-expression of the original owner, he made another wrong and lame imitation. But this is not the famous detective's problem.
This is because B is not perfect.
The more he looked, the more differences he could find. It is an insurmountable gap, due to excessive sensibility, excessive desire, and excessive hatred. He must be indifferent to everything in order to show that flat face that deserves to be punched.
Asexual. That drop of blood, a dot of ink, turned into the buzzing of flying insects again. Hissing into the brain like molten lead, churning in the brain like an electrified drill bit. Both noise and emotion build up, causing B's expression to shift uncontrollably. The young man either groaned or groaned in pain, begged, or resolutely refused, or turned into justice, or turned into evil, but what they had in common was that they ran counter to B's ideal image. The reason for everything is that these films have erotic elements.
"Bang!–"
B stretched out his fist expressionlessly. He wanted to throw his fist at the face that deserved a punch, but he shattered the screen along with it.
In fact, his right hand and right arm penetrated the screen together, digging out a terrifying hole. Fragments almost flew into his eyes.
B's scarlet eyes were ignited with anger, flowing like real lava. The heat penetrated his whole body, causing him to slam the table hard again, shaking the pure white desk.
"I'm working so hard." He said every word, stood up, no longer maintaining the spine-injured sitting posture. "Why? Answer me."
Of course there was no answer to the inquiries.
B lay on his stomach, his childhood urge to crawl under the bed and rest returned, but now he just lay straight on the ground, writhing, and pounding the floor.
Too much desire, too much emotion, too much hatred. It must be so. That's why he couldn't increase the accuracy to 100%. Also, the old man paid too much attention to the hothouse flower, almost always doted on him, pampered him, and ignored the likeness of the flower. Because he was originally an irrelavant weed.
It's a textile, it's an inferior product, it's a failure. B tries to rip his own hair extensions, only to find that they have grown the same length as the man. Yes, this makeup needs to be transformed from the base, which cannot be easily restored.
"Why am I—why," he just grabbed them hard. "Why should I imitate you?"
Then, B took off his shirt, the one that got in the way, and he stroked his swollen lips, his squirted face, and his neck, where he had been collared a few days ago, leaving a deep red circle , but more traces remained on his body; he stroked the knife marks he made, stroked the bruises, stroked the burns from cigarette butts, stroked the purple nipples, stroked the anus that was raped to the point of being raped at his own request , and finally there are layers upon layers of welts covering the whole body.
He hugged his head.
"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts… ah…!" His fingers were embedded in the messy hair, and tears welled up from his eyes. B felt his injured arm bleeding again as his body curled up. So more tears welled up, and he let out an uncontrollable growl, with whimpers rolling in his throat. After being fucked by a dildo, it hurts to even pant a little harder. B is still shouting and crying mechanically, pulling his hair and beating the floor. "It hurts, it hurts…!"
There was no reply.
It should be so. He lay quietly on the ground for a long time. The emotion seemed to be suddenly pressed to stop, and completely disappeared. And B slowly, slowly gets up from the floor. A wicked smile formed the corner of his mouth.
"You thought I would be defeated like this?
"You think I regret it now?"
"No. The plan to discredit the world's number one detective is still in progress. This is just the beginning. Like I said—an experiment. The crime and power represented by these films are all in the palm of my hand, Just one button can set off a storm all over the world. Unfortunately, such a storm is not worthy of the name of Beyond Birthday. What awaits you is a more evil, huge, and complete plan… At that time, I want Let you remember me forever, just as I am."
B climbed up, swept across the broken computer screen indifferently, his spine bent, and he was wearing a loose white shirt, turning into that familiar image.
It was his mistake not to consider the degree of L's sexual orientation and sexual desire.
In the past month, only lame scenes have been filmed, and lame dramas point to a lame and hypocritical image. B fixed it, just as the white pill could save impotence tendencies, his imagination could fill those flaws, make the non-existent exist, make the void The false becomes real, the evil becomes righteous, the out of control becomes controlled, the pure becomes filthy.
With this in mind, B stretched out his injured hand to his lower body, unzipped the chain of his trousers, and stretched them into his loose blue jeans.
He didn't need to look in the mirror, he didn't need to look at those images, he could build the image of that person just by imagination. He is perfect, calm, wise, and meticulous. He is utterly human. He does not love or approve of anyone, but he loves puzzles, loves justice, and can give everything for it…
B's twitching was accelerating, he sometimes thought of the self-sacrificing criminal, thinking of the self who is the opposite of justice, thinking of the self who can never be surpassed, the self who can't be himself… Opening his mouth, his eyes flashed dissatisfaction The tide of emotion that was concealed was trembling.
At that time, B will return, reach perfection, and set off huge waves in another country.
Before reaching the climax, he murmured and shouted that name, again and again.
"L, L, L, L, L, L …"
Thank you for reading if you make til the end!
I have more stories to post. I will try to translate them (if anyone wants to read?) Currently, I have more than 70K words draft, which are equivalent to 50K in English... This is actually my first day at Fanfiction but I love it already... I found so many BB fics and I am crying...
