Renly meticulously perused the script's two pages, reading them over three times. Setting the script down, he began to assemble the grand blueprint within his mind's theater.
This excerpt occurred midway through the film, where Paul had established contact with the FBI through his mobile device, awaiting rescue. The abductors called, demanding Paul to record a video adhering to the note they had left within the casket, beseeching the United States government for a million-dollar ransom, to be sent to them. However, the Bureau staff cautioned Paul against making the video, understanding that it would only exacerbate the situation. Ultimately, Paul refrained from recording.
The excerpt extended into the subsequent passage. As the abductors remained without the expected video, they countered by sending a video themselves. It featured Paul's female colleague, also abducted, situated in a warehouse-like room. Threats to her life hung ominously. Amidst the urgency, Paul found himself compelled to consent to recording the video.
Renly pondered earnestly. He couldn't fathom the emotions of being trapped within a coffin, yet he could discern the complexity of Paul's current sentiment. On one hand, he awaited the salvation of the FBI; simultaneously, he harbored concerns about his escape. He called his mother, residing in a retirement home, precisely when the abductors' video arrived, during this surge of turbulent emotions.
Initially, Paul clung to a glimmer of hope, envisioning his escape. However, crisis swiftly revisited—his life teetered on the edge, his colleague's existence perilous as well. More infuriatingly, confined within the suffocating confines of the small casket, resistance proved futile. He could only endure the blows, seething impotently.
Casting a glance around, they presently occupied the first-floor lobby of a youth hostel. With the weather clearing, the previously gathered crowd dispersed intermittently. Nevertheless, a handful of individuals still loitered within the hall, engrossed in light conversations. The atmosphere exuded tranquility and harmony.
"I'm ready," Renly signaled to Rodrigo with an "ok" gesture. "Could you be my scene partner for this play?"
Rodrigo took a moment to catch up, momentarily bemused before nodding, "No problem." Within this scene, Renly required a counterpart, a villainous role, with limited lines yet necessitating a dialogue exchange.
The choice of this scene was lucid. Paul stood on the precipice of theatrical extremity, thrust into the dramatic throes after a fleeting respite. Such an acute shift probed an actor's mastery over emotions, fulfilling the initial segment Renly conveyed. Furthermore, Paul, witnessing his colleague's predicament while navigating the Bureau's counsel, precipitated a unique emotional transformation, aligning with the second part Renly illustrated.
Of course, Rodrigo was aware that the fleeting minutes offered limited scope for evaluation. Regardless, his curiosity was piqued; he held a buoyant curiosity for how the self-assured Luminary would embody the role. Watching intently, Rodrigo witnessed Renly's unanticipated choice—a recline, a complete recline!
Renly adjusted his seating posture, extending his legs onto the sofa. With eyes shut, he rhythmically regulated his breath, gradually slowing its tempo. He sketched the sensation of confinement within a narrow expanse, as darkness descended, enclosing him with gradual compression.
He momentarily set aside considerations of the odds of Ryan Reynolds securing this role, dispelling thoughts of breaking the shackles of age for the character. He also disregarded the raucousness of the public setting. His focus was solely tethered to the character, engrossed entirely, cultivating an intense immersion of spirit.
Amidst the darkness, the cacophony around grew louder, its crescendo accentuated by the contracting shadows. It was as if the entire world beyond the darkness was reveling in a jubilant New Year's celebration, further compressing the void. The obscurity wrapped closely around Renly, impenetrable and dense. After the darkness had been compressed to its limits, it rebounded outward once more, much like the tide swiftly engulfing the clamor until it disappeared. It was as if the darkness was devouring the light, and in the blink of an eye, all surrounding sounds vanished into nothingness.
Rodrigo widened his eyes, scrutinizing the scene. He noticed, however, that Renly remained entirely still, seemingly asleep. This utterly confounded Rodrigo, leaving him at a loss about what to do. Should he wake Renly?
Just then, Renly's breath quickened, and his chest heaved like a bellows, the vigorous movement almost leading Rodrigo to believe that Renly was experiencing a medical crisis—it was truly disconcerting. Then, Renly's eyes opened.
Within those profound eyes, concealed behind a misty veil, slightly clenched teeth tightened the contours of his face. A trace of restrained pain and struggle flickered between his slightly furrowed brows. His heavy breath reverberated within his chest, as if each inhalation was consuming brainpower.
Even without the assistance of makeup, even though his face still appeared youthful, even without any verbal preamble, emotions were communicated with crystal clarity. Rodrigo nearly immediately comprehended. Following the conversation with his mother, Paul's emotions surged violently. The anguish of severed family bonds bore a heart-rending pain that slowly spread between his clenched teeth.
Paul picked up his phone, forcefully shut his eyes, and with every ounce of his being, bore the weight of immense agony. Placing the phone to his ear, his thumb hesitated, reluctant to press the call button. His brow, typically composed, now slightly quirked, betrayed a hint of bitterness, rippling like a stone cast into water. His breath caught as if all emotions within his heart had momentarily halted. Yet the ripple surged outward, uncontrollable. He pressed the call button.
On the other end, silence pervaded. Paul brought the phone before his eyes, glancing at it—someone had sent a video. His held breath suddenly released, his furrowed brows unable to suppress the panic within. His irises trembled with unrest, his gritted teeth failing to contain his turmoil. His thumb lifted again, pausing momentarily. In less than half a second, the slightly quivering fingertip was evident. Then, without hesitation, the thumb pressed the confirm button.
"No." The air turned quiet. Without any external aids, Rodrigo found himself observing this soliloquy. However, his heart immediately knotted. He knew. Paul's eyes, shaken by rapid tremors, held a mixture of bewilderment and alarm. Desperation's nightmare began its ascent from his fingertips, creeping up inch by inch. "No, no, no, no, no!"
The voice of denial quivered softly. With wide eyes, he stared, disbelievingly, at the phone screen. A sense of heart-stopping numbness coursed through his vision, and his voice began to break, "No, no, no!"
He gulped in air, his gaze gradually losing its luster. Hastily dialing the number, the call connected almost instantly. Lowering his voice, Rodrigo inquired, "Did you record the video?" Good heavens, his own performance was nothing short of a farce, contrived and awkward. His lines were indecisive, and he felt entirely unfit for the role of an actor.
"Please! No... don't... don't hurt her!" Paul's voice shattered into fragments, the collision of his teeth sounding even through the turmoil. Not the slightest bit affected by Rodrigo's presence, his voice persisted, "Don't hurt her! Let her go!"
The panicked voice exuded ashes of despair, rendering even the darkness trivial. Rodrigo's emotions involuntarily surged. With a menacing tone, he declared, "If you don't make the video, I'll shoot!"
"No, no, no! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Paul's earnest plea lost control, exploding with fierce intensity like a burst bubble, yet it faded into emptiness, plummeting swiftly into an abyss.
In an instant, the gazes of the entire youth hostel lobby converged. Worried expressions filled the onlookers' eyes, the clamor fading to silence. Muscles tensed, bodies went on alert. Then they heard Paul's urgent supplication, "I'll do it, I promise!" Fragility tinged his voice, as if a breeze could disintegrate it. "I promise! Please, she's a mother with two children."
"Two children? I had five children, now only one remains!" Rodrigo couldn't hold back the grinding of his teeth, even he wasn't sure why he was acting this way. His cruel words slithered like venomous serpents, "Make the video now!"
"Wait! Wait!" Paul's resistance crumbled. Even his defensive prowess failed him, let alone the strength to fight back. "No, wait!" His desperate pleas proved futile. "I don't know what you want me to say..." Amidst the chaos, he still tried to mediate, clutching onto the final thread on the edge of a cliff, unwilling to let go. But it seemed his opponent had run out of patience. "I'll give you three seconds. Three, two..."
The countdown of death, like a grim reaper, throttled Paul's throat. His entire body tensed, yet he couldn't move an inch, held in place as if his limbs were immobilized. Only his voice remained free. So, with a hoarse roar, he unleashed his pent-up frustration, anger, helplessness, and despair, "Alright! Alright!" His pupils expanded, revealing the fading vitality of his soul, the desolation of death's ashes creeping into his mind. "I'll make the video! I'll make the video! I'll make the video!"
Each word grew more urgent, more painful. It was his sole weapon, yet it was powerless. "Please! Please! Please!" The vehement roar expelled all energy, and he released his grip, sinking slowly into the dark abyss. Finally, the silence enveloped his ears, and the countdown's voice vanished, "I'm going to end the call now to make the video, okay?"
"You have three minutes!" Rodrigo's voice echoed up from hell.
Paul ended the call, immediately turned over, and pointed the rear camera of his phone at himself. He had even forgotten to breathe. His lips were pale, devoid of color. His soulless eyes stared blankly at the camera, teeth clenched with a touch of determination. He knew that once he made the video, he was cutting off his own lifeline. But he had no choice, for when faced with the butcher's knife, he was the fish on the chopping block—no room for choice.
Taking a deep breath, without hesitation, he pressed the record button.