Hell's Actor

It wasn't until half an hour later that a member of the production team came to escort Averie to his hotel.

"Sorry about that," he casually said, fastening his seatbelt. "I left early, but there was a traffic jam."

"Because of the festival?" Hyerin asked.

"Yes. They expected the festival goers, of course, but Serenes also attracts casual tourists. The roads leading out of the city are packed."

"Is it bad?"

"Oh yes, the hotels are full. We booked an entire lobby in advance, and the rates were mind-boggling. The film goers don't really mind paying them, so the management doesn't mind extorting them."

"Is it always like this?"

"The other film festivals aren't this packed, but Serenes happens every four years. You get to see films from all over the world before they are released. It's like scratching a lottery ticket. The excitement of being positively surprised offsets the costs and the trouble."

He turned on the car and followed a queue of cars departing from the airport.

"This year's festival is even bigger, with a lot of planning, so the number of visitors was expected to be high. But even then, we didn't expect the whole city to be in a festive mood."

"Are they in a festive mood?"

"Oh, yes, I've never seen a city—other than Cannes—be so involved in the festival. The stores are selling CDs and DVDs of old films. There are people trading their copies in the streets. I've only seen that at gaming conventions."

He squeezed his fingers around the steering wheel and glanced at the GPS warning about heavy traffic in the area.

"Let's see… What else is new?" he hummed.

Averie had the impression that the man liked to talk.

"Ah, yes," he continued. "Did you hear about the abandoned cars that were found recently?"

"No."

"Well, it happened in Seoul, so I thought you'd know. Apparently, a dozen or so cars were found on an empty street in the middle of the night. The police looked around, but there was no sign of the drivers. It didn't look like they were abducted."

"Dead, then?"

"No bodies were found, so they're not sure. Oh, oh, and—"

"Keep your eyes on the road, man!" Averie yelled. "Jeez, some people don't know how to drive safely."

Hyerin had plenty to say, but she kept it to herself. Arguing with her hypocritical friend wasn't worth it.

"The disappearances align with the unexplained city-wide blackout in Seoul, so the word on the internet is that it was either a terrorist plot or an alien abduction."

"Internet—the only place where the mentally challenged and smart people sound equally moronic."

"There is more to it, actually."

"What now?" Averie held back a chuckle. "Did someone do donuts in your driveway?"

"No. But a US nuclear submarine disappeared from radar in the Indian Ocean. It's chaos on the global stage."

Averie's jovial expression turned solemn.

***

"So, how did you convince her to draw a pentacle?" asked a man with greying hair.

He was dressed in a designer suit, fitting for a gentleman of classical tastes.

"Convince?" His companion, a man with a wild air of dignity, slicked back his hair. "I ripped her diary and scattered the pages around Seoul."

He flashed a toothy grin.

"She didn't know what it meant as she went around collecting the pieces. It's easy to fool someone who is lacking sleep. She never once found the papercuts she received to be suspicious. It only takes a few drops to draw a summoning circle."

"And all those lives?"

"It's their fault. Did their mothers not teach them that they shouldn't be out this late?"

Their jog continued—on the surface of a frighteningly vast body of water.

"To cross the sea… must we be so literal?" said the gentleman, using his cane to clear a path through the swaying debris.

His friend looked up. Having circled the open waters, his raven had returned. Flapping its large wings, it perched on the man's shoulder.

He ruffled the bird's feathers. "Is that what you found? Uh-huh. So, they are coming."

"Are you planning to use force again?" the gentleman asked, distraught at the thought of getting his leather shoes dirty. "I like this attire; must we ruin it again?"

The wild man laughed, squeezing out blood stuck in his hair. "That's why I suggested not wearing it."

He jabbed a thumb in his bare chest. "We are at sea. Who wears shirts at sea?"

"Cultured men."

"Would a cultured man do this?"

He spread his arms at the mess around them.

Debris of what appeared to be a submarine splintered into a hundred pieces was floating in water, which smelled of fish and iron.

Limbs and guts were scattered among the rubble. Intact can of goods shone scarlet under the furious sun.

"Of course," the gentleman insisted. "The cultured part is that I didn't let a single drop of blood fall on my clothes."

The wild man laughed. "You are a psycho, Satan."

"Better a psycho killer than an empathetic one. That would be more messed up, wouldn't you agree, Lucifer?"

"I am not sure. But I think our friend will agree."

"It's been so long since I last met him. Still obsessed with acting, I presume?"

"Even more."

"Wonderful, wonderful."

Over the horizon, where sky met water, a distant dot seemed to get larger.

"It's drawing closer," said Satan. "What is it? A frigate?"

"A destroyer."

"It's the same thing. Modern ships don't make that distinction."

"Of course, they do. How else are they supposed to strategize and sortie?"

"Are you mad? Modern ships have pretty much the same specifications. You either have a large ship or a small ship. They don't fight these days. It's the submarines and jets that do the fighting."

"What, you think the old models are all suddenly retired?"

"I never said that! They are just obsolete and are only used to patrol the seas."

"Why would anyone patrol the seas? I don't fucking know!"