Stunning performance

Paul's gaze held an unwavering determination, emanating an incredible brilliance of resolute resolve. No more panic, no more fear, no more hesitation, no more despair. It was as if all the chaotic thoughts had been abruptly severed, replaced by an unyielding force that surged forth with unstoppable momentum.

"I am Paul Conroy, a U.S. citizen from Hastings, Michigan. I work as a truck driver for the CTR company. I was taken hostage somewhere in Iraq."

Rodrigo's ears caught the chilling yet steadfast voice, causing a slight tremor deep within him. The voice contained no wavering, harboring a resolute acceptance of death. While the tone remained calm, a tinge of melancholy indicated a willingness to share the same fate. A shiver coursed through Rodrigo's body as he remembered Paul's desperation just moments ago. Paul's colleague hung by a thread, but at least there was still a glimmer of hope. In contrast, Rodrigo was trapped beneath the desert, buried in a coffin, engulfed in darkness, helpless and idle.

He was still Paul's colleague. This was a battle of ethics, a tug of war. The video being recorded now was his choice.

Once again, a shiver ran down Rodrigo's spine. He involuntarily clenched his teeth, a nearly suffocating heaviness gripping his heart, rendering him unable to utter a sound.

"I need one million dollars, to be delivered by 9 p.m. Baghdad time. Otherwise, I'll die in this buried coffin. They told me that as long as the money is given..." The voice remained devoid of fluctuations, as if even the most basic emotions had vanished. The chilling calmness sent a chill through Rodrigo's bones, like being immersed in ice-cold ocean water on a bitterly cold day. He could feel the warmth slowly dissipating from his blood.

"Bang!" The sudden noise startled Rodrigo, nearly causing him to jump. He saw Paul clench his right fist tightly and slam it against the ground. The ferocious, brutal posture vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by tranquility. Paul resumed his composed demeanor, focused on the camera, and continued, "They say they'll release me as long as the money is given."

Rodrigo stared at Paul in bewilderment, not grasping what had just happened. After a brief moment of confusion, he realized that it might have been a flashlight malfunction or insufficient light from the glow stick. Paul was adjusting the lighting, ensuring the video had enough brightness.

Originally a minor accident, Paul's concise yet powerful action erupted with ferocity. This was Paul's true state of mind, wasn't it? He wasn't a saint or a great figure. He lacked the enlightenment of self-sacrifice or nobility to save others. He was merely making a difficult decision in a dire situation. If given a choice, he didn't want to die. He wanted to continue living. But... that burst of energy released the pent-up anger, reluctance, bitterness, and brutality deep within him.

A simple action triggered a storm in Rodrigo's mind.

"Without the money, I'll die here." Paul continued recording, as if nothing had happened. He paused for a moment at this point. "These threats are real and will be carried out." His voice revealed an almost imperceptible tremor—a quiver from the soul—a hint of helplessness and a yearning for survival.

He gazed at the camera in a daze, his deep brown eyes flickering gently behind thick lashes, light and fragile as butterfly wings. His lips quivered slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately swallowed his words. His thumb pressed the button, ending the video recording.

As he regained his composure, he operated his phone, sending the video out, then stood motionless in place, maintaining the same posture. Time seemed to stand still.

Rodrigo hesitated for a moment, unsure if the performance was over, if he should make a sound or something. However, just then, a faint curve formed at the corner of Paul's mouth—he was smiling.

It was a warm smile, as if a ray of sunshine had fallen onto a vast expanse of pure white snow.

The smile paused for a moment before blossoming once again, accompanied by a soft chuckle. The laughter reverberated in his chest, elusive like distant thunder, yet effortlessly capturing everyone's attention. Within that smile, bitterness, resignation, absurdity, and suppressed emotions refracted into an indescribable anger. After reaching the zenith of anger, it transformed into helplessness. His strength drained away, following his spine as a breath left him, leaving him utterly weakened. Apart from a hollow laughter, he couldn't react in any other way.

The smile receded, vanishing into the solitude at the corners of his lips. His eyelids lowered slowly, extinguishing the last glimmer of light in his eyes. His shoulders sagged suddenly, as if releasing a tension he hadn't even realized was there. The tautness abruptly gave way, surging out like a released spring, tightening the air. Then, he closed his eyes and gently pressed his face against the sofa. His shoulders, arms, and torso all went limp, exhaustion washing over him like a tide. All the pain, torment, and complexity subsided with the disappearance of the static noise.

Rodrigo could hear the sound of a heart shattering, not out of sympathy, but out of helplessness. He watched Paul expend all his effort to save another life, risking the abandonment of his own lifeline. The suppressed will to survive, deeply hidden in his eyes, was held back, an oppressive weight upon his chest. It was a cruelty so profound that it was difficult to keep watching.

Until this moment, even though Renly hadn't said a word, Rodrigo knew that the performance had ended. He finally understood the meaning of the "two parts".

The first part was fear, panic, and despair in dire circumstances; the second part was the collision between the will to survive and reality. Paul was just an ordinary person, one among the masses. He had his own problems, made his own choices. However, in a life-or-death crisis, each choice, each decision defined his life. He wasn't good or bad; he was an ordinary person struggling in life.

But he became a victim of war or perhaps a pawn in the game of government interests. He was the shrimp caught in the clash of whales, the inconspicuous creature in the midst of larger forces. What he bore was the predicament of society as a whole: they were paying the price for decisions made by the government and the elite class. How could Paul's small, fragile shoulders carry such a weight?

So, he failed.

Rodrigo suddenly recalled the ending of the movie "Buried": Paul was truly buried alive. Cold and cruel, it severed all life and hope. "Are you okay?" "Are you alright? Is there trouble at home? Do you need me to call the police? Is it serious?" ...

The jumble of voices disrupted Rodrigo's thoughts. The heavy emotions were difficult to shake off in an instant, making him somewhat disoriented when he saw the concerned crowd before him.

"It's you, right? You're the mastermind behind this, aren't you? Tell me, what's your scheme?" Suddenly, someone pushed Rodrigo's shoulder hard. Caught off guard, Rodrigo had no idea how to explain.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Renly's voice came from the crowd. He stood up again, offering a smile to the unfamiliar faces. "I'm really okay. It was just a performance." The commotion subsided slightly, and Renly briefly explained, "I'm an actor, he's a director, and I was auditioning. So, I'm okay, and my family is fine."

The young people exchanged puzzled glances.

What had just happened seemed far too real, far too brutal. The roiling waves beneath a calm surface were like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. They all held their breaths, fearing that any movement might lead to irreparable consequences. The intense pounding of hearts plunged everyone into panic.

And now they were being told that it was all an act?

"Is this real?" Doubtful voices immediately emerged. A college-looking blonde girl widened her eyes in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Everything we just witnessed was fake? Jesus Christ, I was practically having a heart attack, and now you tell me it was just acting? I seriously thought your wife had been kidnapped or something."

Renly turned to look at the disheveled Rodrigo next to him. A tall, burly man had grabbed Rodrigo by the collar, hoisting him up with suspicion flickering in his eyes. He seemed to worry that Renly was saying these things due to coercion.

"Look at me, I'm fine. My future wife... she should be fine too," Renly's humorous tone slightly eased the tension. "I'm an actor. What happened just now was all part of the performance." Renly shrugged. "I'll take your reactions as positive feedback. It means my acting was very successful, isn't it?"

"Guys, guys, I can vouch for this." The front desk staff from the youth hostel also walked over. "Rodrigo is indeed a director. He's been staying here for two weeks. As for this gentleman..." The staff pointed at Renly. "Haven't you recognized him? He's an actor, the rich young man from "The Pacific"."

Everyone exchanged glances and finally someone realized, "Yes, yes, I knew he looked familiar! He's that guy with the sledgehammer!"

"Eugene "Sledgehammer" Sledge?" another person chimed in, amazed that two out of the eight people recognized Renly. Considering that this was just a youth hostel, and most of the guests were young foreigners, it was quite remarkable.

Renly spread his hands and nodded. "That's me."

Once confirmed, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, exclaiming, "God, your performance just now was incredible! What kind of movie is this? I thought my heart was going to explode! I can't believe it, I can't believe it!" ...

"Uh... can you please let go of me?" Rodrigo patted the arm of the hulking man, looking rather forlorn.