Inhuman Torture

Matthew felt all of this was truly absurd, even for Renly. It was as if a fairy tale had come to life. But this was Renly, wasn't it? Amidst the calm demeanor, there was an earth-shattering power.

"Sir, the nails have all been hammered in," Jose's slightly trembling voice interrupted Matthew's thoughts. He raised his head, giving a slight nod, "Continue to hammer different spots with the hammer, pretending to still be hammering nails."

Jose's hands trembled uncontrollably. Preparing a corpse was one thing, but imprisoning a living person in a coffin was another. And now, it seemed the ordeal wasn't over yet? His brain felt inadequate. "What... what do you mean?"

Matthew had to explain, "Pretend to hammer in other areas, use the hammer seriously, but without actually using real nails."

Though Matthew didn't understand why Renly was doing this, he understood Renly's personality. Once he made up his mind, no one could change it, no one. So, he decided to lend a hand to help Renly, to make the atmosphere of "being buried alive" more real, creating an illusion that they were really going to nail the coffin shut.

After understanding, Jose relaxed a bit and picked up the hammer again. But before long, they could hear muffled pounding from inside the coffin. It startled Jose, making his legs go weak. Hearing noises from inside a coffin at any time was the stuff of horror movies. But then he realized, there was a living person inside; it would be strange if there were no sounds.

Yet, despite this realization, the inner fear remained largely unchanged.

The struggle inside the coffin grew more intense. The muted struggles and pains were isolated by the thick wood of the coffin, only faintly audible. Yet, it was precisely this barely perceptible resistance that made their hearts race even more. It seemed as if one could truly feel the despair of being buried alive, every inch of the soul tortured.

Jose couldn't bear to watch anymore. He felt like he was personally snuffing out a life, not just getting his hands bloody but also cruelly standing by. He turned to Matthew, silently pleading, "Can we stop? Do we really need to continue? Are you sure he'll be okay? I feel like things are spiraling out of control. Shouldn't we stop now?"

The struggles in the coffin became increasingly frantic, the dull thuds echoing. It was almost unbearable for Jose. "Please?" he couldn't help but finally speak, his weak voice laden with infinite fear and desperate pleading.

Unfortunately, Jose received no response. Matthew remained steadfast and unwavering, unmoving.

Unable to stand anymore, Jose walked to the side and collapsed onto a chair, his entire body paralyzed. His face was pale, his slightly curled hair soaked with sweat, as if he had just been pulled out of water. He stared blankly at the coffin in front of him, the struggles inside seeming to weaken. Did this mean...

Don't overthink.

Matthew's stomach churned, nerves almost making him sick. But he had to shut down his endless imagination. He told himself that the only thing he needed to do was to trust Renly, something he was good at, wasn't he?

Back in Cambridge University, to ensure student safety, motor vehicles were prohibited on campus. One afternoon, Renly, on a whim, rode his motorcycle into campus, causing a scene that frightened everyone. Not to mention others, even Matthew, who was sitting on the motorcycle's pillion, was terrified. The security guards chased after them on bicycles, scolding them. But Renly had no intention of stopping. He recklessly rode through, more and more security guards trailing behind, like a looming storm cloud, an unshakeable tail following the motorcycle. The whole campus was in an uproar.

Later, Matthew thought both he and Renly would face severe consequences, and the dean would surely explode in anger. But unexpectedly, Renly told the dean he was ill, had a heart condition, and needed immediate rest at the campus hospital. Desperate to help, he rode the motorcycle into campus. It was a last resort, knowing it was a bad decision, but he had no other choice.

Matthew still remembered Renly's innocent expression, saying, "Once again, I sincerely apologize. I hope the dean allows me to confess in the church and punish me by organizing books in the library for a month, to warn fellow students that even saving lives shouldn't involve riding motorcycles on campus." The dean stood there, speechless with anger.

Even himself, in shock at the time, had to act out his "heartache." He felt the dean surely saw through him, but later, the campus doctor confirmed his irregular heartbeat, requiring rest. Even the dean could only be silent.

The image of the dean's dumbfounded expression flashed in his mind, and Matthew couldn't help but lightly smile.

The passage of time was torment. Matthew watched everything unfold, from intense struggles to gradual exhaustion, then a last desperate attempt to escape, followed by the despair of giving up. All of it concealed within that small coffin, like tons of dynamite, ready to explode, shattering everything.

Matthew had to close his eyes, unable to continue watching. It was too cruel. Several times he almost couldn't suppress the urge to open the coffin and end the suffering. It was like witnessing a rabbit's death, better to end its torment than watch it struggle in vain.

But he knew he couldn't.

Time became their torture, for him, for Jose, even for the Martin family on the other end of the phone. Five hours later, they couldn't bear it and came to the shop, only to flee in less than thirty minutes, refusing to stay in the room any longer.

Rodrigo, with a heavy heart, lowered his gaze. "Matthew, let's end this. End this absurd ordeal."

He arrived three hours after the experiment began, anxious as he watched. He had thought he would be amazed, enjoy it, contemplate it, as this was the real script for "being buried alive," and their reactions were what filmmakers expected from audiences after a movie premiere. But he couldn't continue watching.

"I don't care about this movie anymore. Even with Renly's original abilities, he could definitely play this role well. We don't need to continue like this. End it. End this inhuman torture quickly." Rodrigo felt he was on the verge of a breakdown, unable to imagine Renly's current state. Such inhuman confinement was even more cruel than murder. "If Renly gets angry, say it's my responsibility. I interrupted this experiment. This is just a low-budget independent film. He really doesn't need to go this far."

Even as the director, Rodrigo's patience had reached its limit, on the brink of collapse.

Matthew didn't immediately respond. The air was almost solid, even the heartbeat barely audible. He almost couldn't feel any movement from inside the coffin, just imagining the potential possibilities, freezing his blood. He couldn't afford to think too much, not even a bit.

Turning his head to the sweaty and guilty Rodrigo, Matthew smiled. "He's not doing it for your movie."

Rodrigo was stunned. Not for "Buried," then what for?

"Beep, beep..."

The sudden alarm shattered the oppressive panic in the room. Matthew took a step forward but found himself stiff from standing too long. His muscles were uncoordinated, but he didn't have time to attend to himself. He shouted at Jose, "Open it! Open it now!" His voice was like thunder, awakening everyone.

People rushed forward, even those in the office outside flooded in. Matthew had to stop them. "Too many people! Four are enough." Four corners, four crowbars, that was enough.

The crowd rushed forward, four people approached, each taking a corner, pulling out the nails. Jose reached out to open the coffin but recoiled as if burnt when his fingers touched the wood. He didn't dare.

Matthew's thighs were completely numb, steps awkward, but he stepped forward, hands tightly gripping the lid. After a pause, before panic and fear could engulf him, he forcefully lifted the lid.

Empty, completely empty. Renly's deep and lively eyes were now just two empty sockets, absorbing all light like black holes, swallowing vitality and hope.

Covered in sweat and dirt, pale cheeks devoid of any color, hands swollen, fingertips' blood already dried and clotted, his black T-shirt soaked through, revealing a chest devoid of any movement, as quiet as a graveyard at midnight.

Fear seized Matthew's heart. "Renly? Renly! For God's sake! Renly! Wake up, please, wake up!" The endless fear was like a free fall, unable to grasp any force, only struggling in vain.

"Drink," Renly suddenly gasped for air, sitting up as if resurrected, like a vampire reviving from the dead.