Sometimes it seems that all of human civilization is nothing more than a thin film stretched over an endless abyss. Beneath it lies primordial darkness a place where rules disappear and man becomes what he has always truly been: a predator who can derive pleasure from another's suffering. We build cities, write laws, smile at strangers in the subway, but the moment this fragile film tears even a little, the real thing immediately bursts out. Pure. Black. Eternal.
The dark blue old Toyota Crown crawled slowly along the long, narrow bridge leading to a tiny island off the coast of Chiba Prefecture. The island was almost nothing just a few crumbling houses with collapsed roofs and one large abandoned concrete building, a former factory whose walls were covered in black mold and deep cracks. Below the bridge, thick fog drifted across the black water like the breath of death itself. The wind carried the smell of salt, rot, and something else heavy, sweet, and metallic.
They had forgotten the toll money. When they entered the island, the booth was empty, but on the way back they would have been stopped. Halfway across the bridge, they spotted a young man riding a bicycle toward them. Johnny lowered the window.
"Hey, got any spare change? We forgot the toll," he called out hoarsely.
The cyclist didn't even turn his head. Without a word, he pulled a 500-yen coin from his pocket, tossed it into the car, and silently pedaled away, vanishing into the fog. The coin clinked on the floor and lay there, forgotten.
Inside the car, the air was thick and sticky, like congealed blood. It reeked of sweat, cheap whiskey, cigarettes, and fresh, still-warm blood. On the back seat, the youngest of the three had already pulled the girl out of the trunk. She lay face down, barely alive. He tore off what remained of her clothes and put on her short skirt and torn black stockings himself the fabric stretched obscenely over his muscular thighs, looking both ridiculous and repulsive. He was now deep inside her, thrusting hard, greedily, and rhythmically, while her broken fingers weakly scratched at the leather seat. From her throat came only wet, hoarse, almost animalistic whimpers. Each thrust was accompanied by a wet squelching sound and the dull thud of her head against the car door.
Johnny, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned around. His face was hidden behind a black balaclava. His left eye socket was crudely stitched shut with thick black thread an empty, sunken cavity, long deprived of its eye. He smirked at the corner of his mouth.
"Seriously?" he said calmly, almost gently. "Keep it down back there. She's not allowed to die yet."
The car finally reached the island and stopped in front of the large abandoned building. The two men in front dragged the girl outside. Her legs could barely hold her. She staggered forward, wheezing and limping like a broken, mutilated doll. Blood from the deep cuts on her thighs ran down her skin in thin dark streams, mixing with dirt and dust. Every step sent sharp pain through her dislocated joints and broken bones. Her eyes were empty, pupils dilated to the limit from shock and massive blood loss.
They roughly shoved her through the shattered doorway.
Inside the vast, dark hall, the air was heavy and stale a mixture of rust, mold, old concrete, and excited human sweat. A crowd of about twenty people was already waiting: boys and girls, all wearing balaclavas or masks, most of them half-naked. Their bodies glistened in the light of several lanterns. Some quietly laughed, others simply breathed heavily, staring at the new "guest." Empty bottles, used syringes, and dried dark stains littered the corners traces of previous nights.
Johnny brutally forced the girl onto her knees in the center of the hall. Her head hung limply forward. He took out his phone, started recording, and dialed the emergency police number. When the operator answered, he pressed a long hunting knife firmly against her throat the blade glinted coldly.
"Hey, you sons of whores," he said clearly and calmly into the phone. "Where is Takayama?"
Without waiting for an answer, he drew the knife across her throat in one smooth, almost surgical motion.
Blood erupted in a powerful hot fountain. Bright red, almost black in the dim light, it sprayed everywhere, flooding the concrete, her chest, and the knees of the people standing nearby. The girl convulsed violently, her eyes widening in final animal terror. From her slashed throat came a horrible wet gurgle air mixed with blood, bubbling and choking. She frantically clutched at her neck, but her fingers only slipped across the slippery, warm mess. For several long seconds her body thrashed in agony, legs twitching, blood still spurting in rhythmic gushes and forming a large, shiny pool. Then she collapsed face-first, gave one final jerk, and lay still forever.
Johnny stopped the recording, wiped the blade on his sleeve, and quickly ran outside.
The car was gone.
"Fuck!" he roared, spinning around sharply. "Where the hell is the car?!"
At that exact moment, the night exploded with sirens. Blinding searchlights from helicopters slammed down from above, flooding the entire island with cold white light. The bridge was already completely blocked by armored vehicles and special forces teams. National Guard boats had surrounded the island on all sides. Soldiers in full combat gear fast-roped down from the helicopters.
Johnny stood alone under the blinding glare. He slowly licked his lips, tasting the salty flavor of someone else's blood on his tongue. He still gripped the knife in his hand.
"Well done…" he shouted toward the approaching forces, his voice almost amused. "You won this time. But remember one thing: Takayama started this violence… and he is the one who will eventually finish it."
He broke into a sprint straight toward the police line.
A grenade launcher barked once. The explosion tore Johnny's body apart mid-run. Blood, bones, and chunks of flesh scattered across the wet ground. The others inside the building opened fire in panic. They were cut down by short, precise bursts within seconds. The survivors were slammed to the floor, arms twisted behind their backs, handcuffed, and dragged away. Blood mixed with dust and fog.
The island fell back into heavy silence. Only the roar of helicopter rotors and the distant lapping of waves against the bridge pillars disturbed it. The girl's body remained lying in the center of the hall drained of blood, mutilated, and forgotten. Her blood still slowly spread across the cold concrete, as if unwilling to die with her.