Averie scratched the skin around his eyes and observed his pupils.
"This won’t do! Won’t do! Won’t do!" he screamed.
His shaky jaw contained agony, but his expression remained vacant. There was no sign of emotion on his face.
His nails dug into his cheeks. "Who are you?"
The sight was enough to send Hyerin into a fit of hiccups.
She spent that day crying in the arms of Min-Ha after pulling Averie out of his momentary muddled sense of identity.
She had hoped that he would stop after that day.
But the obsessed actor continued.
In his eyes, the incident only confirmed that he was on the precipice of something grand.
Something was within his reach; whether it was brilliance or madness, he did not know.
Yet he tried to grasp it, for the unknown had long lost its terror on him.
But such grandiose ideals meant nothing to Hyerin, who feared for her friend’s sanity.
His deteriorating health and flickering consciousness made it difficult for them to hold conversations.
She was constantly gripped by fear and worry. And there was an air of gloom set around them.
What little time they had was consumed by Averie’s new toy—a gaming PC gifted to him by Xinema for the great success of Heresy of the Fallen World.
The game had sold ten million copies on its launch day.
The gift had left Averie speechless. The success of the game—for the first day at least—could not have been because of his appearance, he knew.
But instead of worrying about it, he spent his days and nights playing the game, which was also gifted to him.
After coming across Allaryx in the game, his cursing capabilities were restored in full. That crudeness was what Hyerin sought warmth in.
It felt like her friend was himself while raging at the game.
"Finally!" Averie uttered. "I have beaten that wanker! I am a creature of the night!"
Hyerin, who was watching from behind, applauded. "What does that mean?"
"It means I can’t go out in the morning, which isn’t very different from your typical gamer’s life. Other than that, I am super strong now."
"What’s the item you received?" she asked, despite having no interest in the game.
To Min-Ha, who was observing the pair with dull interest, it was like watching a parent taking interest in their child’s hobbies.
"Oh, the pendant? Allaryx dropped it."
Averie opened it to find a tiny sketch of Allaryx standing beside a woman sitting strikingly in a regal chair. Her facial features were obstructed by bloodstains.
It was a memento from a bygone time.
This little conversation gave Hyerin a false sense of belief that Averie could maintain some form of lucidity.
But watching his worsening figure over the next few weeks, she grew increasingly opposed to the idea of him honoring the contract with Director Groux.
"Let’s break the contract," she said one day. "It’s not pleasant, but we can afford to pay the penalty clause."
She saw no merit in pursuing a role unsuitable for him.
"It’s not even the same gender. It will only be painful."
’How are you going to act like a woman when you have lived your whole life as a man? It’s not a good idea to focus on an art project when your career has barely begun. Instant successes are always labeled as one-hit wonders.’
She wanted to say all that just to dispirit him from continuing his self-inflicted torture.
"If this fails, the whispers will only get louder."
But worse than that were fears unsaid. But those would not spark the lunatic’s interest, she knew.
"It’s career suicide."
"Hey," — Averie’s gaze turned to his friend, bordering on the edge of reality and thought — "do you care about what people say?"
"A little, yes. And you should too."
"Sounds boring." His eyes were glazed, and his head was slightly swiveling. "I am having fun. Let miserable people be miserable."
"What fun? What fun, Averie? You have—"
"Enjoy yourself, Rin. It isn’t how it always looks."
’I am not afraid of failure. The prospect of failing even sounds a little thrilling.’
"Be serious for once." Hyerin drew a circle on the floor with her foot. "What about your health?"
He snapped his fingers and zoned out once again.
Averie’s health and mental condition only worsened as filming of Long Live the Quinn continued.
He was frail and started doing dangerous stuff as episodes progressed.
Surprisingly, the director liked it. He thought it made for a better show.
"It has an edge," he commented.
And it really showed while filming the episode entitled Crime and Condemnation.
On a dark street overlooking Birmingham, a film crew of fifty or fewer was gathered around a collection of sports cars.
They were busy tuning their equipment, being observed by the gathered youths.
"So, you lot won’t rat us out or nothing, right?" a young man wearing a black mask and a hoodie asked. "It’s kind of a worry, you know?"
"Nothing to worry about there," the second AD replied. "We have no reason to harm you. Documentary crews are very particular about these things."
"Alright, alright." The man rhythmically nodded his head. "So, what’s up with him?"
He pointed towards a man sitting some distance away on a folding chair. He was sipping coffee in a black t-shirt with ’The Quinn’ printed on it.
"Mr. Auclair?" The AD observed him. "What about him?"
"He looks like he is dying."
"Nonsense," the AD retorted, hoping to dismiss such chatter before it found its way to tabloids.
"He looks thinner, doesn’t he?"
"Must be for a role."
"Can’t be a minor supporting role if he is going that far for it."
"And you don’t wonder for a second how he is getting that kind of role after just making it into the industry?"
"I don’t know, man. I don’t get paid for chatting about actors."