For as tall as she stands, as strong as she swings, she's nothing but a scared girl afraid of failure. Ji-Woon knows what she really fears: her career would be dead. "What is this twisted horror bullshit? What if this leaked? You're already attracting crazed, violent fans, how would it look if the media heard the demented sounds you're working on? Mightee One would drop you. But the anger still rattles through her, as she moves up to his face. If she thought the sounds were actual murders, she'd have tried to knee him in the crotch and run. The only solace in Ji-Woon's mind is that she doesn't understand what it really is. Yun-Jin holds the sampler as if it's dripping blood. He sees the moment with clear eyes: they're dancing on a razor's edge, with Yun dangerously close to discovering who he truly is. The hairs on Ji-Woon's neck stand on end. Couldn't hear beyond the terrorised voices to understand the beauty inherent in human suffering. It's an early draft lacking subtlety, the violence and horror a bit too blatant for the faint of heart. It contains his personal project, the screams of his murder victims layered into songs. He brings the million-dollar voice and she smashes through any problem in their way. Yun's on top of everything - it's what he respects in her, what makes them a great team. It's laughable, the threats were nothing but a ploy, a boogeyman he created to throw Yun off his trail if she ever got too close. When security couldn't locate Ji-Woon, she came snooping. She's paranoid about death threats they've been getting from a fan. Pushes the door open, steps softly on plush carpet, hears the invader around the corner, sees. He pats the knife concealed above his ankle. He'll defend himself, test the invader for operatic sounds, like an impromptu aria, as he surprises them with a blade in their gut. How could they resist him? But he's ready. He knew a crazed fan would take things too far someday. He faintly hears someone rummaging inside. Ji-Woon freezes as he reaches his hotel room, the door opened a crack. The mundane details are what elevate the splendour of his artwork. In the past week he's transitioned between concert rehearsals to disguising his celebrity visage, staking out his victim, assuming alternate identities, purchasing supplies, and stealing recording equipment-all while paying off his security detail to leave him be. Even the most mundane detail required his attention. Ji-Woon has already prepared a warehouse at an abandoned harbour for tomorrow's act. With Lucas' voice, Ji-Woon can create art. To think, Lucas practically fell into his lap, the Brazilian man having sung at a recording studio Ji-Woon visited. His voice is the brush stroke Ji-Woon has been searching for. Nowhere near my level, but a diamond, nonetheless. The angelic, ethereal sound of a young Brazilian man singing floats from an open window. Water splashes into a basin a skateboard's wheels grind over asphalt a rufous-bellied thrush chirps, and. Ji-Woon lives within the sounds of Rio de Janeiro. 2.1 Ji-Woon Hak: Dissonance for the Dead.
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