Liberi Reader

Psst, hey. You saw Michael and Marion's bodies too, right?

Dude! Don't remind me, I've been trying to forget! It was freaking terrifying!

M-My hands are still shaking so much, I don't think I can hold the boom mic...

You're still worried about work?! When there's an actual serial killer on set right now?

So... let's skedaddle?

You want to run? Did you already forget how Michael and Marion ended up like that?

Michael even had his suitcase right under him. I heard he'd been packed and ready to go for quite a while. Even found himself a secret passage to leave through...

And he still was murdered right before he left the plate.

No way that killer's gonna let any of us leave.

It's just like the plot of Jack The Liberipper. This set is now his hunting ground, and any one of us could very well be his prey.

Abner, how long has it been since you inspected your chest rig?

Look, there's a bunch of loose screws on your mechanical arm. One little slip, and that camera's gonna be shards of glass all over the floor...

If it breaks, it breaks.

At least let me take a look at your camera lens then.

I'm good.

I'm your assistant, you know.

Don't think I don't see what you're actually up to—you best stay away from me, kiddo.

Dalton's death was no accident, right? The same goes for Shelly, Michael, and Marion...

There's no way the victims were chosen at random. All of them were involved in that incident five years ago.

You should be working for one of those gossip rags, not behind a camera.

Who said they were mutually exclusive? Reporters make more dough though... Anyway, Abner, my good man, you were there five years ago, right? C'mon, you can tell me. Not like we'll be doing anything else today.

Miss Rutherford, you have no lines in this scene...

Then do you suppose I could simply stay in my room researching which exact foundation shade Lady Dupont should be wearing before she dies?

That will be decided after we finish the climatic scenes at the end, which are still... I'm sorry...

Ah, so that god of yours is running tardy. But I'm in no mood to blame your god right now, my dear.

Were we not so far from the city, a major incident like this would have the Wrankwood police locking down the plate and crawling all over our set. And naturally, the shooting would be suspended.

Not to say that our current situation is any better.

Steven, I'm starting to worry that my investment in this project will come to nothing.

How much do you or Greta know about what's transpired these past few days, that I don't?

......

Oh, this is where you two were.

So where's the producer? Greta owes us an explanation!

......

I have some announcements to make, everyone.

I've never received any training as an actor, so you might have to come closer to hear me.

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You'll want to check your personal Wrankwood financial terminals in a few minutes. I've instructed finance to send out everyone's remaining wages.

Of course, the families of Dalton, Shelly, Michael, and Marion will also receive compensation for their losses, which I will handle personally later.

Yes, The Death of Lady Dupont has yet to conclude filming, and your contracts are still valid, so none of this should even be necessary. But I can count on one hand how many of you are still in the mood to work.

Hah, this is so unlike you, Greta.

We've simply run into a few... considerable hiccups. But this is no time to thrown in the towel.

Or has this experience made our producer lose confidence in the quality of the film?

Throwing in the towel? You're overthinking it, darling.

I've never once doubted my own judgment, much less considered abandoning the project.

Then why are you—

I'd like you to gather round for a story, everyone.

Hey, kid...

Me, Miss Stone?

Take out your pen recorder, notebook, shorthand terminal, whatever... Then sit down, and listen.

Wh-What do you mean?

I've seen you sneaking around with those toys, and I don't appreciate it. But feel free to record everything I'm about to say.

Take it to Trimounts Entertainment Weekly, or Wrankwood Coffee Time, or Persons Magazine... I don't care, as long as you get the story out. I won't hold you accountable either.

See it as a reward, or a punishment. It doesn't matter to me.

......

I take it everyone here is familiar with the Wrankwood Academy Awards.

The Best Newcomer award. Every year, countless students of film and television schools, as well as amateur film buffs, submit their entries in a bid to prove how much they understand their creations and the market.

They crave for their work to be chosen, because even the lowest award still implies their film is up to Wrankwood's standards... and a certain Phidia was no exception.

She believed herself to be an auteur with both the brains and the will to realize her dreams. She was certain she would one day stand on Wrankwood's red carpet, even if she had to temporarily settle for life in a cramped rental.

So she waited for the very best story and the very best partners, then she put together a crew and brought that story to life. Submitted it.

But this no-name newcomer craved success too much, not to mention the pressure of living up to the expectations of her companions.

As the voting period was ending, her obsession intensified, along with her doubts about the quality of the work she had submitted.

She could not rationalize her strange thoughts. She begged both friends and family, and raised a large sum—large for her then, at least—before knocking on the judges' doors.

Why does this sound so familiar...?

On the very day of the Academy Awards, the committee publicized what the Phidia had done, and in so doing proved Wrankwood's professionalism and purity to the whole of Terra.

And so she was disqualified. Her crew cut all ties with her, and she lost everything she had.

Now I remember!

It was so ironic, because the academy later revealed that the work had actually won by votes anyway, the most recognized by the jury.

Afterward, she spent a decade exhausting every option to re-enter Wrankwood, and slowly made some achievements of her own.

Of course, she changed her name as well... to Greta Stone.

......

So, Melanie. Now you know what an absolute fool I am.

I went out of my way to provoke fate into playing a joke on me.

Fortunately, that preposterous experience has taught me one thing: I should never doubt myself.

I will always believe in my own judgment, and never give up on anything I attempt.

Haha, you're more of a character than I took you for.

Though truth be told, I always thought that infallible persona of yours was just a front to intimidate others.

Come on, Greta.

So what's the sudden backstory for... You trying to win our sympathy?

Dead people in here and a Catastrophe out there... You think we'd still want to put our lives on the line, just for you? After all that's happened?

I know you still hold it against me, Abner.

...Ever since five years ago.

How could I? I mean, I was awarded Best Cinematography that year thanks to those classic shots from that film...

It's the highest honor any cinematographer could ever dream of... and you gave it to me!

But what about after that?

You hit the peak of your career, then fell into despair. In just six months no one dared put you behind their cameras.

You used to love your cameras so much, but now you treat them like empty potato chip bags.

Before you joined the crew for The Death of Lady Dupont, you even lost your decades-old partner at the casino, yes?

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You hate that film from five years ago, you hate the shot that won you the award, and you hate me for making you keep it—

You bet I do!

My camera captured that Laura girl's fall, and when I saw how you reacted, I knew then and there that you had zero good intentions.

I warned you again and again, but you insisted on keeping that shot in the final cut...

The more I think back to how the jury commented on the shot's realism and shock value, the more I want to laugh!

Film is the art of creating dreams. Cameras are the eyes that see dreams, and the hands that turn fantasy into reality. But you insulted that girl's memory. You insulted me!

Now I hate this damn thing I'm holding, and I hate my work! You get it now?

If you really think so, then put it down, Abner.

What?

I'm sorry, we've derailed. Now to get back on topic—

After confirming you've received your compensation, any of you may leave this production at any time.

Would you rather flee this dangerous plate? By all means. Scared of the serial killer, and wish to find somewhere to hide? Go ahead.

Feel like playing detective for whatever reason? Knock yourself out. Even if you're the murderer yourself, and unwilling to give up on your vengeance, you have my blessing.

We've already filmed most of The Death of Lady Dupont, with only a few climactic scenes to cover in the last two days of our schedule.

Who knows, maybe we can even finish it with those willing to stay.

As for who will work the camera... I will take Abner's place myself.

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Melanie?

You do realize I can hardly find a last minute stand-in for Lady Dupont herself, yes?

You know I don't have a choice.

I'm still counting on this film to beat Marianne.

Even a Catastrophe cloud can have a silver lining.

Marianne retired from cinema years ago. I've never understood why you're so obsessed with her.

That's none of your business.

But let me be frank: you won't get to demand special treatment as the female lead or insist on those 'rules of the film set' you love so much, once everyone else has evacuated.

Haha.

Steven.

I know, I know! I'll fix the ending by tonight!

I believe in my decision to invest in this story, darling, and I believe you've collected enough inspiration over the past few days.

Catastrophe draws near, and death is right before our eyes... Surely your god loves material like that?

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Alright, thank you for your time, people, and I wish you well on your future endeavors.

That's all from me.