Faust

Rashomon

           Behind the dark red curtains is a confined corridor made of similar designs. Booths, closed curtains despite being empty, each shoves a golden plate hanging down from the ceiling.
Six in total. Unlike the ebony wooden floor outside, this place is plated with thick burgundy rug. All that you see is either red or shadows of red by the heavy folds of curtain.

Lev doesn't lead me in, he stops at an inconspicuous cabin by a small table with rows of opened scotch and a small bottle of champagne next to a bucket of ice. Everything here looks in union but polar from the scene outside.

Pulling a door open reveals a small TV screen the size of one's face. Circuits fill the next few slots under with hints of orange light from the switches at the bottom. But what caught my eyes initially was the wall of notes stuck on the door of cabin. In clear ordinances, rows after rows each has a few numbers in quick scribbles and none oversteps or blocks the other.

"Please excuse the quality and the lack of sound." Lev hid the wall of secrets manually by standing in front of them and plugging the monitor back on with a flip behind the screen.

          The screen flashes and shows the basement outside. Judging from this angle, I made a mental note there's a camera installed at the left corner between the elevator and the bar entrance door. The footage had clearly been filtered since even with the neon signs on there was no way the basement would be this bright. The edge of the camera view contorts like painting a picture with steel glass.

         .....this ought to be amusing the next time I ran into Xiao.

          And he's not joking about the video quality, it's shit. Even more so when he claws his finger into the side and pushes the rewind button.
          The screen lets out a loud hiss before it starts doing what's intended. Even though there's no sound to the recordings, the very presence of the static is undeniable and surprisingly similar to the ones I have in my apartment building.

          The filtered screen moves to the point when the steel gate opens and I walk backward out all the way to sit on the wall and flashes of light fly themselves back to my fingertips like a low-budget stage play or show of a real magician. The goofy scene runs for about 15 seconds before I collect the boxes of cigarettes on the ground and stash them in my jacket, and moonwalk back into the automatically opened elevator door. Half a second later, those two men and woman rush into the elevator too with rigid movements.

            Then there's nothing.

            Nothing after the elevator door closes. Sure sometimes people come in alone or in pairs like those two Qins I ran into but most walk straight into the warm incandescent light inside the elevator like moths to a flame, some litter around the 'Stynx' sign for few seconds(in fast-forwarded time), some even wave at the exact position of the peephole camera on the sign but nothing happens. After a while, the vendors downstairs move their cargos and valuables out, the few Russians at 4th underground strides off to the stairs like they own the whole place, three Japs in vests and one with silver grey hair.

            Lev gives me occasional quick glances but mostly focuses on the screen as well.
           
            Before the earliest few mercs and vendors, there was nothing. The view of the basement is an inactive scene as if the monitor's showing a picture except for the numbers indicating the time counting back which is the only proof that the record's working.......

"Did you hear shots on your way here?" Lev asks out of the blue with his eyes moved to mine since god knows when. The incoherent and inconsistent statics still bop on and off, and the timer on the left corner is moving past this morning at about 9 o'clock. I turn my head before my eyes would give up on searching for any signs of importance.