Men's World (2)
Late afternoon.
"Yaaaaawn..."
Exhausted from his night shift, Thomas stood up with a groggy expression.
A cramped, single-room studio apartment of barely two hundred square feet. Instead of water, he grabbed an energy drink from the fridge, popped the tab, and immediately sat down at his desk to turn on his computer.
His personal computer, which had cost him almost his entire savings, was connected to a dial-up modem. He began his daily routine by logging onto the internet.
He checked his logs while stuffing the leftover hot dog from this morning's shift into his stomach. It took thirty seconds just to load a single page. Sometimes over a minute.
The dial-up connection sounds—beeep-screeech-clack-clack-clack—gradually detached Thomas from reality.
Until his shift started at 10:00 PM, he spent his time communicating with the world through this painfully slow internet rather than face-to-face.
It wasn't that he didn't know he shouldn't live like this, but he couldn't help it. There were just too many interesting things in the world right now.
After all, if he waited just thirty seconds, he could connect with people all over the globe via the World Wide Web.
...Of course, since Thomas only knew basic English, the sites he visited most often were just humor boards, gaming forums, or movie-related communities.
Among them, the hottest section was, naturally, the movie board.
We're in a completely different dimension now.
Ever since The Matrix was released in March, he felt like the world had changed dramatically. The spectacular CGI and the deep, philosophical screenplay. Even while at work, Thomas's mind would wander back to the analysis threads he read online, or the trailer clips and images he had downloaded from God-knows-where.
Today, Thomas was spending his pre-work hours exploring the digital realm as usual. Then, he spotted an intriguing thread title and clicked it.
The loading began. A sip of his energy drink.
Burp. A quiet belch. A lazy scratch of his rear.
Finally, the page loaded, and he scrolled down to check the content.
"Whoa..."
He couldn't help but marvel at the image.
It was a pristine, full-page scan of a newspaper article. The movie board's resident celebrity, "doofie007," really was something else. To own such an expensive scanner and meticulously archive and upload all these newspaper and magazine clippings...
Thomas's eyes sparkled as he moved his cursor. With a few clicks, the download window popped up, and the image began saving to his hard drive.
It would take about three minutes to complete.
I should hit the bathroom in the meantime.
He went to wash his face and empty his bladder. When he returned, the progress bar was only at 70%. In the twilight of 1999, surfing the web required absolute patience.
Yet, Thomas didn't mind. For someone who struggled to fit in with others, the internet felt far more welcoming than the real world.
He tossed his empty Red Bull can, cracked open a fresh one, and took a few deep gulps. A tingling sensation spread through his body—a side effect of excessive caffeine, though Thomas remained blissfully unaware as he sat back down.
Finally, the download finished, and he began reading the post in earnest.
In the photo, Sion Lee was shirtless, holding a cigarette. He was laughing confidently among his co-stars, showing off a remarkably chiseled physique.
Looking at that image stirred a complex mix of emotions in Thomas.
First, he grabbed his own flabby, sagging belly and compared himself. Then, looking at that confident smile among a crowd of people, a single thought surfaced:
I'm so jealous.
And he looked incredibly cool.
If it had been the Sion of the past, his Teen Heartthrob image would have prompted men to dismiss him as "obnoxious" or "gay." But now, he had become an object of admiration for almost every man in America.
In fact, it felt like men supported him even more than women did these days.
He was cool, funny, fit, and he stood up against the arrogant, powerful elites.
The comments on the post reflected exactly that.
"Was he really?"
Thomas tilted his head, unable to recall Sion's early days. He had only watched his films starting from Swing in Chicago, following the advice of the movie board veterans.
I think I saw a romance movie starring Sion when I was really young, though.
Suddenly curious, Thomas wrote a post on the board.
After seeing the stream of comments that followed, he made his decision.
There were many reasons he had developed an interest in movies, but one of them was the massive Blockbuster video rental store right in front of his house.
As the sun began to set, Thomas walked over to Blockbuster. He returned the video of Swing in Chicago—the film where Sion Lee had completely transformed his image with his brilliant acting—and rented his previous work, Deadly Summer Camp, bringing it back home.
With time running short, he had to head straight to work.
His grueling night shift began.
"Thomas, aren't you going to do your job right?"
The worst part of the job was, without a doubt, the friction with the senior security guard.
Enduring the constant nagging of a man who had only age to show for himself made Thomas wonder if he even had a future, and if the world really was going to end once this year passed.
...And a tiny part of him actually hoped it would.
"Whew..."
His shift, which ran from nine in the evening to nine in the morning, finally ended. Thomas returned home, completely exhausted.
Though he tried to resist, the stress drove him to heat up three slices of frozen pizza. He sat down and began watching Sion Lee's "worst work," which he had rented before work.
"Everyone, calm down~! We're getting out of here~!"
"..."
Thomas was completely dumbfounded.
...Yet, it was surprisingly entertaining.
"Calm down and come this way! Let's all get out!"
The combination of Sion delivering an atrocious performance with a baby face, and Elena Asimov acting circles around him despite being just as young, was oddly satisfying—much like a dry but tasty frozen pizza.
It was a cheap, B-movie aesthetic that delivered raw, primal genre thrills rather than artistic cinematic value.
Watching the movie unfold while chuckling to himself, Thomas thought,
Even this guy was like this when he was green.
After the movie ended, Thomas turned on his computer and looked at the photo he had downloaded yesterday.
Seeing Sion's muscular physique and the way he was respected by those tough, burly men...
Maybe I should start running tomorrow.
He felt a small spark of motivation to actually put in some effort.
The filming of Fight Club took place in a standard Hollywood studio and a rented location in South LA. While the commute wasn't particularly long, the shoot itself was incredibly grueling. There were two main reasons for this.
First, the director, David Fincher, was the type of filmmaker who demanded dozens of takes for a single shot. Second, they had to constantly perform intense action sequences.
Even Edward Norton, who considered himself deeply committed to his craft, couldn't help but grow exhausted under these conditions.
And yet... it was exhilarating.
This was because Sion Lee's sheer presence kept the atmosphere on set razor-sharp.
"Whew... Whew..."
Arriving on set early in the morning, Edward would find Sion already pumping his muscles. Watching him, Edward felt a sense of genuine respect and walked over to greet him.
"Morning, Sion."
"Ah, Edward. Good morning. Have you had breakfast?"
"No, I need to keep the weight off. What about you?"
"I haven't even had a sip of water since yesterday."
Sion was strictly controlling his hydration to maximize muscle definition. He was putting everything into embodying the dangerous, alluring, and almost Lucifer-like charm of Tyler Durden.
Indeed, as the shoot progressed, Sion's body fat plummeted. With his hollow cheeks, he now exuded the vibe of a rockstar on the verge of self-destruction.
To exaggerate slightly, it was as if a dark halo hovered behind his back.
...And because the rest of the cast and crew naturally matched his intensity, the atmosphere on set remained incredibly tense.
Everyone preparing for the shoot did so with absolute dedication. The director, well aware of this, would spend all night debating scenes before arriving on set to capture the perfect shot.
In a place fueled entirely by energy drinks and coffee, Edward did his best to maintain his own center.
After all, that was who the Narrator was.
A character who is gradually influenced by the incredibly dangerous Tyler Durden, yet maintains a distinct distance from him—the co-founder of Fight Club who ultimately becomes the most wary of the organization as it devolves into a terrorist group.
And yet...
"Huff, huff..."
Watching Sion's near-manic focus as he caught his breath after pumping iron, Edward felt that if he didn't anchor himself, he might easily lose his grip on his character and get sucked into Sion's orbit.
Because deep down, Tyler Durden existed within the Narrator's own psyche.
Fortunately, there was one person who prevented that from happening.
"Morning, everyone~"
A man walked in, happily munching on a donut. His name was Frederic Patterson.
Though his role in Fight Club was just one of the club members, his presence on set was like a car's gear shift.
He was the guy who could catch an overheating atmosphere and pull it back down to earth, and the donut in his hand seemed to prove exactly that.
The starving cast members swallowed hard at the sight of the pastry, and Edward let out a bewildered laugh, calling out to him.
"You're eating well first thing in the morning!"
"Oh, yeah. Good morning. Let's do this. Today's shoot, nice and easy."
Edward Norton, who had been on the verge of being pulled into the intense world Sion Lee had constructed, spun right back to reality.
Sion, who had been concentrating to immerse himself in his role, chuckled as he looked at Frederic.
"Man, I really don't want to like that guy."
That single, loaded remark perfectly defined their relationship.
Observing the two of them, Edward gradually found his balance. Soon, under the director's instructions, the basement brawl scene began.
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh-!!"
"Kill him! Smash him!"
"Don't act like a sissy! Bring it on!!"
In the dimly lit basement, Sion Lee, showing off his upper body muscles, clashed with a stunt actor.
The two of them were practically trading real blows. When Sion threw a punch, the actor's head snapped back, spit flying through the air. They grappled, threw each other down, and fought with a raw, primal aggression that society normally forced them to suppress. Near the end, Sion even threw a punch right toward the groin.
"Uooooooooooooohhhhh-?!"
The actors—no, the members of Fight Club—bellowed with genuine emotion.
As Sion continued the performance, a single emotion began to take root deep within him.
I'll destroy them all.
The face of Harvey Weinstein, who had apologized while hiding behind his petty "social decorum," flashed through his mind.
I'll tear every single one of them to pieces...!
But he couldn't do that in reality. He couldn't punch him in the face or tear him apart with his teeth. Humans had traded away their claws and fangs to gain socialization.
And because they couldn't fight like beasts, they resorted to playing political games behind each other's backs like cowards.
Aware that he, too, was a member of this civilized society, Sion poured that frustration entirely into the shoot, channeling his current public image to run wild and deliver a flawless performance.
"Huff, huff..."
At some point, Sion's lip had split open. But his opponent wasn't in any better shape either.
"Hey, bro."
The actor, who was naturally stocky but wore chest prosthetics under his shirt for the role, stood up and approached Sion. Amidst the heavy stench of sweat and blood, Sion embraced him. The actor whispered,
"Fuck, that was incredible."
"You too. Let's go another round next time."
"Even when we're not filming?"
"No, definitely not."
Sion chuckled and stepped back as a short break was called.
"Sion, water..."
"I'm good. Don't worry about it."
The crew offered water to the visibly exhausted actor, but Sion waved them off.
Watching this from a distance, Frederic Patterson let out a long sigh.
Why does he have to go that far?
Whenever Frederic tried to immerse himself in the film, seeing Sion like that snapped him right back to his senses.
When men gathered, wasn't there always a certain momentum that made them say, "This is crazy," followed by, "Let's do it right now"? Going full throttle on that momentum often led to actual accidents.
Yeah. I need to be the one holding the brakes.
It was an idea born from the fact that he understood Sion better than anyone else in the cast. Furthermore, Elena Asimov had personally called him and asked, "Please look after Sion."
"Alright, let's move on to the next shot!"
Hearing the director's call, Frederic stepped forward, realizing it was his turn. Sion stepped up opposite him, rolling his shoulders and exhaling deeply.
His eyes looked like those of a starving lion.
Frederic flinched for a moment, but resolved to handle it carefully so he wouldn't get bitten. As the paprika next to the steak, he had to remain cool-headed, stay distinct, and add flavor to the scene.
"Action!"
At the director's shout, Sion Lee and Frederic Patterson faced each other.
According to the choreography, Frederic was supposed to throw the first punch. Stepping forward, he aimed a punch at Sion's face as planned. If he pulled his punch slightly here, Sion would naturally tilt his chin back to sell the hit...
"...Huh?"
His foot slipped on a patch of sweat on the floor, sending his step forward...
And so—
Crack!
Frederic Patterson turned pale as his fist connected squarely with Sion Lee's jaw.
Even Edward Norton, who was watching from the sidelines, gasped in admiration, thinking, To think he was hiding that kind of raw intensity inside him!
"..."
"..."
Realizing that the eyes of the steak, slowly turning back toward him, were filled with a mixture of madness and pure ecstasy, the paprika whispered,
"...Save me."
Even if he wanted to stay out of the madness, the universe simply wouldn't allow it.