Action and Bait
"Slide check complete!"
"Camera three, raise it just a little higher, please."
The staff bustled about setting up the cameras while Yeon-woo finished his own preparations, reviewing every last detail he had already planned for the scene they were about to shoot.
Filming a scene with complex movement in a single take demanded extremely precise technique. A full cam had to capture the entire set from a wide overhead angle, while a rail camera had to track Yeon-woo's path without a single millimeter of error. All of it had to happen simultaneously, and none of the cameras could ever appear in each other's frames. Actor and cameras alike had to move along predetermined routes with absolute accuracy, making it a high-difficulty shoot.
But the higher the difficulty, the better the result will be. That's certain.
The man actually performing the action looked perfectly calm, yet the staff, facing the very first shoot of the project, wore their tension openly.
Then Director Hwang Min-gwon's lips parted.
"All right. First take of White Blood. Ready... action."
With the cue, red recording lights flared to life atop every camera. As if that glow were a hypnotic trigger, Yeon-woo was instantly pulled into the scene, immersing himself completely.
From Ryu Yeon-woo to Jeong Do-jin.
Ziiing—
That same grinding mechanical whine, so familiar now that just hearing it made bile rise in his throat, filled the air once more.
They never gave up.
Creatures without emotion.
No—saying they "lacked" emotion implied something that should have been there was missing or incomplete. That would mean emotion had once existed. Wrong. Emotion had never existed in them at all. From the beginning they had been manufactured for a single purpose only.
— Delete the invader. Delete the threat.
Ever since the surveillance level had risen, he had been hunted day and night until he finally slipped into this ancient fortress. Fleeing the White Blood Army, he had climbed all the way to the upper levels where the high spire was visible.
He could not see them yet, but their presence brushed faintly against his senses.
Here!
Fwit—
The moment Do-jin locked his gaze on a certain point, an android shimmered into existence in midair and lunged at him with savage force. He spun to meet it. The machine's silver-gray arm whipped toward him; Do-jin raised his left arm and blocked.
Clang—
The sound of iron striking iron shook the stagnant air of the old castle. It was a noise no human body should ever produce against metal.
While he was still off-balance from the first clash, another android appeared from the opposite side and swung its arm like a streak of light.
This is getting messy. If I'd just brought a sturdier sword, it would be a lot easier.
He thrust out a leg and stopped the incoming strike. At that moment a woman's sighing voice brushed his ear.
That's why I told you not to cut through that giant iron door with a sword like a barbarian. I said take the detour.
That detour would have taken two whole years. Crossing the gate got us to the thigh region in one go.
It's not the thigh. It's the Femoral.
Same difference. Hup—!
There was no time left for casual banter. Four androids now closed in, and Do-jin traded blows with all of them at once. They occupied every cardinal direction, meshing like gears as they attacked, leaving him no room to think.
He regretted not being able to draw the sword that had already cracked when he crossed the Patella. Forced to find an opening, he flung himself sideways at high speed and broke free of their encirclement.
In that instant a fierce cluster of light shot toward him from the right. Reflexively he drew his sword and deflected the laser.
Damn it. This thing's really going to shatter.
He almost heard the blade splitting. While he was busy batting away the laser, the androids charged again. Sword still in one hand—neither swinging it nor sheathing it—he fought them off with only his free hand and both legs.
He needed to inflict real damage and thin their numbers before reinforcements arrived, but without a proper weapon there was no way to hurt them. Deflecting attacks from every direction, he was driven steadily backward until he found himself on the defensive.
We have to drop the threat level first. We need somewhere to hide and buy time.
You think I don't know that? Where am I supposed to run?
Behind the retreating Do-jin yawned a massive hole in the upper wall of the fortress. Through it a bleak wind scraped along the dark gray stone, cold and desolate.
Then the androids that had cornered him and sealed every escape route raised their arms in unison; the tips began to glow.
Ah. Simultaneous fire is cheating.
Whiiir—
Papap—
High-heat lasers twisted together as they flew, warping the scenery around them. Light bent and distorted along the curvature, spreading like watercolor paint dropped onto a palette. White beams streaked toward Do-jin. With the sword that looked ready to snap at any second he barely managed to knock aside the strongest ray, then took the rest with his body.
The impact hurled him through the hole in the wall and out into open air.
Crrrack—
A dimensional rift that opened only intermittently yawned in midair and swallowed the falling Do-jin like a kite whose string had been cut. He remained unconscious until he woke in the underground prison of some remote red-blood-cell village.
"O-okay, cut! That's it! That's the one! Hahaha!"
Director Hwang Min-gwon's mouth stretched from ear to ear as he watched Yeon-woo turn the pure fantasy that had lived only inside his head into living reality. Ecstatic, he shouted the okay and sprinted toward the ball pit where Yeon-woo had landed.
Yeon-woo pushed aside the multicolored plastic balls, rose to his feet, and grinned at the director.
"Was it all right?"
"Absolutely perfect. Perfect."
Back in the editing room after the shoot, Hwang Min-gwon and Jeong Yo-han watched the day's footage and let out simultaneous gasps of admiration.
"Damn. That kills."
"Hey, look at that movement. Scrub back to thirty-seven seconds."
At Yo-han's request, Min-gwon worked the mouse.
"Here?"
"No, push a few more frames."
"This?"
"Yeah. Play it at 0.25 speed."
Min-gwon hit play. Yo-han nodded and spoke.
"See Actor Ryu's right arm holding the sword? After he deflects the object, it vibrates just a little?"
"Oh, you're right. That prop only weighs about a hundred grams."
"Extreme method acting. When I layer CG over that later, it'll look a hundred times more natural. Let's go through the whole opening in slow motion."
Director Hwang Min-gwon and CG Director Jeong Yo-han leaned so close to the monitor they looked ready to fall into it, analyzing every frame with surgical precision.
"Holy shit. Look at the force in that plant foot. Like he's really bracing for something heavy."
"Hey, check the micro-flinch right at the start. In the script that's where the android drops its cloaking and appears out of nowhere."
In reality a stunt performer who had been waiting in position simply ran in on cue. Yet the instant before the stuntman moved, Yeon-woo timed a tiny full-body shudder so perfectly that it looked as if something that had never been there had suddenly materialized.
"Just matching complex action and camera paths is already brutal, and he's still thinking about details like this..."
"This isn't an opportunity a no-name director like you gets twice."
Min-gwon nodded hard.
"I'm putting my entire soul into this project. Every last drop, squeezed through a juicer."
Watching him, Yo-han let out a quiet snort of laughter. The guy usually came off as an eccentric who was a little unhinged, but once he caught fire he became a complete monster who finished whatever he started.
"Anyway. Mind if I edit a short clip of this footage and share it on Nard AP?"
"Throwing out bait?"
"Yeah. Those guys will bite for sure."
Nard AP was a small professional community Yo-han had been part of while working in Hollywood. Most of its members were Hollywood CG specialists. CG work was actually split into countless sub-fields; no single person or team handled everything. Traditional departments—sets, costumes, art, makeup—already had plenty of top talent in Korea. But because the domestic film industry still hesitated to tackle SF or fantasy, the pool of true CG and VFX experts remained tiny.
Min-gwon, who had heard the explanation until his ears bled, simply nodded.
"Of course. We were already planning to drop a making-of on YouTube around the same time the trailer launches, so it doesn't matter."
"Okay. Time to reel some kids in. Seriously, though—why does every specialist in this country end up at a game company?"
Min-gwon chuckled at Yo-han's frustration.
"Can't help it. We're the world's number-one gaming powerhouse. That's where the money is."
Yo-han shook his head, took the file, sat down at his computer, and focused. After a quick edit he uploaded a roughly twenty-second clip to the private community.
Hello buddy.
I've taken on the role of VFX supervisor for a project here in Korea.
If anyone watches this video and gets interested, I'll be waiting for your personal messages.
Watching the community light up, Jeong Yo-han grinned.
"Hey, I just dropped the bait."
"Oh-ho. And they snapped it right up?"
In the workroom, Jeong Yo-han and Hwang Min-gwon shared the same satisfied smile. The treatment LN Media offered was already on par with Hollywood, and recruiting this way was far cheaper than outsourcing to a major Hollywood studio.
Messages from the fish that had taken the bait began flooding Yo-han's inbox.
And so Hollywood engineers who had never once set foot in the Korean film industry started booking plane tickets bound for the Republic of Korea.