"You've got quite the collection of DVDs!" In the villa, Wendy followed Femi Foster up to the second-floor study. Stacked and lined up on Femi Foster's bookshelf were rows and rows of DVDs, organized into several sections just like a bookstore, each shelf clearly labeled by genre.
"Are there really that many movies in the world?" Wendy was genuinely curious. Even if you gathered every Hollywood DVD ever made, would it fill up this much space? And these weren't just spread out horizontally like in a video store, where each disc hogs a ton of room. Here, they're packed upright on shelves, and a whole pile of them barely takes up any space at all.
"If each movie only had one disc, then no, there wouldn't be this many. What I've done is collect every version of the same movie—DVD, Blu-ray, every format you can imagine. Well, except for that section." Femi Foster pointed to a shelf. Wendy squinted and saw a big label at the top: "SEX." "Every country, every company, every actor—there are just way too many of these kinds of films, and honestly, they're not worth collecting, so I only keep one disc per movie."
Wendy was instantly amazed: "This is basically a porn museum! If a bunch of nerds saw this, they'd probably cry tears of joy!"
Femi Foster offered helpfully, "Want to watch? I think these are pretty good—the positions are really... creative."
Wendy shook her head decisively. "I'll pass." She glanced around and another shelf caught her eye. At the very top, big letters spelled out—"KILL." "This..." Wendy felt a mysterious pull and couldn't help but walk over.
"This is my favorite section," Femi Foster explained. "It's packed with stories of torture, sinister killings, and twisted murder plots—tons of inspiration for me. Whenever I get stuck writing, I just borrow a scene or two. Works like a charm." Casually dropping her dark humor, the novelist walked up to the shelf. "Honestly, sometimes I think this shelf is way too small, I end up cramming it full. My favorite is this one." She reached for a disc, but the shelf was so stuffed, she couldn't get it out.
She gave it a hard tug, and with a crash, a bunch of DVDs toppled to the floor. Wendy hurried to help, instinctively grabbing a disc at random. She glanced at the cover—two stark white letters: KILL*BILL.
"Kill Bill? Bill!" A strong feeling swept over Wendy—she instantly understood. She whipped out her phone and hurriedly dialed. "Hello? Jack Young? It's Wendy! I just saw a sign—the next target really is Bill!"
On Jack Young's end, his eyebrow twitched as he looked toward where Bill had gone. The flipped car attack happened in a flash—it hadn't taken much time at all. The street was long, and at its far end was a plaza. If he hurried, maybe he could intercept Bill there.
"Bro, I'd love to chat more about kung fu, but I gotta bail. The cops or whatever are already on their way, and I really don't wanna deal with them." Cool B flashed a few hip-hop hand signs as he spoke.
"Yeah, I'm not keen on dealing with cops either, so—" Jack Young's gaze landed on his motorcycle. "You get on the back."
Cool B was confused. "What do you mean?"
"It means—" Jack Young grabbed Cool B by the collar and hauled him onto the back seat of the motorcycle. Swinging his leg over, Jack hopped on: "Hold on tight!" Left foot on the gear, right hand on the throttle—vroom! The engine roared, and the custom biker-mod motorcycle shot off like a rocket.
The wind whipped past as the bike kept accelerating, soon reaching speeds that would scare even the wildest bikers. The air roared by; Cool B was hollering with excitement in the back, while Jack Young kept his eyes glued to the road ahead. He could already see Bill in the distance—Bill had just reached the busy plaza.
At that moment, Jack Young sensed the weird, creepy vibe around him fading. You know how energy shifts—when it drops here, it must be building up somewhere else. Based on Wendy's warning, the next target... was Bill!
One more gear shift—Jack Young was racing for his life.
Meanwhile, Bill was cruising along on his little scooter, taking his sweet time. He wasn't going fast—his mind was a mess. Everything that happened today had shaken him up way too much. Those guys sounded legit and convincing, but—but how could this kind of thing even happen? Why did it have to happen to me?
"No way, absolutely not. I've got a wife and kid, I don't do drugs, I don't break the law, and I've never burned any witches! I'm just a regular guy—why is this happening to me? No, it's all fake, there's no such thing as a death god, it's all just coincidence!" Bill shouted, ignoring the strange looks from people around him. Maybe, deep down, he was starting to believe it, but he refused to accept it, so he kept repeating it out loud, trying to convince himself.
A delicious aroma wafted into Bill's nose, and he realized he'd arrived at a plaza. It was a pretty big place, radiating out into lots of main roads—the villa district's street was the quietest of them all. The plaza was jam-packed with cars and people, and along the edges were tons of barbecue stalls. Chefs were grilling huge chunks of meat on meter-long skewers, slathering them with sauce until the smell was absolutely mouthwatering.
But Bill clearly wasn't interested—he just wanted to get home as fast as possible. Normally, he'd swagger right across the plaza, but now he was sticking to the edge, riding his scooter nice and safe. Even though he kept saying he didn't believe, he was subconsciously being extra careful. According to those guys, he should watch his surroundings, so as he rode, he kept glancing around, thinking everything looked suspicious.
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As he passed a clothing store, Bill suddenly hit the brakes—he'd spotted a full-length mirror by the roadside. Normally, plenty of women would be checking their looks here, and the store used it to attract customers. But now, Bill's eyes went wide—he saw something in the reflection behind him.
It wasn't anything normal—more like a black curtain, slowly draping over everything. A gust of wind blew by, as if some huge creature was breathing behind him—cold, dark, and murky, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"What the hell!" Bill whipped around, only to see the busy street. The sun was setting, the sky painted with evening clouds—by all accounts, it should've been a beautiful scene. But Bill couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was closing in. Huge beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead and stung his eyes, making them bloodshot.
Then, he saw the car crash.
A massive car crash—a brutal one.
Who knows if it was drunk driving or something else—a sports car went wild, smashing through a bunch of vehicles and rolling across the plaza. The whole place went silent for a moment, then erupted in screams and shouts. People scattered in panic; some ran to help, others retreated to avoid the chaos. The street-side chefs dropped everything, killed their grills, and rolled up their sleeves to help out—their hearts as fiery as their stoves.
He also saw Jack Young—just as the crash happened, that Asian guy appeared at the edge of the plaza on his motorcycle. Jack didn't slow down at all, barreling toward Bill. Just before the rolling car could crush them both, like a stunt in a movie, Jack dodged the danger and sped toward Bill.
Seeing Jack Young, Bill was ecstatic—he knew this super-skilled guy could help him. But the next second, he started running the other way—a bus driver, panicking, yanked the steering wheel, sending a bus full of screaming passengers swerving toward them, pushing Bill further to the edge and blocking Jack's view.
"No! Stay away!" Bill glanced back at the bus, desperately speeding up and dodging any way he could. But he wasn't watching where he was going. With a squeal, the front wheel of his scooter hit a saucy chunk of meat. Tires screeched—Bill screamed as he flew through the air.
Thud—a meter-long meat skewer pierced his throat, poking out the back of his neck, bloody and pointing up into the air. By the time Jack Young arrived on his motorcycle, all he could see was Bill's wide, regretful eyes. Bill's lips trembled as he forced out his last words: "Death... is here..." Then his head slumped, and he was gone.
Jack Young and Cool B stared silently at Bill's body. After a moment, Cool B spoke, his voice shaking: "Bro, I dunno if you know, but this morning some chick mentioned 'Death' to me. Now I really wanna hear her explain it again, 'cause I barely remember what they said at the police station this morning."
Jack Young glanced back at Cool B. "You know, today you did the smartest thing—meeting me."