The small commotion outside the practice room had already subsided before it had time to surge, and it did not affect the shooting inside at all.

Damien stood next to the camera, excited and nervous, excited and anxious, all his attention engrossed in the camera, and his mind began to conceive of how the finished film would be edited, and now the scene was completely free from the constraints of the script and was moving in a positive direction.

In the script, this scene has only one framework and no specific plot, because Damien needs to capture a state and an emotion, he does not fully conceive how it should be presented, and hopes to carry out different attempts and run-ins with the actors during the filming, and find the most appropriate way to express it.

Andrew went to the bathroom to prepare a bucket of crushed ice, returned to the practice room, sat behind the drum kit, and began to practice the 'caravan', but due to the palm injury, the rhythm of the double jump could not be improved, Andrew lost control of his emotions, and after the catharsis, he continued to practice. ”

That's all.

Before the official start of filming, Damien communicated with Lan Li about the basic emotional context, and then handed over the performance initiative to Lan Li.

Now, Lan Li's performance has been out of the framework of the script, but Damien doesn't mind at all, witnessing Lan Li's performance, his mind can be described as sparks, inspiration is like a spring, those clear fragments gradually merge together, and the picture that was not clear enough naturally becomes clear.

It's just that Damien is a little unsure of when he should stop filming - or lack of enough experience, he decided to continue to give Lan Li performance space to see how the follow-up performance goes, and wait until the brain appears "stuck" prompt before ending the filming of this scene.

Andrew sat down on the stool again, spread out the palm of his right hand, looked at the bloody wound, and then slowly, slowly closed his palm, clenched into a fist, and the dark red blood stained the fingertips, like cardamom, thrilling, the palm and forearm muscles slowly squirmed, looking like the face of the devil.

And then—

He slowly, slowly, put his right fist into the ice bucket, and the slight sound of the ice cubes churning began to hit the wriggling muscles, like countless embroidery needles drilling into the pores at the same time, and the muscles of the arm instantly tightened and stiffened, but then relaxed, as if he could really feel the taste:

All the pain erupted instantly, but then it froze in the icy water, and everything was sealed. For now, after that, as the ice dissipates, it all comes out little by little, and it tears at every inch of muscle exponentially.

The dark red blood slowly spread in the ice water, the red color was like paint, bright and dazzling, and the rich bloody aura seemed to spread like this, with a dark aura of death.

"Whoa!"

Andrew picked up his right fist again, grabbed the drumstick again, and the diluted blood slid down the drumstick, but he didn't care, just shook his right hand casually, and the water droplets were immediately scattered everywhere, dripping on the hanging, drum, and snare drum, and the faint rose red was like crystal clear amber, crawling on the surface of the instrument.

Then, Andrew's eyes fell on the sling.

Although the jazz drums had just been completely broken, he was able to continue to practice his double jump technique, especially his right hand.

Andrew's upper body leaned forward slightly - this is not a standard action, the real standard action should be to keep his back straight and try to relax his shoulders, but he can't care about it now, and a fierce anger bursts out of his eyes, like an eagle falcon, staring at the sling, as if he can swallow it alive, and unconsciously, his upper body leans forward a little.

Solemnly raised his right hand, his fingertips were carefully adjusting the way he grasped, relaxing his fingers as much as possible, and then exerting force in an instant, without excessive or buffering, from zero to four hundred blows, and speeding up to the extreme-

But obviously, such an approach is wrong.

Not to mention whether he has such an ability, just that under the tense condition of his muscles, he releases all the energy in an instant and hits the highest frequency of the drum, which puts extremely strict requirements on the drummer, and it can be said that it is an impossible task for even the most elite drummer.

The ending is obvious.

Andrew's striking now has no frame, not four hundred blows, not any other hits, all the tempo has been completely messed up, just speeding up, simply speeding up, as if a kid is trying his best to see how often he can hit, that's all. Not to mention the rhythm, you can't even feel the basic music theory.

But he didn't fall apart immediately, his eyes slowly condensed, hiding an evil energy, inexplicable, as if he had witnessed an impulsive and violent murder scene - with only his fists, a life was strangled with one punch, and the bloody scene of blood bursting and brains all over the ground made people's stomachs roll.

His eyes became sharper and sharper, and his blows became more and more ferocious.

The dim light in the practice room was projected on the light of the ghost, and the golden halo was surging in a swaying manner, all of which were chaotic, without discipline and irregularity, dazzling, refracting the energy of violent blows, and stirring throughout the practice room.

Andrew knew that his blows were nothing short of rubbish.

His eyes gradually began to redden, as if he had killed his eyes, and all that kind of anger was released without reservation, he gritted his teeth tightly, and the curse squeezed out from between his teeth word by word:

"You're a piece of shit!You're a piece of shit!You're a soft ass!Useless! You should be eliminated or replaced! You can't even practice even the most basic skills, and you still want to be Buddy Ricky!Arrogant!stupid!garbage!ugly!shameless!shit!Damn!grass!hasty!grass!"

Gritting his teeth, as if the smell of blood could be gnawed between his lips and teeth, that unforgettable hatred erupted from the inside out, gushing down the catharsis.

This is not Andrew, this is Fletcher.

At that moment, Andrew was possessed by Fletcher, his eyes were red and he scolded, and in the foam of his mouth, he showed no mercy in his mouth, and in the ugliest and dirtiest way, he completely ripped off the last layer of fig leaf, but he didn't mean to stop at all, and in the midst of the cursing, the outburst of adrenaline made his facial expression begin to become distorted-

Faintly, a smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, as if he was mocking his own inadequacy, as if he was complaining about his delusions, as if he was crushing his last defense, and that cruel pleasure burst out from his eyes little by little, as if he was ...... It was as if it was not himself he was tormenting, but the self that Fletcher despised.

Mighty. Vigorous.

In a trance, the images of Andrew and Fletcher overlapped like this, and then returned to the day when Andrew joined the band for the first time.

But at this time, I realized that Andrew still had the last trace of pride left in his heart, and today, he himself crushed it with his own hands, completely crushed it mercilessly, and completely turned into powder, just when everyone thought that Andrew was going to collapse, those eyes, those clear eyes-

The eyes, without any sparkle or light, like the black pupils of the walking corpse, could not find any life, as if even the soul had been completely defeated and dissipated, and then, a little bit of light gathered again, as if it was focusing, and the pupils gradually became clear, without temperature, color, emotion, but burst out with a cold-blooded and cruel rage, like a hurricane slowly brewing.

Syllable.

Without warning, the fury vanished again, completely gone, and then the eyes returned to normal, calm and calm, without anger, without rage, without madness, as if nothing had happened, even more stable than the windless lake, not even a ripple.

If you want to describe it accurately, it is just the switch of the street lamp, but the light of the street lamp only brightens up, and then it goes out, and the whole world is into a darkness that you can't reach, and it is completely dark.

But it was precisely this calm that made a cold sweat break out of the spine, and the cold was so cold that it shivered again and again, and I could faintly feel that a storm was brewing, because it was really too calm.

Then, Andrew just stopped striking.

There was no superfluous movement, sitting quietly and calmly, gasping for breath.

Slowly, the blood slowly slid down the drumsticks, even if the face was expressionless, even if the water was still without waves, even if the blue waves were vast, the chilling horror still slowly spread, which was even more creepy than the joker's smile in "Batman: The Dark Knight".

The whole practice room was silent, no one cared about Melissa, compared to Lan Li in front of him, that small episode was insignificant, not even a speck of dust, everyone could only watch Lan Li quietly, the panic and panic in the depths of their eyes were rising little by little, so that their palms began to sweat, but now they didn't even dare to wipe their sweat, and their ears seemed to be able to catch the subtle sound of sweat slipping.

"Cards!"

Damien straightened up, shouted, and then immediately turned away, gasping for breath, like a chicken that had just been rescued from drowning.