Page 43 of Bend & Break
“Romantic,” I deadpan. “Should I go ahead and pick the headshot photo for my obituary?”
We make it halfway across the warehouse before realizing there’s no obvious chain of command. No director’s chair. No clipboard-wielding production assistant barking orders. Just blood and body parts and a bunch of reckless twenty-somethings.
“Do we even know what Kai looks like?” I ask, hoping that maybe there was a picture of him on the website that I missed, but he didn’t.
Mads shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Great. We’re looking for a guy named Kai. On a horror set. Where everyone looks like they’ve either committed a murder or are about to.”
He shrugs. “At least we fit in. You’realwaysthree seconds away from ending my life, I fear.”
“Three seconds? That’s generous,” I reply dryly.
We finally find the door markedProduction Officeby a half-taped and crooked-hanging sheet of paper. It’s tucked in the back of the warehouse behind a stack of prop coffins and a suspiciously stained mattress labeledFX STAGING — DO NOT REMOVE.I don’t know what I expected—maybe some janky little desk with call sheets and stale pizza scattered about—but not this.
The place has been torn apart.
Papers litter the floor in a loose sprawl, the filing cabinet drawers are yanked open and half hanging out, and one of the rolling chairs is flipped on its side in the middle of the room. Someone’s coffee has spilled down the side of the mini fridge and pooled under a mess of crushed energy drink cans and tangled extension cords. The walls are plastered with schedules, storyboards, lighting cues—some of them torn, others hanging by a single pushpin.
It looks utterlyransacked. Very similar to how the apartment looked the other day—like someone was on a mission to find something.
A man—who I assume is Kai—stands in the far corner, arms crossed, expression blank, like he’s still processing whatever just happened. His eyes track the two uniformed officers as they step past us: one with a stack of paperwork clutched to his chest, the other murmuring into a radio before trailing out behind. Neither of them spares us a second glance. The moment the door swings shut behind them, Kai blinks like he’s coming back online, and his gaze finally lands on us.
He straightens and clears his throat. “Sorry—long day. I’m Kai. You must be the film students?”
Mads nods, sliding a hand into his pocket. “That’s us. Thanks for responding so fast.”
Kai huffs something close to a laugh. “No problem. We’re always short on hands and long on chaos, so… welcome to the circus.”
My gaze flicks around the room. It’s not huge, but it looks like a set from an apocalyptic cop drama.
Mads raises a brow. “Is this normal for a Saturday, or…?”
Kai exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “We only shoot weekends, so no one’s been in here since Sunday night. I came in to prep today and found the place trashed. Nothing’s missing, far as I can tell—gear’s still here—but someone went through drawers, knocked stuff over. I’ve got cameras, but I only check them when the alarm goes off. And it didn’t.” He pauses, thoughtfully. “Though, they don’t seem to be working currently.”
Mads tilts his head, casual. “So whoever broke in knew the security code.”
“Bingo.”
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Guess that’s the risk when you’ve got so many people cycling through. Extras, crew, whoever wants credit on a project.”
Kai nods, sighing. “Exactly. Can’t keep track of everyone. Half the time, people are here for a day and then gone. That’s why we do contracts and sign-in sheets. Liability stuff, you know?”
Mads hums, adjusting his backpack strap, as if the thought just occurred to him. “You keep all that on file?”
“Yeah,” Kai says, gesturing toward his desk like it’s no big deal. “I can pull them up if you want to see how we organize it. Might be useful for your class or whatever.”
“Could be,” I say, forcing my tone light, nonchalant.
Kai scrubs a hand down his face, world-weary and exhausted. “Anyway.” His voice lifts, pushing past whatever haunted look just passed through him. “Let me give you the grand tour before anything else decides to spontaneously combust.”
He steps out of the office, and we follow him into the main floor of the warehouse, where the chaos is somehow both choreographed and teetering on collapse. A crew member jogs past us, holding what looks like a severed arm. There’s fake blood pooled under a folding table. A prop body bag slouches in the corner beside a pizza box.
Kai gestures lazily as he walks. “We rotate sets week to week. Right now, we’ve got two main scenes in progress—ritual murder basement over there, and upstairs is rooftop finale-slash-chase. Don’t ask how they connect. We’re working on it.”
“Ritual murder basement” gives me pause, and I glance at Mads. He’s already looking back at me, his expression a perfect mirror of mine.
He slows his pace a little, curiosity slipping through. “That murder basement you mentioned—how’d you pull that off? It looked way too real on the videos on your website.”
