Again the ice-chill hand of fear touched the back of my neck. I looked quickly around as if expecting to see the old man with the scythe still waiting patiently in some dark corner of the cave. Waiting for Bentall. Only, there were no dark corners. Nothing, except the round smooth dank walls, the shabby stained bundles on the floor and the battery supplying feeble power to the dim yellow lamp, barely more than head high, that dangled from the centre of the low-vaulted roof.

With my hand to my nose and breathing through my mouth only, I switched on my torch to give extra illumination and scanned the dead faces.

Six of the dead men were complete strangers to me, labourers by the looks of their clothes and hands, and I knew I had never seen them before. But the seventh I recognised immediately. White hair, white moustache, white beard, here was the real Professor Witherspoon: even in death his resemblance to the impostor who had taken his place was startling in its closeness. Beside him lay a giant of a man, a man with red hair and a great red handle-bar moustache: this, beyond any doubt, would be the Dr. 'Red' Carstairs whose portrait I had been shown in a magazine. The ninth man, in a much better state of preservation than the others, I identified without a second glance: his presence there confirmed that the men who had advertised for a second fuel research specialist had indeed been in need of one: it was Dr. Charles Fairfield, my old chief in the Hepworth and Ordnance Fuel Research, one of the eight scientists who had been lured out to Australia.

Sweat was pouring down my face but I was shivering with cold. What was Dr. Fairfield doing there? Why had he been killed? Old Fairfield was the last man to stumble upon anything. A brilliant man in his own field, he was as shortsighted as a dodo and had a monumental incuriosity about everybody and everything except his own work and his consuming private passion for archaeology. And the archaeological tie-up between Fairfield and Witherspoon was so blindingly obvious that it just didn't make any sense at all. Whatever reason lay behind Dr. Fairfield's sudden disappearance from England, nothing was more certain than that it was entirely unconnected with whatever pick and shovel expertise he might show in abandoned mine-workings. But then what in the name of God was he doing here?

I felt as if I were in an ice-box, but the sweat was trickling more heavily than ever down the back of my neck. Still holding the torch in my right hand-the knife was in my left-I worked a handkerchief out of my right trouser pocket and mopped the back of my neck. To the left and front of me I caught a momentary flash of something glittering on the wall of the cave, something metallic, obviously, reflecting the beam of the still burning torch. But what? What metallic object was there? Apart from the dead men the only other objects in that cave were the light fitting and the light switch, and both were made of bakelite. I held the torch and handkerchief, both still over my shoulder, perfectly steady. The glimmer of light on the cave wall was still there. I stood like a statue, my eyes never leaving that gleam on the wall. The light moved.

My heart stopped. The medical profession can say what it likes, but my heart stopped. Then slowly, carefully, I brought down both torch and handkerchief, transferred the torch to my left hand as if to enable me to shove my handkerchief away with my right, then dropped the handkerchief, clutched the hilt of the knife in my right hand and whirled round all in one half second of time.

There were two of them, no more than four feet inside the cave, still fifteen feet distant from me. Two Chinese, already moving wide apart to encircle me, one in dungaree trousers and cotton shirt, the other in a pair of cotton shorts, both big muscular men, both in their bare feet. Their unwinking eyes, the oriental immobility of the yellow faces served only to emphasize, not mask, the cold implacability of the expressions. You didn't have to know your Emily Post to realise that they just weren't paying a social call. Nor would Emily have given them any medals for their calling cards, two of the most lethal-looking double-edged throwing knives I'd ever seen: the books on etiquette covered practically every possible situation in which strangers first made the other's acquaintance, but they'd missed out on this one.

It would be ridiculous to deny that I was frightened, so I won't. I was scared, and badly scared. Two fit men against one semi-invalid, four good arms against one, two undoubtedly skilled and cunning knife-fighters against a man who'd never even carved up a lump of cooked dead meat far less a live human being. And this wasn't the time to learn. But it was the time to do something, and do it very quickly indeed before one or other of them caught on to the idea that at five yards I was a target that could hardly be missed and changed over from a stabbing to a throwing grip on his knife.

I rushed at them, right hand and knife over my shoulder as if I were wielding a club, and both of them fell back an involuntary couple of paces, maybe because of the foolhardy recklessness of it, more likely because of the respectful fear which Orientals habitually show in the presence of madness. I brought the knife whistling forward over my shoulder and with the tinkling of glass from the smashed overhead light and the flick of my left thumb on the torch switch the cave became as pitch-black as the tomb it really was.

It was essential to move, and move as fast as possible before they realised that I had the double advantage of having a torch and being in the position to lash out indiscriminately with my knife in the hundred per cent certainty that I would be stabbing an enemy, whereas they had a fifty per cent chance of stabbing a friend. Reckless of the noise I made in that utterly silent chamber, I pulled away the occluding plaster on the face of the torch, slipped off my sandals, ran three heavy steps in the direction of the entrance, stopped abruptly and sent both sandals sliding along the ground to thud softly against the- wooden door.

Had they been given another ten seconds to take stock of their position, to work out the possibilities, probably the last thing they would have done would have been to rush headlong to the source of the sudden noise. As it was, they had been given barely five seconds altogether in which to think, and the immediate and inevitable reaction must have been that I was trying to escape. I heard the quick patter of bare feet, the sound of a brief scuffle, a soft thud and an explosive gasp of agony that was lost in the clatter of something metallic falling to the floor.

Four swift soundless steps on my stockinged feet, a flick of the left thumb and they were pinned in the white glare of the torch, a tableau vivant but for their unnaturally petrified rigidity which gave them for all the world the appearance of a group sculpted from marble. They stood face to face, their chests almost but not quite touching. The man on my right had his left hand twisted in his companion's shirt front while his right hand was pressed against the other's body, just below waist level: the man on the left, his face averted from me, was arched over backwards like an overstrung bow, both hands locked over the right hand of his companion: the ridged and straining tendons turned the hands into waxen claws, the knuckles gleamed white like polished bone. I could see the blood-stained point of a knife sticking out two inches from the small of his back.

For two seconds, perhaps three-it seemed far longer than that-the man on the right stared unbelievingly into the face of the dying man, then the realisation of his lethal blunder and the awareness that death stood now at his own elbow broke the horror-numbed spell that had held him in thrall. He struggled frantically to withdraw his knife but the last agonies of his friend had locked right hand and knife fast in an iron-bound grip. He swung round desperately on me, his left arm flying upwards and outwards in a gesture that was half blow, half an attempt to shield himself from the beam I'd now directed into his shrinking eyes, and for a moment he had no guard left. The moment was enough and to spare. The blade of my knife was twelve inches long but for all that I jarred both wrist and knife as the hilt struck home against the breast-bone. He coughed once, a brief convulsive choked sound and drew his thin lips far back from the fast-clenched teeth in to a hideous and blood-flecked grin: then the blade of my knife snapped and I was left with only the hilt and an inch of steel in my hand as the two men, still locked together, swayed over to my right and crashed heavily on to the limestone floor of the cave.

I shone the torch beam down on the faces at my feet, but it was a superfluous precaution, they would never trouble me again. I recovered my sandals, picked up the fallen knife and left, closing the door behind me. Once outside I leaned my weight against the tunnel wall, hands hanging by my side, and drew in great deep lungfuls of pure fresh air.

https://teletype.in/@pavlovsky/bh840d3Tz

Now I have the next stage of creating a video, it's coloring and modeling all the scenes. I will take the light and materials to the next stage of creating my video. So now it is not necessary to evaluate it :)

I will work with such colors in the video. The first row of colors is what I associate with Lakers and basketball, and the second is the colors with which I will dilute my motion.

In a few days I managed to make a few scenes and I want to share them with you.

By the way, Kobe Bryant's head will be holographic.

I also plan to integrate shooting into this motion. It will be two shots, one of which I have already prepared. I replaced the colors of the basketball player's uniform with the colors of the Lakers.

Screenshot of the next scene in which I will integrate motion design.

I will also need to play with the colors of this scene, as they are not quite suitable for my video.

This stage is very important, as different colors evoke different emotions in people. So if you have any comments or suggestions, I'm always happy to hear criticism.

If you are interested in seeing the result of my work, you can subscribe to my Instagram. Where the video will be published immediately.

I will also be happy for your support of this article by liking.

https://www.instagram.com/pavlo.shelep/

I would also like to pay attention to the late Kobe, who tragically died, which has become and still is a big shock for many fans of this club. I managed to get a great 3D model of Bryant, which I involved in the video.

Analyzing the fan audience of this club, I came across the wonderful words of Kobe Bryant:

“Great things come from hard work and perseverance. No excuses. "

They gave me the motivation to move on.

The most interesting thing is that this is my first project in Cinema 4D. And now is a great chance to see how motion design can be made from scratch in a short time. Of course, it can not be called professional, but I promise the result will be interesting and high quality!

In a month, the video will be ready and posted on social networks. If you are interested in seeing the result, you will always be able to see it first in my Instagram.

https://www.instagram.com/pavlo.shelep/

Также хотел бы уделить внимание покойному Коби, который трагически погиб, что стало и до сих пор является большим потресинням для многих фанатов этого клуба. Мне удалось получить замечательную 3D модель Брайанта, которую я привлек к видео.

Анализируя фан аудиторию этого клуба, я наткнулся на прекрасные слова Коби Брайанта:

„Great things come from hard work and perseverance. No excuses.“

Они добавили мне мотивации двигаться дальше.

Самое интересное, что это мой первый проект в Cinema 4D. И сейчас прекрасный шанс наблюдать, как за короткое время с нуля можно сделать моушн-дизайн. Конечно его нельзя будет назвать профессиональным, но обещаю результат будет интересным и качественным!

Уже до месяца, будет готов видео и опубликовано в социальных сетях. Если интересно увидеть результат, вы всегда сможете увидеть его первым в моей инстаграми.

https://www.instagram.com/pavlo.shelep/

Під час підготовчого етапу було виконано усі поставлені завдання.

Актори

• Оля (https://www.instagram.com/oliakyryliuk) У ролі хіп-хоп денсера

• Олександр (https://www.instagram.com/pastux_olexandr) У ролі хлопця

• Ніка (https://www.instagram.com/nicco1le) У ролі дівчини

Запасні актори

• Саша (https://www.instagram.com/sashakorneiko) У ролі хіп-хоп денсера

• Володимир & Яна (https://www.instagram.com/v.mykhailyshyn & https://www.instagram.com/loqvvv) У ролі хлопця та дівчини

Локації

Інтернет-магазин ТиХтоШоп

Вдалось домовитись з магазином відомої львівської блогерки sala4ка (https://www.instagram.com/sala4ka) під назвою ТиХтоШоп (https://www.instagram.com/tyhtoshop). Магазин дасть свої оверсайз футболки та бананки. Інший одяг та аксесуари будуть акторів.

Предметна зйомка

Для предметної зйомки буде взято стікери та бананку із магазина-замовника

Є ідея, як обіграти бананку, але ще не встиг підготувати реквізити, оскільки магазин пізно дав кокретну відповідь.

З нетерпінням чекаю наступного етапу!