The basement freight elevator groaned as it descended into the lower subterranean levels of the Ginza-Akihabara media annex.
Cold, stale air rushed into the elevator car when the heavy metal doors slid open. Basement Level Three smelled of burnt copper wiring, cheap instant ramen, and stale energy drinks. Long rows of industrial fluorescent tube lights flickered along the low concrete ceiling, buzzing with a sharp, irritating hum that grated on the nerves.
At the end of a narrow, cluttered hallway, a glass door hung half-open on squeaking hinges. A paper sign taped to the frosted glass read: “Studio Pure Sword - Main Production Floor.”
Lin Mo stepped through the doorway, flanked by Tie Niu, Dr. Gu Qinghe, Grandma Chen, and Shen Qiaoqiao.
The studio was crowded with rows of long wooden desks. Piles of hand-drawn animation sketches, digital drawing tablets, and hundreds of crushed aluminum energy drink cans covered every available surface.
Forty young men and women lay slumped across their drawing tablets and folding cots. Their faces were ashen, and dark purple circles bruised their eyes from severe sleep deprivation. Several animators were shivering from high fevers, their fingers twitching unconsciously as if holding invisible digital styluses.
On the glowing monitors, unfinished scenes of an extraordinary production played on repeat.
