In the depths of Tokyo, nestled between the towering skyscrapers of Shinjuku and Shibuya, stood a small, mysterious shop called Xnxfilm. The streets were whispering with rumors of its existence, drawing in curiosities from all walks of life. It was as if the shop itself was a portal, a gateway to a world where the lines between reality and fantasy were blurred.

You could find it on the third floor of a nondescript building, hidden behind a seemingly innocuous door etched with a single word: Xnxfilm. Stepping over the threshold and into its musty depths, a faint scent of film stock and sawdust washed over you. Behind the counter stood the owner, Chef, a stark and silent mystic who ran the shop with an aching all-embracing precision.

Legend had it that Xnxfilm was not just a humble shop but also an alchemic melting pot of customs collecting movies of those mesmerized by Vice – then somehow producing definitive Realities from haphazard projection components stacked around the shop from dawn till dusk.