Chapter 124: Show Time
The Blackhawk tore through the dark skies, its rotors slicing the wind as it approached the chaos below. Inside, the strike team of Omega-7 prepared for deployment. Lina and Lucretia, clad in minimalist armor that exposed patches of pale, veined flesh, sat apart from the others.
Colonel Mendoza shouted over the roar of the helicopter, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. "Strike Team, prepare for descent! We've got multiple anomalous hostiles surrounding Agent Coulson and a civilian. Priority is extraction. Lina, Lucretia, Cain, neutralize any immediate threats. Support teams will follow to mop up the rest."
The helicopter cleared the treetops, revealing the horrific scene below: Coulson was trapped in the center of a clearing, surrounded by more than a hundred clowns while a young girl was being dragged away. The bozomorphic entities leered and jeered, their grotesque faces warped into unnatural expressions. At the forefront stood Herman Fuller himself, smiling menacingly, flanked by the spider-like figure of a man with the face upside-down.
Lina stood as the helicopter circled, her body subtly shifting as cartilage and bone stretched beneath her skin. Her muscles hardened, her forearms elongated slightly, sharpening her fingertips into deadly claws. Beside her, Lucretia's transformation was already underway, her ribs cracked outward, sprouting small, bone-like protrusions down her sides for added armor, while her jaw extended ever so slightly, teeth gleaming unnaturally sharp.
From the cockpit, the pilot shouted, "Coulson's in sight! Hostiles incoming!"
Colonel Mendoza slid the side door open. "Light 'em up!"
The Blackhawk's mounted guns erupted in a deafening roar, tearing through the clearing. The first wave of clowns was shredded under the hail of bullets, their bodies collapsing into twitching heaps. But then, the bozomorphics responded. One launched a burning projectile from its oversized hands, narrowly missing the chopper as it banked sharply to avoid the fireball. Another leaped into the air, attempting to latch onto the side of the Blackhawk, but Cain, standing by the open door, reacted swiftly.
With a precise, almost casual motion, Cain swatted the creature attack with his fist. The clown was flung backward with the same force it had exerted to leap, crashing into a group of its comrades and knocking them down like bowling pins.
"Strike Team, go!" Mendoza barked.
Lina and Lucretia didn't hesitate. They leapt from the helicopter without the need for ropes, their altered bodies absorbing the impact of the drop as they hit the ground running. Cain followed, landing gracefully and immediately taking a defensive stance near Coulson, whose injured arm hung limply at his side.
The clearing was alive with nightmarish laughter and the glint of unholy grins. The bozomorphic clowns began to converge, their grotesque forms twisting unnaturally as they surged forward, eager to surround the new arrivals. Lina's sharp eyes scanned the horde, analyzing their movements. Her hands flexed, the flesh on her forearms rippling as grotesque, jagged bone claws extended outward from beneath her skin.
Lucretia moved beside her, calm and silent. Without ceremony, she tore off her jacket, revealing a torso marked with deep scars and shifting sinew. With a sharp motion, her ribcage expanded, two of the bones on each side dislodging and extending outward like jagged spears. She grabbed one in each hand, holding them as natural weapons.
Cain raised his blade, his calm, cold demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding. "Lina, Lucretia. Handle the swarm. I'll cover Coulson."
The first wave of clowns charged, their malformed bodies distorting as they moved. Lina dashed forward, her movements a blur. Her claws sliced through the first clown with a sickening squelch, flesh and sinew tearing apart. She spun on her heel, her enhanced agility allowing her to dodge a second attacker whose jaw unhinged unnaturally, attempting to clamp down on her shoulder.
"Not today," she hissed, driving her claws upward through the clown's throat. It gurgled, collapsing in a heap.
Lucretia moved like a phantom, her rib spears cutting through the air with precision. She impaled one clown clean through its chest before pivoting and slicing another's head clean off. The air was thick with the coppery tang of blood and the otherworldly laughter that echoed from the clowns. One managed to grab her from behind, its elongated arms wrapping around her neck. With a guttural snarl, she drove one of her rib spears backward, skewering the creature without even turning. Its grip slackened, and it collapsed, convulsing.
"Keep moving!" Lucretia shouted, driving her rib spears into an advancing clown that had nearly reached Coulson. Cain grabbed the injured agent by his uninjured arm and hoisted him to his feet. "You're not dying here."
Meanwhile, Lina noticed a larger figure in the crowd, a clown nearly twice the size of the others, its features even more grotesque. Its head split in two, revealing rows of jagged teeth as it emitted a low growl. "Lucretia, I'm taking the big one!" she called, sprinting toward the behemoth.
The giant clown lunged, its massive fists crashing down where Lina had been standing moments before. She sidestepped effortlessly, her claws raking across its torso. Its flesh didn't tear as easily as the others, and it let out a bellowing laugh, its misshapen body undulating as it swung at her again. Lina ducked under the swing and leapt onto its back, driving her claws into its spine with all her strength.
The creature roared, twisting violently to throw her off. She hit the ground hard but rolled to her feet instantly, her body resilient. "Oh, it's tougher than it looks," she muttered, wiping blood from her mouth. She darted forward again, this time targeting its knees. Her claws slashed through tendon and muscle, bringing the giant clown down with a thunderous crash.
Lucretia fought her way through the horde, her rib spears moving in a deadly rhythm. Her eyes locked onto Lina's position, noticing the swarm of clowns closing in on her teammate. Without hesitation, she hurled one of her spears with deadly accuracy, impaling a clown that had been about to strike Lina from behind.
"Watch your back," Lucretia called.
"Thanks," Lina replied breathlessly, finishing off the giant clown with a decisive strike to its neck.
The remaining clowns hesitated, their grotesque laughter faltering as they realized their numbers were dwindling. Cain stepped forward, his presence commanding as he raised his weapon. "If you're smart, you'll run," he growled.
Suddenly, the sound of additional helicopters filled the air, their rotors cutting through the oppressive atmosphere like a promise of salvation. Lina turned toward the noise, her eyes wide with relief. "Foundation reinforcements are here," she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion but steady.
Herman Fuller, standing further off, paled at the sound. He spun around, panic etched across his face. "Damn it, the Foundation?!!" His voice cracked as he barked orders to the man with the face upside-down beside him. "Get me to the Kaleidoscope, now!"
The grotesque humanoid obeyed without hesitation, grabbing Herman and scuttling into the dark forest with unnatural speed. Around the clearing, the other clowns froze, their grotesque smiles faltering as they watched their leader retreat. Chaos quickly followed as the performers turned and scattered into the woods like roaches exposed to light.
Lina and Lucretia, both battered but unyielding, regrouped around Coulson, who was slumped against a fallen log, clutching his bleeding arm. His face twisted in pain, but his eyes were sharp and alert. The whirring of rotor blades grew louder as the first Blackhawk landed, the rest of the Omega-7´s Strike Team disembarking with practiced efficiency.
Colonel Mendoza leaped down from the helicopter, flanked by the remaining four operators of the Strike Team. Distant lights began to crest the horizon, signaling the approach of additional Foundation vehicles. Armored personnel carriers rolled onto the scene, their engines rumbling as heavily armed agents poured out, taking defensive positions around the perimeter.
One of the agents, clad in tactical gear with the emblem of Captain stitched on his shoulder, approached Mendoza. "Colonel," he said, snapping a crisp salute, "Captain Deimos of Site-55 Tactical Response Teams reporting in."
Mendoza returned the salute, his sharp gaze sweeping the clearing. Without wasting a second, he made his way toward Coulson, kneeling beside him. "Agent, you need immediate medical evacuation," Mendoza said, his tone firm but not unkind.
Coulson, pale from blood loss but still fighting to remain upright, shook his head as his eyes darted around the area. "Where is she?" His voice was hoarse, almost desperate. "There was a kid with me. Icky. I don't see her."
Mendoza frowned, scanning the treeline. "We'll find her," he said, his voice resolute. "You, however, are getting out of here. That's an order."
For a moment, Coulson hesitated, torn between his condition and his concern for the girl. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he muttered, "Yes, sir." Allowing himself to be helped to his feet, he limped toward the Blackhawk. The medics quickly secured him in the cabin as the helicopter lifted off, its spotlight cutting through the darkness as it carried him away.
Mendoza turned to Deimos with a firm expression. "Omega-7 will move as the vanguard into the forest toward the target. Stay sharp. There may still be civilians in the area."
Deimos nodded, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Understood. We'll advance just behind you."
Mendoza's radio crackled to life as Kovacs' voice came through clearly.
"2-1 to 1-1, we've arrived at the AO. The target is 1.3 kilometers from our position. Beginning progression now."
"Copy that, 2-1," Mendoza replied. "Be advised, we pushed back a group of humanoid entities earlier. They might double back through your path. Watch your six."
"Roger that. 2-1 out."
Lowering the radio, Mendoza gathered the entire Strike Team into a tight huddle. "Listen up. Recon Team is on the AO. Our mission is to pursue those humanoid entities and continue toward the main target. Let's move."
The team moved as one, slipping into the dense forest like shadows. Their steps were precise and quiet, a testament to their training.
The forest was eerily silent except for the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a branch underfoot. The Strike Team advanced cautiously, Mendoza leading with his rifle raised. Lina and Lucretia moved just behind him, their senses heightened. While the other members of Omega-7´s Strike Team carried conventional firearms.
The air grew colder the deeper they went. Lina's eyes scanned the undergrowth, her posture tense but controlled. Behind her, Lucretia's fingers twitched as if eager for a fight.
Suddenly, Mendoza raised his fist, signaling a stop. The team froze, their ears straining. From the trees ahead came faint whispers, inhuman, guttural, and layered.
"Contact," Mendoza whispered, his voice barely audible. "Positions."
The team dispersed into the foliage, finding cover. Lina crouched low, her hands flexing instinctively. From her back, sinews of flesh began to shift, forming jagged protrusions along her arms. Beside her, Lucretia's jaw clenched as her own body adapted, her fingertips elongating into razor-sharp claws.
The whispers grew louder. Then, from the shadows ahead, the first figures emerged.
They weren't ordinary clowns. Their bodies were grotesque amalgamations of flesh, their limbs distorted, their faces stretched into unnatural grins. One had a torso that pulsed with exposed veins, another dragged a leg that seemed to liquefy and reform with every step.
"Bozomorphics," Mendoza muttered over the comms. "Engage."
The forest exploded into action.
Mendoza and the others opened fire, their rifles spitting controlled bursts into the advancing creatures. The humanoids staggered but didn't fall immediately. One lunged forward, its elongated arms swinging wildly.
Lucretia was faster. She stepped into its path, ducked under the swing, and slammed her spiked forearm into its chest. The creature let out a gurgling screech as its body crumpled.
Another bozomorphic charged Lina. She sidestepped gracefully, her claws slicing through its side in a blur of motion. Black ichor splattered the ground as the creature collapsed, convulsing.
"Keep moving!" Mendoza barked. "Push through!"
The team advanced steadily, cutting down the creatures as they came. Lucretia's movements were fluid and precise, her body morphing mid-combat to counter every new threat. One creature leapt at her from a tree, only to be impaled on a spiked tendril that shot from her shoulder.
Lina fought with an almost serene efficiency, her claws tearing through flesh and bone as if they were paper. At one point, she grabbed a creature by its malformed head and crushed it effortlessly.
The battle was brutal, but the team's cohesion held. Mendoza's voice guided them through the chaos, his commands cutting through the cacophony of gunfire and screeches.
Finally, the forest fell silent again. The clearing ahead was visible through the trees. Mendoza signaled for the team to regroup.
"Everyone accounted for?" he asked, his voice steady despite the blood splattered on his gear.
"All here," Deimos replied, who joined them from behind with a full company-sized unit of foundation agents.
Lina and Lucretia exchanged glances. Their bodies slowly returned to their normal forms, the unnatural appendages receding.
"Good," Mendoza said. "Let's keep moving. We're close."
With weapons ready, the Strike Team pushed onward, the faint glow of the circus looming in the distance.
---
Meanwhile, Omega-7's Recon Team stood at the edge of the forest, the dense foliage providing cover as they observed the chaos in the distance. The circus loomed like a beacon of madness, its glowing lights casting eerie, shifting shadows. The carnival surrounding it was teeming with civilians, a sea of people wandering between twisted attractions.
Lieutenant Kovacs had climbed a nearby tree to gain a better vantage point. Her sharp eyes scanned the scene, picking out details: towering clowns moving unnaturally through the crowd, distorted shapes lurking in the shadows of the attractions, and the pervasive hum of distorted carnival music.
Raising her radio, Kovacs reported in a low, controlled voice, "2-1 to Command. Target confirmed in sight. Multiple anomalous humanoid entities, including bozomorphic entities, identified on-site. Civilian population estimated in the thousands. Standing by for orders."
The response crackled through her earpiece moments later. "Command to 2-1. Received. Maintain observational distance. Do not engage. Over."
Kovacs sighed softly and adjusted her position on the branch, eyes never leaving the scene. Her team waited below, silent and tense, their weapons at the ready.
Then, the unexpected happened.
Bursting from the treeline to her right was a grotesque figure with its face disturbingly reversed. It carried another man in an extravagant, garish suit, the target radiating an air of authority even as he clung to the monstrous creature. The duo moved with inhuman speed, leaping toward the carnival. Civilians parted in terror as they entered the chaos, disappearing into the throng.
Kovacs immediately relayed the update. "2-1 to Command. Priority target and anomalous entity spotted entering the carnival. Requesting confirmation to engage. Over."
The reply came swiftly, more urgent this time. "Command to 2-1. Priority target identified as Herman Fuller. Mission updated: capture and exfiltrate the target. Use discretion to avoid civilian casualties. You are cleared to pursue. Over."
Kovacs dropped lightly from the tree and turned to her team. "Alright, you heard Command. Herman Fuller's in there, and he's not getting away this time. Formation Delta. Watch your fire. Civilians are everywhere, and these bozomorphics won't hesitate to use them as shields. Let's move."
With swift precision, the Recon Team advanced toward the carnival, their shadows blending into the night as they prepared to enter the lion's den.
---
Herman Fuller entered a large, darkened tent, its perimeter guarded by an unsettling array of clowns. Their grotesque forms were unnaturally still, eyes gleaming in the dim light as they stood vigil. The air inside the tent was thick with tension and the faint scent of greasepaint and decay.
At the center of the tent stood a towering machine, its surface adorned with spinning dials and glowing panels that shimmered like stars. It pulsed faintly, casting eerie patterns on the canvas walls. The man with the face upside-down approached the contraption, his movements smooth but unnatural, like a marionette on invisible strings.
As he reached the machine, he began flipping switches and pressing buttons. The machine rumbled to life, emitting a low hum that quickly grew in intensity. Suddenly, a sharp hiss escaped from its base, and the tent filled with a brief, choking fog. The machine groaned, then fell silent, a piercing alarm echoing through the space.
The man with the face upside-down turned, his distorted features twisting unnervingly as he spoke. "Master, there's a problem."
Herman Fuller, pacing impatiently near a stack of crates, snapped his head toward the man, his expression darkening. "What now?"
The man gestured to the machine, his voice steady but tinged with unease. "There are too many people within the radius of the Kaleidoscope. We cannot open an artificial Way until the number of living beings in the field is… reduced."
Herman's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. He stood silent for a moment, his mind racing. Then, he spoke, his voice a low, venomous murmur. "Kill them…"
He turned to the nearest guard clown, his gaze burning with cold fury. "Kill all the spectators. Every last one of them."
The clowns reacted immediately, their grotesque smiles widening unnaturally. One by one, they turned and began to march toward the carnival outside, their movements stiff but purposeful. The distorted laughter of the bozomorphic clowns echoed as they exited the tent, a grim prelude to the massacre about to unfold.
Herman straightened his coat, his face a mask of grim determination. "If the Foundation thinks they can stop me, they're sorely mistaken. Get the Kaleidoscope ready, and this time, no failures."
The man with the face upside-down bowed slightly, his movements jerky. "As you wish, Master."
---
Elsewhere in the carnival, a small boy walked hand in hand with his mother, weaving through the strange attractions. The air was filled with distant laughter, the scent of spun sugar, and the muted rumble of machinery.
"Mommy, mommy, look!" The boy's excited voice broke the ambient noise as he pointed toward a clown towering over the crowd, its legs unnaturally long and spindly. "Big clown!"
The mother smiled, though unease flickered briefly across her face. "Do you want to say hello?"
The boy nodded enthusiastically, his small hand tightening in hers. They approached the clown, whose outlandish attire and elongated proportions made him stand out even amidst the surreal carnival chaos.
The boy tugged gently at the clown's striped trousers, drawing its attention. Slowly, with an almost mechanical grace, the clown tilted its head down to meet the boy's gaze. Its painted face twisted into a kind, almost paternal smile. "Hello, little one. Are you having fun at our circus?"
The boy's face lit up. "The big lions made big roars! It was so cool!"
The clown chuckled softly, its voice smooth yet slightly off, as though a second, deeper timbre lay beneath it. "Hahaha, I'm glad to hear that. Here, I have a gift for you."
Reaching into an oversized pocket, the clown pulled out a red balloon and handed it to the boy, who grasped it with both hands, his eyes wide with delight.
The clown's smile deepened as it gently patted the boy's head. For a moment, the interaction seemed almost tender. But then the clown froze, its body unnaturally still as though a switch had been flipped.
Seconds stretched into an eternity. Its painted grin widened grotesquely, its lips splitting to reveal jagged, needle-like teeth. Its hand slid from the boy's head down to his neck, fingers curling delicately, almost affectionately, around his throat.
The boy giggled, unaware. "That tick, "
In an instant, the clown's grip tightened with inhuman strength, lifting the boy effortlessly into the air.
"What are you doing?!" The mother screamed, rushing forward, panic flooding her voice. "Let him go! Let him go!"
She clawed at the clown, her nails raking against its unnaturally tough skin, but it didn't even flinch. Its monstrous gaze was fixed on the boy, whose laughter had turned to gasping cries.
And then, with a sickening crack,the clown twisted the boy's neck 180 degrees, his lifeless face staring backward at his mother.
The mother froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Arty…?"
The clown's jaw unhinged grotesquely, stretching impossibly wide, and in one swift motion, it devoured the boy's head. Blood sprayed, warm and sticky, across the mother's horrified face.
She staggered backward, her trembling hands rising to her cheeks as she stared at the abomination before her. The clown turned its full attention to her now, its grin impossibly wide, blood dripping from its maw. Her lips quivered, forming a single, broken word. "No…"
The clown lunged, its long fingers plunging through her chest like spears. She collapsed in a lifeless heap, her final breath escaping as a faint, shuddering sigh.
Around them, the carnival erupted into chaos. Spectators screamed as more clowns abandoned their benign charades, their painted faces splitting into monstrous, gory masks. The air filled with the scent of burning flesh and the sound of tearing limbs.
Some victims were set alight, their agonized shrieks piercing through the cacophony. Others were torn apart with cruel precision, their remains scattered across the vibrant carnival grounds. Laughter turned to cries for mercy as the carnival's joyous atmosphere devolved into a blood-soaked nightmare.
From their hidden vantage point behind a stack of crates in a narrow alley, the operators of the Recon Team bore silent witness.
Lieutenant Kovacs gripped her radio tightly, her voice trembling as she spoke. "This is 2-1 to Command, it's a massacre. The clowns are killing every civilian!"
The crackling static of Kovacs's radio suddenly erupted with a distorted voice.
"Command to 2-1, you must arrest- £]$~*_<]…"
The transmission cut off abruptly, replaced by a burst of garbled interference. Then, a new voice, cold and authoritative, sliced through the chaos.
"This is Overwatch to all units. We are assuming control of this operation. 2-1, confirm the hostile actions of GoI-233 personnel against civilians."
Lieutenant Kovacs, momentarily stunned, pressed the radio to her lips. Her voice was steady, though the horror she had just witnessed bled into her tone. "Attack confirmed. It's… it's a massacre."
"Understood," Overwatch replied without hesitation. "To all units: mission parameters updated. Protect and evacuate civilians at all costs. MTF Omega-45 detachment inbound. ETA 20 minutes."
Before Kovacs could respond, another familiar voice cut in.
"1-1, copy that," Mendoza's voice carried a grim resolve. "I'm with 3-1 and his squad. Moving toward the objective. ETA 5 minutes. 2-1, cover the civilians at all costs until we arrive."
Kovacs's jaw tightened as she gripped her weapon. "2-1, acknowledged. Over."
She lowered the radio and turned to her team, the desperation in their eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself.
"You heard the orders," she said, her voice sharp and commanding. "We're not letting those bastards have free reign. Civilians are the priority. We protect them. At. All. Costs. Move!"
Her team sprang into action, their movements swift and precise as they prepared to dive into the heart of the chaos. The cacophony of screams and monstrous laughter grew louder as they advanced, their breaths heavy with determination.
Through the hellish carnival grounds, Kovacs and her team plunged forward, into the teeth of the storm.
The carnival grounds had become a battlefield of nightmares. The once-vivid lights now flickered erratically, casting long, shifting shadows across the blood-soaked terrain. Fires blazed in every direction, their roaring heat and acrid smoke mingling with the metallic stench of blood and the desperate screams of the fleeing crowd.
Lieutenant Kovacs gestured sharply, signaling her team forward. They were Omega-7, one of the best among the MTF's , but even for them, the chaos was overwhelming. The clowns, once merely eerie, now revealed their monstrous forms, attacking civilians with grotesque glee.
"Push forward!" Kovacs shouted. "We're clearing a path to the main gates!"
Her team, designated 2-2 to 2-5, moved in formation, weapons raised and eyes scanning every angle. 2-2 was on point, his rifle barking sharp, controlled bursts that felled two clowns sprinting toward them. Their distorted faces twisted further in death, black ichor pooling beneath their twitching bodies.
"Left flank, incoming!" 2-3 called, pivoting and opening fire.
A trio of clowns rushed from the shadows, their limbs unnaturally long and their faces frozen in malevolent grins. One held a chainsaw that roared to life as it charged. 2-3's shots struck true, tearing into the creature's torso and sending it sprawling. The others hesitated just long enough for 2-5 to finish them with a deafening shotgun blast that reduced their heads to pulp.
"Clear left!" 2-3 confirmed.
"Stay focused!" Kovacs ordered, her voice cutting through the pandemonium. "We've got civilians still trapped behind us. We're their only chance."
They moved swiftly, cutting through the clowns with precision. Every step was a struggle against the tide of grotesque attackers, each more horrifying than the last. One clown, its body covered in writhing balloon-like growths, burst apart when shot, releasing a swarm of insect-like creatures.
"2-4, suppress that swarm!" Kovacs barked.
From his elevated position atop a shattered carnival stall, 2-4 opened fire, his precision shots destroying the insect creatures before they could reach the team. "Swarm neutralized," he called down.
Ahead, the team spotted a group of terrified civilians huddled near the remains of a carousel. A towering clown with multiple arms loomed over them, wielding a collection of weapons in its grotesque hands.
"Engage!" Kovacs shouted.
2-2 and 2-3 moved forward, their coordinated firepower tearing into the multi-armed clown. It shrieked, its body convulsing as bullets riddled its form. The civilians scrambled away as 2-5 moved in to finish the job, his shotgun roaring with finality.
"Civilians clear," 2-5 reported.
"Move them toward the gates!" Kovacs directed. "We'll cover their retreat."
The team pressed on, their pace relentless. Clowns emerged from every direction, some lunging with claws, others hurling deadly projectiles. The operatives responded with ruthless efficiency, their weapons cutting down the attackers in a symphony of controlled violence.
A particularly large clown, its head a grotesque patchwork of stitched-together faces, barreled toward them, wielding a spiked club. Kovacs stood her ground, unloading a full magazine into the creature's chest. It stumbled but kept coming, its patchwork faces screaming in unison.
"2-4, hit it now!" she shouted.
From his elevated position, 2-4 fired a single, well-placed shot that struck the clown's grotesque head. The creature collapsed in a heap, its many faces silenced at last.
The entrance to the carnival loomed ahead, its once-inviting gates now twisted and blackened by fire. Beyond, a stream of terrified civilians poured through, desperate to escape the horrors behind them.
"We're almost there!" Kovacs urged, her voice fierce. "Stay tight!"
As they approached the gates, a final wave of clowns emerged to block their path. These were more monstrous than anything they had faced so far, creatures with gaping maws, segmented limbs, and eyes that burned with a malevolent light.
"Hold the line!" Kovacs commanded.
The team unleashed a storm of firepower, their bullets cutting through the monstrous clowns with brutal precision. 2-2's rifle barked rhythmically, each shot dropping a clown. 2-3's heavy weapon thundered, mowing down the attackers in droves. 2-5 moved methodically, his shotgun blasting apart anything that came too close.
Kovacs herself led the charge, her movements precise as she fired, reloaded, and fired again. She advanced relentlessly, her focus unshakable as she cleared the way for the civilians fleeing behind them.
Finally, they reached the gates, their boots crunching over shattered debris and broken bodies. Kovacs turned to her team, her breath coming in steady, measured gasps.
"We hold this position," she said firmly. "Protect the gates. No one gets past us."
Her radio crackled to life.
"This is Overwatch. All units, hold the gates and cover the civilians. Reinforcements ETA ten minutes."
"Understood," Kovacs replied. She looked at her team, their faces grim but determined. "You heard the orders. No one gets through. Let's end this."
The operatives took their positions, weapons at the ready. The gate behind them became a lifeline for the civilians fleeing the nightmare. And as the clowns surged forward once more, Omega-7 stood their ground, prepared to fight to the last to ensure that lifeline remained open.
Suddenly, the cacophony of gunfire and screams was momentarily interrupted by the sound of boots pounding against the ground. From the tree line emerged a disciplined force of operatives, weapons drawn and ready. Leading them was Mendoza, flanked by Deimos and additional tactical teams. Their sudden arrival brought a much-needed wave of reinforcements to the embattled 2-1 team.
The clowns, sensing the shift in power, let out guttural screeches and charged in even greater numbers, their grotesque forms illuminated by the flickering fires consuming the carnival grounds.
"Engage!" Mendoza roared.
The reinforcements opened fire in unison, their weapons lighting up the darkness like a deadly symphony of destruction. The clowns were mowed down in droves, their monstrous bodies crumpling under the relentless barrage. The tactical teams moved with precision, their lines unbroken as they advanced to secure the perimeter.
Kovacs stood at the main gate, her rifle still raised, watching the tide of chaos begin to shift. She exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding as Mendoza and Deimos approached her through the haze of smoke and blood.
Mendoza's voice was sharp, commanding. "Alright, listen up. Deimos, you and your men are securing this gate and the visitor entrance. Keep the civilians here, make sure they're safe, but under no circumstances let them leave the AO."
Deimos nodded, his face set in determination. "Understood."
Mendoza continued, "Overwatch has deployed emergency units for medical care and amnestics. They'll take over handling the civilians once they arrive. Until then, keep everyone calm."
He turned to Kovacs. "Omega-7, We're going into the park. We're cleaning this place up and rescuing anyone still trapped inside."
Kovacs gave a firm nod, her grip tightening on her weapon. "Got it."
Mendoza glanced around, assessing the battlefield as more clowns began to emerge, drawn by the commotion. His expression hardened. "Alright, people, you know what to do. Let's get to work. Action!"
With a final barked order, the teams split into their respective roles.
Deimos wasted no time. His teams moved to fortify the entrance, setting up makeshift barricades using wrecked carnival booths and debris. Medics from the tactical teams attended to injured civilians, while others worked to calm the panicked crowd.
"Stay together!" Deimos barked, his voice carrying over the chaos. "You're safe here. Help is on the way!"
His men moved efficiently, their weapons at the ready as they scanned for any threats approaching the gate. A clown, its body twisted into a horrifying, insect-like shape, scuttled out from the shadows. Deimos fired a precise shot, the creature collapsing before it could get close.
"Keep your sectors clear!" he ordered, reloading his weapon.
Meanwhile, Mendoza and the rest of Omega-7 advanced deeper into the carnival. The park was a warped nightmare of fire, shadow, and blood. Screams echoed from every direction, mingling with the unsettling laughter of the clowns who still prowled the grounds.
"Eyes up, everyone," Mendoza said, his voice calm but firm. "We're clearing this place room by room."
They moved as a single unit, their formation tight. Kovacs took point, her sharp eyes scanning the ruined attractions for movement. A clown leaped from a broken ferris wheel, its jagged teeth snapping inches from her face. She reacted instantly, her rifle muzzle flashing as she put it down with a single shot.
"Contact neutralized," she said curtly, stepping over the grotesque body.
The team pressed on, their weapons blazing as clowns attacked from every angle. A group of civilians burst from a nearby haunted house, pursued by a towering clown wielding a sledgehammer.
"On me!" Mendoza shouted, leading the charge.
The team opened fire, their coordinated attack cutting the massive clown down before it could reach the civilians. Kovacs motioned for them to move toward the gate, her voice steady and reassuring.
"Keep moving! You'll be safe at the entrance!"
The deeper they went, the darker the horrors became. The clowns were no longer just attacking; they seemed to revel in the chaos, their grotesque forms twisting and contorting as if feeding off the terror around them.
At the center of the park, they found a small group of survivors barricaded inside a funhouse. The doors were buckling under the force of several clowns pounding on them.
"Take them down!" Kovacs ordered.
The team unleashed a torrent of fire, cutting through the attackers and securing the funhouse. Mendoza and Kovacs worked quickly to extract the survivors, shepherding them back toward the gate.
Back at the Gate
Deimos's team held their ground, repelling wave after wave of attackers. The barricades were holding, but barely. The clowns came in relentless waves, their monstrous forms growing more grotesque with each charge.
"Captain, we've got more incoming from the north!" one of his men shouted.
Deimos turned, his rifle snapping up. "Hold the line!"
The tactical teams poured fire into the advancing clowns, their disciplined volleys carving through the attackers. Amid the chaos, Deimos spotted a clown climbing over the barricade, its clawed hands reaching for a terrified child.
With a roar, Deimos vaulted the barricade and tackled the creature, his combat knife flashing as he drove it into the clown's chest. It let out a bloodcurdling screech before collapsing.
"Stay down!" he growled, pulling the child to safety.
A few minutes later, Omega-7 emerged from the park with the last group of survivors, the gate had become a veritable fortress. Deimos and his team stood like sentinels, their weapons smoking from the constant barrage of fire they had unleashed.
Mendoza gave Deimos a nod. "Good work. The gate's secure. Civilians are safe."
Deimos grunted. "For now. But we need to hold this place until reinforcements get here."
Kovacs reloaded her rifle, her expression steely. "We'll hold. No one gets past us."
The teams reformed their lines, preparing for the next wave. The clowns were relentless, but Omega-7 and the tactical teams stood ready, their resolve unshakable. The nightmare wasn't over, but for now, the civilians had a chance to survive.
Suddenly, the chaos of the battle reached a sudden crescendo as a piercing, radiant light erupted from the heart of the park. Multicolored lightning arced violently into the night sky, striking the apex of the tallest circus tent. The dazzling spectacle froze everyone in place, their weapons lowered as they stared in awe and fear.
A voice crackled over the comms, urgent and commanding:
"Overwatch to all units: spatial distortion detected. Evacuate immediately from the anomaly source located at the center of the AO. Repeat, fall back now!"
Deimos and Mendoza locked eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between them. Without hesitation, they vaulted over the barricades, their movements fluid and determined.
"Move! Get everyone out!" Mendoza bellowed, his voice cutting through the confusion.
The operatives sprang into action. MTF operatives and tactical teams surged forward, grabbing civilians and pulling them away from the radiant epicenter. Kovacs hoisted a sobbing child onto her shoulder while shouting at a frozen man to move. Mendoza barked orders as he dragged two injured survivors by their collars, urging others to follow.
The air grew heavy, thick with the hum of raw energy. A shimmering wave began to spread outward from the circus, its edges rippling like water disturbed by an unseen force. The wave swallowed everything in its path, rides, bodies, and structures, erasing them from existence.
"Go! Faster!" Kovacs screamed, her voice barely audible over the deafening hum.
As the wave encroached, operatives threw themselves over the perimeter, civilians tumbling after them. They hit the ground hard, their breath ragged, just as the wave reached the park's edge.
For a moment, all was still. Then, an immense bolt of energy surged from the ground to the heavens, striking the center of the distortion. The resulting explosion was blinding, a supernova of light that consumed everything.
Kovacs shielded her face, her world reduced to the overwhelming whiteness.
A few seconds later, the light finally subsided, Kovacs opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the spots clouding her vision. She pushed herself up on shaky arms and looked toward the park.
But the park was gone.
In its place was an empty expanse of scorched earth, eerily silent and devoid of any trace of the horrors that had unfolded moments earlier. The carnival, the clowns, the chaos, it was as if none of it had ever existed.
Kovacs swallowed hard, her throat dry. The oppressive weight of what she'd witnessed pressed down on her chest.
Mendoza's voice crackled over the radio, breaking the silence:
"1-1 to Overwatch. The target has disappeared. I repeat, the target is gone."
There was a pause before Overwatch responded, their tone calm but decisive:
"Acknowledged, 1-1. Secure the area. Reinforcements have arrived."
No sooner had the words been spoken than the rhythmic thrum of helicopter blades filled the air. A fleet of Foundation aircraft descended upon the clearing, their spotlights piercing the gloom.
The helicopters touched down, and an imposing wave of Foundation agents poured out, weapons at the ready. They moved with precision, securing the area and beginning the monumental task of tending to the civilians. Medics and amnestic specialists fanned out, their efficiency a testament to countless hours of training.
Kovacs sank to her knees, exhaustion overtaking her as she watched the scene unfold. Mendoza approached, his face unreadable, and offered her a hand. She took it without a word, pulling herself to her feet.
"We did what we could," he said quietly.
She nodded, her eyes lingering on the void where the park had been. "Was it enough?"
Mendoza didn't answer.
---
Somewhere in a vast and desolate desert, the stillness of the night was abruptly shattered by a single bolt of lightning. It struck the barren ground with a deafening crack, unleashing a blinding flash that illuminated the dunes for miles around. As the light subsided, the silhouette of an enormous circus tent materialized, surrounded by a sprawling carnival. The air hummed with unnatural energy, the colors of the carnival glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Inside the largest tent, Herman Fuller paced back and forth, his face twisted in fury. The fabric of the tent trembled under the weight of his roars.
"Incompetents! Imbeciles!" he bellowed, slamming his fist into a nearby table, scattering papers and trinkets. "You let those Foundation dogs ruin everything! Do you have any idea what I've lost? What we've lost?"
He raged against the air, his shadow looming large against the striped walls of the tent. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hands trembling as he grasped a whip that lay coiled on a nearby chair.
Throwing the tent flap aside, Herman stormed outside. Before him stood the assembled members of the circus, clowns, acrobats, beasts, and more. Their heads were bowed, their bodies stiff with fear, as if the weight of his fury was a physical force pressing them into the ground.
"You," Herman spat, pointing the whip toward the crowd. "You miserable lot. Do you know what I do to failures? To those who waste my genius, my vision?"
The crowd dared not respond. Herman raised the whip, his arm poised to strike.
But then, he froze.
A sharp, searing pain tore through his back. He gasped, his eyes widening as he looked down. A blade, a long, cruel knife, had pierced him from behind, the tip glinting red as it protruded from his stomach. His knees buckled, but he turned his head slowly, blood dripping from his lips as he sought the face of his attacker.
It was Icky.
Her eyes burned with a fire that rivaled the lightning that had brought them here. Her face was pale but resolute, and her trembling hands clenched the hilt of the knife tightly.
The clowns and other circus members moved as one, their fury ignited at the sight of their master being attacked. They surged forward, ready to tear Icky apart.
But before they could act, Icky wrenched the knife free and plunged it into Herman's chest again. The clowns stopped, their bodies locking into place, their expressions going blank as if someone had pressed pause on their very existence.
Herman staggered, his mouth forming silent words. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, pooling at his feet. With a final gurgling breath, he collapsed, lifeless.
Yet Icky didn't stop.
She dropped to her knees and stabbed him again and again and again, each thrust of the knife releasing weeks of pent-up terror, anguish, and despair. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the blood that coated her hands.
When she finally stopped, she sat back on her heels, gasping for air. Her entire body trembled as she looked down at what she had done.
And then, from nowhere, a screen appeared before her, glowing faintly in the darkness:
[Ding! It has been detected that the Host has been killed by you. As a result, you are eligible to take their place. Do you wish to become the Host of Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting?]
Icky stared at the screen, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Confusion clouded her mind as she looked around. The circus members were frozen, the world eerily silent. She was alone, truly alone. Her family had abandoned her, and no one else remained.
Her eyes returned to the screen. What else could she do? What choice did she have?
"Y-Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling.
[Ding! Congratulations to the Host for assuming control of Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting. May you guide the circus to shine across the world.]
The screen vanished.
In an instant, the circus members began to move again, their expressions shifting from confusion to realization. Slowly, one by one, their gazes turned to Icky.
She froze, her heart pounding as they stepped closer. Fear clawed at her throat. Would they attack her now? Would they tear her apart for what she'd done?
Instead, as if guided by an unseen force, every single one of them dropped to one knee. They bowed their heads deeply, their voices resonating as one:
"We salute the new Master of the Circus."
Icky's breath hitched. She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. The knife slipped from her hand, landing with a dull thud in the sand.
The circus members remained bowed, awaiting her command. The weight of her new role settled on her shoulders as she realized the truth.
She wasn't just free of Herman Fuller.
She was now Herman Fuller.