Kevin’s footsteps echoed down the hall, the heels of his shoes clicking loudly against the floor as he hurried to reach his destination on time. The well-lit corridor seemed to extend in a straight line into apparent infinity, glistening marble floors and bright lights only adding to the oppressive atmosphere of clinical sterility. Countless numbered plaques, each one inlaid into a door reinforced with cold steel, passed him by in a dizzying blur.
Not a single scuff or dark mark marred the carefully tended veneer of perfection, but the PA knew what lay beyond some of those sealed doors, secreted away inside the irregular, twisting bowels of one of Syntech’s deepest vaults, and very little of it was what he would call nice.
Superweapons, treasures of incomprehensible value, alien viruses… monsters, even. Those were the worst, in Kevin’s opinion. Terrible creatures, the kind that could tear a man’s jugular out on a whim, or maybe carve out one’s sanity with a single glance. Not that the type of people to enter Mr. Jak’s little contests were ever quite sane to begin with, certainly not, but it was still all rather concerning to someone as perfectly ordinary as Kevin...
Which explained his current state of being, really. Kevin hated going down into the vaults. His uniform was all in disarray from his repeated attempts to fix it, curly ginger hair sticking up in odd places, and his every breath echoed loudly in his ears— he could literally feel his blood pressure rising! The little clipboard he carried was clutched to his chest in a desperate, white-knuckled grip. It was probably a bit too much to ask for that a thin scrap of aluminum could protect him from any escaped horrors, but Kevin wasn’t about to let go of it, no sir.
“What a promotion this has turned out to be,” the young man muttered under his breath, eyes darting around the corridor. A couple surveillance cameras tracked his movements as he walked past, their beady red lights winking at him.
Eyeing them warily, Kevin imagined that they were speaking to him in some kind of incomprehensible code, perhaps saying something like ’Better than dealing with all the rabble again, right?!’ You know, like a crazy person.
Eventually, he arrived at a door. A big metal door, bigger than any of the others he’d passed on the way down into the vault. A man dressed in tactical gear nodded to him as he approached, reaching up to tap two fingers to his earpiece. After a quick mumbled exchange of words to whoever was in charge of operating the vault’s entry mechanism, Kevin was waved on through, the large door receding into some hidden recess in the wall with an unsettling scrape of metal against metal.
He stepped inside, noticing the change in atmosphere immediately. Whereas the hallway had been cold in the same way a doctor’s office tends to be, the inside of this particular vault was practically frigid by way of comparison. Looking around, the young man couldn’t suppress a shiver as his breath fogged in the air before him in light puffs, a bitter chill seeping into his bones.
The door slid shut behind him with a deafening clang! Sucking in a steadying breath, Kevin nodded shortly to himself, clinging tighter to his clipboard as he began to walk forward. He could do this. He could do this!
To all outward appearances, the vault room was simple by design, just a rectangular space with a deep, square-shaped trench cut into the middle of the floor. This was a deliberately deceiving state of affairs, as the room’s boorish appearance concealed a highly sophisticated refrigeration and containment system, tailored specifically to the… the asset within. Said asset was what Kevin had been sent to retrieve a status report on, loath as he was to admit it.
Walking to the edge of the pit, Kevin peered down inside, one hand reaching out to lightly grasp onto the railing. Almost instantly, the redhead hissed and drew his hand back as the layer of frost dusting over it bit into his fingers with an the uncomfortable burning sensation.
A woman in a lab coat standing on the opposite side of the trench gave him a weird look over the brim of her glasses, reminding him yet again of just how unprepared he felt for this whole assignment. Christ, what he wouldn’t give to be back in that damned lobby right now, going over his usual welcome spiel with some extremely murderous entrant! Or, better yet, back at his cushy desk in Operations...
As it was, though, Kevin was not in the lobby or in Operations. And, more importantly, he had a job to do. So with that thought in mind, the stressed-out PA grit his teeth, smoothed back his hair into something vaguely resembling the usual level of decorum Mr. Jak’s employees were expected to embody, and began his descent into the pit.
Upon reaching the foot of the stairs, Kevin did his level best to avoid the notice of the lone technician working on the… the asset. Unfortunately, the man must have received some prior message about the PA’s imminent arrival, as he didn’t seem overly surprised when he looked up from his work to see him standing there, huddled against the wall— the furthest he could possibly get from the thing elevated on a pedestal at the center of the room.
“Ah! Kenny, is it?” the technician asked, smiling. He stepped away from the asset to shake Kevin’s hand, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening with his amusement. “Here for this one, then?”
Kevin accepted the handshake, noting the older man’s surprisingly strong grip. “It’s… it’s Kevin, actually. And yes, yes I am, Mister…?”
The man’s smile broadened. “Henry Sinclair. And I hate to disappoint, but we don’t have much activity yet. Seems this critter’s primed for hibernation, especially in deep space,” he gestured loosely to the asset with the strange device held in his other hand. Kevin’s eyes snagged onto it helplessly; it almost looked like… a high-tech hair dryer? “We’ve been hard at work defrosting him, but it might be a few more days before he wakes up, I’m afraid.”
“Days?” demanded Kevin, eyes nearly boggling out of his head. “You must be joking!”
Sinclair shrugged, walking back over to stand beside the asset. The device in his hand clicked on with a quiet drone, reddish lines of heat streaming off of it. “If you don’t believe me, come see for yourself. Thing’s dead as a door-nail right now. I guess it’d be kind’ve funny to watch the other contestants beat a statue to death…”
Kevin stayed right where he was and firmly did not look at the asset. “I-I can see it just fine from over here, thanks.”
“Eh?” At the tremor in his voice, Sinclair looked over at him. “Oh, I see! Can’t say that you’re the first. There’s really nothing to be scared of, kid. Like I said, the thing’s asleep and isn’t waking up anytime soon. He can’t hurt you.”
The young man cringed. How embarrassing. Yet, his gaze swept up at Sinclair’s easy encouragement, landing on the figurative elephant in the room. And boy, did he regret it.
Despite being frozen, the creature was horrifying to look upon. The figure, encased in a jagged layer of spiky ice, was perched precariously on the edge of the pedestal in a sort of feline crouch, haunches squatted down and its entire lower body contorted to the side, apparently ripping apart at the seams to allow a pair of spidery legs to tear out from somewhere just under the beast’s ribcage. Its upper torso, on the other hand, was a portrait of utter ferocity: arms extended outward as if locked around some invisible foe, terminating in long, sickle-shaped claws— which looked rather like glistening icicles, come to think of it, the damp created by the sophisticated blow dryer’s heat dripping off of them in thick droplets.
Even through the dense frost, Kevin could clearly see the fiery red tufts of hair sprouting out of the creature’s crown, accentuating its oddly elongated face… and the angular twist of the creature’s maw, layers upon layers of needle-like teeth protruding out from what looked like a clown’s painted skin stretched grotesquely over a canine skull, bloody red gums twisted into a perversely cheerful snarl.
“Oh, god,” Kevin choked out, tearing his gaze away. He covered his eyes with a hand, mumbling quietly to himself, “Why did I look? Why the hell did I look?”
“See?” said Sinclair, still pointing the blow dryer at one of the thing’s limbs, revealing the frilly ruffles of a clown costume as the rimy glaze of ice sloooowly trickled away. “Not so bad, is he? Take a closer look at the eyes, if you will— you’ll really get what I mean, then.”
Uh, the eyes?! If the eyes really were the window to another’s soul, Kevin didn’t want to even think about what he might see from locking gazes with this abomination. And yet, he’d always been a little… morbidly curious…
Fingers parting on the hand covering his face, Kevin chanced a look at the demented clown’s face once more. Eyes widening, he slowly lowered his hand, really taking a good look.
The clown’s eyes were, simply put, utterly dead. It was like looking into the glassy, marble-like eyes of a doll, the sparkle and gleam of life banished from their depths, iris and pupil both colored a milky greyish-white by the ice. Not a shred of a soul was evident. It was just as Sinclair said: the creature had no awareness of them, no consciousness. It was just… asleep.
Slowly, Kevin relaxed. He had yet to look away from the clown’s eyes, his paranoia screaming at him to remain vigilant, but his shoulders slumped from relief.
Sinclair turned to him, shooting him a bright grin. As he did so, he lightly rested one arm on the top of the creature’s head, twirling the blow dryer around with the other like some kind of gunslinger.
“Y’see? Nothing to be scared of,” the technician said, confidently patting the side of the clown's elongated muzzle, like he was petting a horse or something.
Kevin’s heart lurched inside his chest, seeing the man’s fingers so close to such a vast amount of gleaming teeth, but he soon calmed himself. Sinclair was right; he really had nothing to be worried about. Everything was fine, even if the creature was asleep and couldn’t be prepped for the competition just yet. He’d just thank Mr. Sinclair for his time, leave, and report his findings to Mr. Jak. Maybe request lobby duty again. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
Tucking his clipboard under his arm, Kevin gave Sinclair a short nod. “Alright, well. Thanks for your time. We’ll probably send someone down here in about… 12 hours, to check up on how things are progressing. Might not be me specifically, but you get the idea.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it!” Sinclair told him, cheerful as ever. He gave a mock salute with the dryer.
Turning away, Kevin mentally made a note to let Mr. Jak know about the man’s dedication to his job; defrosting eldritch abominations probably took a lot out of the guy, he’d deserve a raise.
Kevin took the first step up the stairs, whipping out a pen, clipboard at the ready.
Didn’t Sinclair have kids? He couldn’t remember from the paperwork he’d glanced at on the way down here, but he was pretty sure Sinclair had kids. Possibly even grandkids. A guy like that should be rewarded for working so hard.
Another step up the stairs, head now firmly bowed over his clipboard.
Maybe they could give him some vacation days after Dante’s Abyss was over, that would—
A strange crunching noise came from behind him. Kevin paused, foot raised for the next step, heard the beginning of Sinclair’s startled “What the—”
And then the screaming started. Sickening, horrible, agonized screaming, followed by a jagged, wet ripping noise, and then the screaming just… stopped.
The glaring light from overhead flickered, shutting off. Left in total blackness, Kevin held utterly still. His heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears, the clipboard rattling in his shaking hands, one foot still poised over the next step.
As the red emergency lights switched on, a chuckling, rotten voice growled from behind him, rancid breath laced with the sugary-sweet scent of cotton candy and sour blood crooning right next to his ear, “Kevin, was it?”
Fight or flight response kicking into high gear, Kevin shot forward, feet rocketing up the stairs. Almost without thinking, he chucked the clipboard behind him, feeling a vindictive stab of pleasure at the sound of a solid thunk and the muffled “ow!” that followed. Unfortunately, that feeling was short-lived, as a clawed hand clasped around his ankle mere seconds later, yanking him off his feet.
Kevin hit the stairs hard, chin smashing against the edge of one concrete step and ricocheting painfully off. His glasses flew off his face with a clatter, searing agony shooting through his skull like a bolt of lightning. The redhead gagged, warm blood spilling into his mouth as he was dragged back down, down, down the steps… and landed in a tangled heap of limbs at the very bottom, groaning faintly from the bruises he could already feel forming all across his body.
But even through the pain, Kevin was dimly aware of a large presence hovering above him, inspecting his concussed self like a big cat might examine its kill. Silky fingers clasped around the meat of his upper arms in a cruel grip, rolling him over. Too stunned to resist, the young man just let himself be manhandled, thinking distantly of the armed guards stationed outside of the vault. What the hell were they doing right now, drawing lots to see who’d have to come in here and save him? Where were they?!
Dazed and staring blankly up at the ceiling, Kevin was treated to the sight of his soon-to-be killer: a grinning, clownish face swam into view, perfectly illuminated by the emergency lights overhead, the hellish red glow morphing Its already twisted features into the stuff of nightmares.
“Where ya going, Kev?” It purred, scarlet lips stretched wide around a mouth full of razor blades. “Dontcha want to play with the clown?”
Kevin didn’t bother to respond, his mind whirling a mile a minute. Oh, god. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so hard on the guards, after all...
“Urk,” the redhead gurgled unintelligibly, hands fumbling blindly behind himself in the half-darkness, searching for something, anything that might get him out of this mess. His fingers closed around something solid, thin, and metallic— his clipboard!
He would’ve whooped for joy if his teeth weren’t aching like a motherfucker. As it was, it was all Kevin could do to latch onto the clipboard with his shaky fingers, brandishing it like a shield before his battered and bruised torso.
The creature observed all of this with apparent amusement, head canting unnaturally to the side as It watched him shake and shiver on the floor, a thin sheet of aluminum being all that separated the PA from the monster’s claws. Kevin now remembered with startling clarity the contents of this thing’s dossier, one detail in particular now made glaringly obvious: It liked to play with Its food.
Wheezing for breath around his rising hysteria, Kevin could only stare helplessly as the clown shifted closer, closer... slithering forward on all four of Its horribly distorted limbs, yellow eyes glinting like a pair of shiny coins in the darkness. A fiendish grin split Its face nearly in two when the kid raised his clipboard to hide behind, cringing away in mingled terror and disgust as the clown’s face neared his own.
“Knock knock!” It chortled, rapping lightly with Its claws over the back of the clipboard.
Kevin gave a full-bodied flinch at the sound, clutching his clipboard all the tighter. After a long pause, however, a wild thought occurred to him: maybe, just maybe, if he indulged this thing’s playful side… he could survive long enough for help to arrive. It wasn’t an ideal situation by any means, and he might be miscalculating the entire situation, but… it was worth a shot.
“Uh- ah… w-who’s there?” Kevin managed to stutter out, throat clicking audibly when he swallowed. It hurt to talk. He huddled down further behind his clipboard, eyes clenched tightly shut.
There was a pause, almost as if the creature hadn’t expected him to answer. Then, a merry jingling of bells came from the clown towering above him, like It was performing some kind of interpretive dance even though It knew Kevin couldn’t see it. “A broken pencil!”
“Y-yeah?” Kevin asked, thoughts racing. How the heck was this one supposed to end? “Okay, uh. A… a broken pencil who?”
“Nevermind— it’s pointless!”
The young man sat there, simply aghast, as the clown proceeded to cackle uproariously at Its own joke. It was enough for him to lower the clipboard in any case, just so he could stare at the clown, who apparently thought this joke was the funniest thing in the entire fucking world.
“That was so bad,” Kevin whispered to himself, not quite believing his ears. Did he really wake up this morning? Was he still dreaming?
Its laughter eventually died down into a series of demented giggles, bright eyes once again locking onto the hapless Kevin’s face. In an instant, Its entire demeanor had changed, all traces of mirth gone from Its expression— save for the cheerful clown-smile painted over Its mouth, that is, but... that was just the thing, wasn't it? He’d read over the dossier; just like all of Its other seemingly affable mannerisms, that painted smile just wasn’t real.
“Well,” the clown drawled at last, voice pitching down into a low, secretive whisper. “I don’t know about you, Kevvy-boy, but I’m awfully hungry. After all, I’ve been asleep for yeeears!” It shot him a sly, shark-like grin, serrated teeth flashing a bright and bloody red in the dim lighting.
“O-oh?” asked Kevin, stomach plummeting. “That’s, uh, that’s really too bad! Syntech has some excellent fast food offerings in the food court, best selection in all the Crossroads, you really can’t miss it...” he babbled, unwittingly falling into one of his usual welcome spiels.
“Oho, oh nooo, Kevin,” It sing-songed, wagging a finger in his face. “I like my meals… fresh. Lively. Wriggling. Do you know what that means, kiddo?”
“Oh,” Kevin stammered. He began to drag himself backward, sparing yet another thought for the guards up top. Shouldn’t they be filling this thing with all kinds of bullet holes right about now?! “Oh, no.”
The clown’s toothy grin widened, a positively sinister chuckle filling the air. “Oh, yes.”
It lunged right for him, the entire front portion of Its skull splitting open to reveal a set of gaping mandibles lined with rows upon rows of glistening, needle-sharp teeth. Shrieking with fear, Kevin brought his clipboard up to defend himself, closing his eyes and hoping against all hope that maybe, just maybe it would be enough—
Suddenly, an ear-piercing screech rent the air, followed shortly by a weighty thump. Very much aware that he hadn’t been torn to shreds just yet, Kevin reluctantly opened his eyes. Quite by surprise, the redhead found himself staring down at the fallen form of the clown, one of Its clawed hands still attempting to scrabble for him from beneath the spider web-like shape of a large section of black netting. As he watched, a violently blue electrical pulse shot through Its limbs, prompting It to thrash about helplessly, frothing at the mouth as Its agonized howls echoed off the walls of the containment chamber.
“Ah,” breathed Kevin, taking a stumbling step back. His shoulders sagged as he slumped against the wall, not daring to take his eyes off the monstrous clown before him.
A group of armed agents swarmed past him, already sticking the clown chock-full of sedatives. Almost at the exact same time, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Already fearing the worst, Kevin reached for it, accepting the call with a sweaty swipe of his thumb.
“Hey Mr. Jak,” Kevin said, suddenly feeling exceptionally tired. “I got that status report you wanted on the clown.”
“I heard,” Karl’s voice responded smoothly. “Tell the science folks down there to tag that one for use in those ... very secret trials we were talking about."
“Gotcha,” the redhead nodded to himself, fumbling with his clipboard to make the appropriate notation. He realized, distantly, that he was still trembling… and that Mr. Jak was still talking in his ear.
“Kevin?” Karl said, sounding as if he’d had to repeat himself several times.
Someone nearby seemed to notice him standing there, probably looking traumatized as hell, because they came over and touched his shoulder, speaking concernedly at him. The voices didn’t make much sense to Kevin’s ears, but he was able to focus on Mr. Karl’s voice over the phone, so he’d probably be alright.
“Uh… yes, sir?” Kevin asked, his words slurring together.
“Take the rest of the day off.”
