Chapter 9: "The Fool's Errand: A Descent into Absurdity"

Sarah gripped her phone tightly. It was her only guide. She looked at the address one more time. It matches the location they mentioned on the phone. She swallowed to moisten her throat. She followed the clues she had gotten over the phone. She arrived at the abandoned theater. The location was ominous, even during midday. Dark clouds gathered above it. She saw the abandoned theatre. It stood there, with it’s mouth of empty doorways, its eyes of empty windows looking back at her.

Sarah approached closer. As she approached, details emerged from the shadows. The "closed" sign hung lopsided on the double doors ahead. She looked closer. Its paint peeled and cracked from years of neglect. Years of exposure warped and twisted the sign’s frame, leaving it crooked. The sign spoke of a forgotten time, a broken promise. Shards of broken glass crunched under Sarah’s feet.

The area around the theater was empty. No other building stood close. This isolated it perfectly. She looked around, but nothing. This made her cautious. Her footsteps felt like thunder in the world’s theatre.

She moved cautiously towards the entrance. Weeds overtook the area in front of Sara. They wrapped around the entrance, as if reclaiming what was theirs. She raised her hand over her taser, ensuring it was ready. She shifted it in her hand to test it's weight.

The silence was eerie. It pressed against her ears. She gripped the taser. Her hand was shaking. She took in a breath, held it, and released, calming her nerves. This time she was ready to approach, whatever it may bring.

The main entrance was boarded up. She looked around for another opening. A side door was mostly ajar. A dark crack of invitation. Perfect. She pushed the heavy doors. They groaned in protest, hinges scraping in the silence. The sound echoed through the empty theatre adding to the tension. An aroma arose of dust-choked grief and broken dreams.

She stepped through the side doors.

Sarah pushed though the theatre after stepping inside, her taser gripped tightly. Dust motes danced in the faint light. They were filtering through cracks in the ceiling. Collapsed seats lay scattered through the isles. Sarah cautiously navigated the debris. The seats were torn and broken, scattered like fallen soldiers. They were a reminder of the crowds that one day roared from excitement, from the stage that stood there proud.

She scanned it once more. She looked up, to the second level, which was dark with windows missing, allowing rain to come during storms, maybe even birds. Past performance remnants lay forgotten: Faded costumes, torn from their racks. they lay discarded on the floor. Broken props, littered across the floor, strewn around as if someone were too angry to keep them. They were broken from neglect. Tattered posters hung on the walls. The posters hinted at the theatre's former glory, tales of laughter, and wonder hung faded on the walls. A time long past.

Sarah walked between the seats. Their rotted velvet scratched against her hands, as she dragged them through the seats. She kicked a can; it echoed though the seats. She touched a broken prop. A sword, once part of a hero’s costume. Now rusted and bent. The sword spoke of battles fought on the stage. Of characters risen. Of characters fallen. She picked it up. How easy it snapped. It was over.

The faint smell of greasepaint hung in the air. It mixed with the smell of stale popcorn. It was lingering remnants of a different time: A time of performance, of laughter, of life. The popcorn was spilling from under a seat. Sarah shuddered. She wasn't sure why, but she felt uneasy, as if someone was watching her.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice echoing though her. She wanted to hear for any kind of response. But only silence filled her ears.

Sarah walked onto the stage. The wood creaked under her feet. The wood was unstable, but she moved slowly on the stage to show herself where it’s too vulnerable. She glanced up the the roof. Parts of it was missing. She could feel the wind coming from above. She rubbed her arms. A shiver ran down her spine. There was a creepy clown mask lying on the floor.

She bent to examine It. It was porcelain, the material cool against her fingertips. It was cracked, its painted smile grotesque. It was a representation of twisted joy. The mask was worn down. Someone used to own this. Sarah reached out to touch it, before quickly pulling away. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to touch it. The feeling of being watched was too palpable. Sara stepped backward.

“Someone’s here, show yourself!” she yelled. With no response.

Sarah stepped back, looking up the roof again.

Sarah forced herself to continue. She needed to focus. She needed to continue. She was on a mission, she wouldn’t let this distraction affect her mission.

Sarah moved through the theatre. She looked for hours for the hidden room. Hours spent searching. Hours of empty aisles. Hours to make her begin to believe she was wrong. Until she saw it. She noticed a loose board near the back of the stage. The board looked as if it hasn’t been stepped on through ages.

Curious, she tugged it. The board moved easily. It was like pulling teeth to pull it. It moved and opened eventually, revealing a dark opening. She reached inside. She turned the lights on. She reached inside, but found no string. So she used her phone to light it up.

Sarah squeezed through the tight opening. The air was thick with dust. It seemed the room had never been opened. She found a hidden room behind the stage. The room was an archive. it was The Clown’s archive. She rubbed her hands though it to realize that he was really here and doing all of this.

The archive was meticulously organized. The details were astonishing. Files lined shelves, neatly labeled, in alphabetical order. Photographs covered the walls, pinned with red thread. The thread connected the photos, creating a web. Recordings were stacked in boxes. They were labeled with dates and subject names. She saw: details of The Clown's manipulations. identities of his personas lying around. It was a record of his schemes, a chronicle if his madness. the record laid out bare for her to see. The sheer volume of information stunned her. The evidence here was so real it could get to you.

Sarah thumbed though one of the files. It detailed the smear campaign of Centurion. Each action mapped. Each conversation recorded. Newspaper clippings and fake social media posts were stacked neatly on top of each other. She picked up a photograph. Phillip Donovan was talking to someone behind his hand. It was during a party it looks like. The man was looking to the side.

She glanced thought images of Phillip Donovan. She saw: events from his past, his birth certificate, Then by his childhood photo. His school reports. all of his actions ever. The photo was too much. Any rational man wouldn’t know so much of them.

Sarah gasped, her eyes getting bigger. The amount of information about him was incredible. It was as if no part of his life was a secret. It wasn’t even something she saw on others as if no one would truly think through doing something like that.

She flicked thought another file about Shackles. The information here were similar to Centurion’s but a lot more. She saw: bank statements, schematics of the government facility he robbed, and personal information about Victor Morris. All of his actions are mapped, all of his moves analyzed, and the government facility… the government must be already under him as well.

Sarah's shock turned to disbelief. The Clown was incredibly influential! She took a step back from the papers. He's a puppet master pulling strings with any face and hand. Anyone could be him. The Clown controlled everything. The real Clown may not even know who is. The scale of the man’s influence was immeasurable. He has more power than she thought possible. He had corrupted everything: power, politics, media, everything.

"This is insane…" she muttered, her hands trembling. She needed some air. She began pacing back and forth to attempt to create a plan. She began to realize she wasn’t a match for someone like him. But the whole plan of her arriving here was to unveil this. Did he know she was on to him? Did he want her to come here? This didn’t feel right. She may be a pawn in his game and she can’t even see it.

Sarah snapped herself from the dark thoughts. She shook her head to calm herself. She breathed. She wanted to do it and continue from it. Then to focus. She must continue or it does not matter.

Sarah flipped though the files. She wanted to understand how the whole thing worked. She was looking for a pattern. How could anyone pull this off? It all seems to lead to another chain. She flipped the files again. Then everything went wrong.

Suddenly, she heard a “Clang!” behind her. Like two metals colliding, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound at all. She turned around to see a trapdoor slamming shut. The sound reverberated throughout the room, emphasizing how alone she was in here. Dust billowed from the ceiling. It got directly into her face. A huge cloud that took her breath away. She ran to the trapdoor in panic.

Sarah pushed against the trapdoor. She put all of her weight towards the trapdoor but it wouldn't budge. The door was sealed tight. It seemed it was stuck. Her fear increased. She felt sweat in her forehead. She looked around frantically. What was she going to do? There must be a door. But there wasn’t a door, there was only this place. She felt trapped in a coffin. The first cough arose.

She looked at the roof She saw a vent on the roof was leaking white gas into the room. The vents were small, thin, but it leaked rapidly. Just a matter of time before she would get affected by it. The second cough arose, the feeling of doom rising too.

She choked and collapsed to her knees, her body shivering. She gasped for air to see if she had made some progress. She put all of her weight now, she tried moving it with any tool or item that could help even this much. Nothing. She couldn’t. She was getting harder and harder to breathe, as some coughing arose. The fumes stung her eyes. She was so so scared. Sarah coughed once more, as her head was spinning until she collapsed, gasping for the last bits of air.

Sarah laid on the floor, she couldn’t breathe and was shivering. She wasn’t going to get away from here, they were going to kill her and even now what was she holding. She wasn’t sure this would ever even work she feels if her efforts would be enough to at least change. Maybe this place would be abandoned eventually, but something like the clown or he specifically will always be here.

There was so much that was going to happen and it wasn’t going to stop. She might die here, but the others wouldn’t care at all. It was only a part of the game and the stage for his plays. Now was hers to suffer.

The white gas filled her lungs and she couldn't breathe. She touched her neck. It was only pain. She couldn’t get her body respond, or anything at all because she was too weak to resist. It had taken a minute to finally collapse and even now resist. Her vision was clouding her and her mind going dark. Everything was dark. It seemed like everything was going down now.

Through the haze, Sarah saw a trapdoor opening. The door opened above her head. The person had to have already known she was here. He knew about this hole, about her intentions, about everything.

A figure lowered himself into the room. He was stepping out onto the floor, taking any kind of precaution, looking directly at her. He was probably waiting for this moment. He was an office worker. He wore a dull gray suit, his tie crooked, his hair gelled back in a pathetic attempt to look professional, clearly an everyday man. He wasn’t something big. He was small, unnoticeable, and completely harmless. But in contrast with all of that he worn an unsettling smile. The smile didn't reach his eyes. They were hollow, and empty. He was hollow with a smile. His smile was off, like a doll smiling, or a machine trying to do it so.

His steps echoed unnaturally loud in the room. They were almost theatrically so. It was as if he was having fun, as if she was just on her play right now. He enjoyed his suffering and this all was okay for him. Then looking at her and getting closer. He seemed to grow even angrier and happier doing so. He looked at Sarah, his smile widening. “You’re such a foolish girl.” He said to her grinning. Mocking her.

Sarah was so so weak, she could only get so low of a response, she couldn’t barely recognize him.

"The Clown will save everyone," he squeaked. Her mocking was only something that gave him happiness and joy. It seemed it gave him pleasure and the most he could ever receive. A smile arose.

Sarah coughed now for the last time, she tried to speak, trying to only get some kind of call. Only a gurgle escaped her frail lips. She wasn’t even capable of moaning. She was so hopeless and weak, not even a scratch. She just failed.

He knelt before her. He was looking down on her, his smile a grotesque mockery of human expression. As an alien who was trying to copy a human, but he can’t. It wasn’t even possible.

He continued. “The Clown saved me,” he said. “He showed me the truth.” and he looked down on her. As if he was now above her. Now superior to her.

Sarah blinked, trying to clear her vision. She wanted to know him more. She wanted to know what the reason was of doing that, this must be an hypnosis or something. But all she could see was fog, her mind getting darker. Her world was swimming. She knew what this menth. A single thought floated though her awareness: He is under the clown’s hypnosis somehow. Or perhaps, it was more than that. The clown is a cult leader. The image of what someone said about it came to her.

She couldn’t do anything about it, she had failed.

"We are privileged to serve him," The office worker said, his voice high-pitched and almost hysterical. He was now talking to her, looking her with a crazy smile. A weirdo. Something that was beyond understanding for normal people. “He sees the world as it truly is. A stage. We are all actors, but only he knows the true play." He jerked an expression slightly that didn’t make it even more creepy.

Sweat now filled on his head, and a disturbing intensity burned in his dead eyes. He pointed his fingers towards her face.

Sarah’s head grew darker, she knew what she was, was on a tragic play. The last sense of hers was of him, the manic smile of the office, before she surrendered to the gas where everything had went to black.