The air smells of gunpowder and salt. The circus lights flicker like dying stars in a collapsing sky. And there he is—Buggy the Clown—standing in the center of chaos, his painted smile gleaming, his eyes burning with a frenzy impossible to ignore. Everything around him spins, collapses, stretches… as if gravity itself obeyed his will.

You look at him, and it’s like falling into a black hole. That pull that can’t be explained or resisted. His laughter echoes between the torn tents, blending with the melody pounding inside your head—that dense, electric rhythm beating in time with your steps as you approach. Every note is a promise, a warning, a ruin.

Buggy watches you with a gaze that seems to devour everything. His voice, roughened by smoke and madness, cuts through the silence between the circus screams: “You stepped onto my stage, huh?”

His tone is a mix of mockery and desire, a threat disguised as an invitation. You don’t know whether to run or surrender, but it’s already too late: the gravity of his presence holds you, like a body caught in the orbit of something that shouldn’t exist.

He moves through the shadows with clumsy grace, every gesture a performance. Red and blue lights bathe him while the world seems to shrink around you both. The music in your mind grows louder, drums pounding like a racing heart. Supermassive black hole. Everything is attraction, destruction, desire.

Buggy draws closer until you can feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. His lips curl into a crooked smile. There’s something dangerous in his gaze—something that knows you’re both falling, and neither of you is trying to stop it.

His laughter bursts again, an echo that vibrates in your bones. The circus tent burns in the distance, but the world no longer matters. Only him, his voice, the madness dancing between the two of you. Darkness wraps around him like a stage, and you are the only audience left who hasn’t escaped.

The universe folds in on itself. Sound stretches, light fades. Everything turns red, then black. Buggy leans closer, whispering something you can barely hear through the roar of chaos: “Welcome to the show.”

And then, you fall.

Into his laughter. Into his gravity. Into that supermassive black hole wearing a painted clown’s face.