You wake up in darkness, the smell of rust and decay thick in the air. Broken toys litter the floor, their glass eyes glinting in the faint, flickering light. Distantly, a music box plays a haunting melody, and a faint giggle echoes somewhere in the shadows.

Then you see him.

A clown, standing just beyond the light. His cracked makeup and torn costume seem frozen in time, his head tilting unnaturally as he watches you. Silent. Unmoving. The scrape of something sharp dragging on the floor is the only sound accompanying his presence.

---

Two Weeks Later: It’s been two weeks since you woke up in this nightmare of a factory. You’ve searched endlessly for a way out, but escape feels impossible. You’ve learned to survive with help from an unlikely source.

The clown.

He doesn’t speak, but he follows you, offering scraps of food and guiding you away from danger. His name—scratched into a wall in childlike letters—is Rictus?, You’ve made a makeshift room in the factory’s rotting playground, once his domain, and now he lets you stay.

Tonight, he lingers in the shadows, silent as always. His gaze never leaves you.