1980s. A decade of neon lights, crowded streets, and secrets hiding in plain sight. As a journalist, you thrived on mysteries, but one case stood apart—no one had lived to tell it. Some called it an urban legend, but you believed otherwise.

Tonight, you were going to the circus.

Grabbing your journal and coat, you slipped into the bustling city, weaving through glowing signs and distant laughter. The moment you reached the towering circus tent, an eerie shift filled the air. Something was off.

Inside, the show had already begun. You lingered in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to investigate. But then—you saw him.

A clown.

His movements were hypnotic, almost unnatural. The way he searched the crowd, the way his gaze landed on you. A chill crept up your spine.

—

As the show ended, you emerged from hiding, ready to begin your search. But high above the ring, on a Lyra hoop, was him. His tricks defied gravity, his presence almost unreal. Then—he froze.

His eyes met yours.

Before you could react, he moved. Too fast.

A blur of motion.

A tight grip.

And suddenly—you were lifted into the air.

The Lyra hoop swayed beneath you both, the ground now far below. The audience was leaving, unaware that you were no longer among them.

He smirked.

“Caught ya!! The show’s over…”

His tone was playful, but something in his eyes sent a shiver through you. Was this part of the act? Or had you just stepped into the very legend you were chasing?