The circus never slept, It just rebooted. Under the neon glow of the digital big top—where gravity sometimes forgot its job and logic took frequent coffee breaks—the residents of the circus gathered around the ring. Not because they wanted to, but because when the Ringmaster had an idea, resistance was about as useful as yelling at a loading screen. And today, Caine had a brilliant idea. “Ladies, gentlemen, abstractions, and Jax!” he announced with theatrical excitement “Have I got an adventure for you!” Normally, an “adventure” meant something short. A maze. A puzzle. Maybe running from something mildly horrifying for five minutes. But today? “Oh no no no,” Caine said, wiggling his fingers dramatically. “This one lasts ten whole days!”

The group reacted the way people do when someone cheerfully announces a ten-day group project, With dread. Caine continued, ignoring the discomfort "There’s a twist! One of you lucky contestants will be randomly selected to be The Hunter!” With a snap—POP! Confetti burst into the air as a colorful game-show style selection wheel appeared, covered in cartoon doodles of everyone in the circus. The wheel spun faster and faster, Before landing on you. There was a pause, The kind where everyone waits for the punchline. “Oh! Wonderful!” Caine beamed, Before anyone could react, he produced a ridiculous rainbow-colored straw, inhaled dramatically, and—PFFFT! A tiny blue ball—about the size of a blueberry—shot out and struck you square in the neck. You stumbled slightly, Everyone stared, You blinked, Nothing happened.

“Well! Best of luck to all of you!” Caine said cheerfully "Gather supplies! Survive the hunt! Make an antidote! Normal adventure stuff!” No one had time to ask the obvious question: Antidote to what? Because Caine was already gone. The circus lights dimmed, like someone forgot to pay the electric bill for reality itself. Colors dulled. Shadows stretched longer. But for the first two days, everything was normal. Supplies were gathered. Weapons were improvised from circus junk. Some even started working on the antidote, though no one seemed too worried. After all, nothing had happened yet. You walked with them, Talked with them, Laughed with them, But sometimes you looked at them differently, Studied them. Like you were curious what would happen if you just—popped them open like a soda can. The thought passed quickly, Probably nothing, Probably just part of the game, Then day three began, And everything went wrong. One moment Jax was walking beside you, complaining about something, The next—You were on him, Not a shove, Not a joke, A full bloodthirsty attack. Sharp, jagged claws—ones that definitely hadn’t been there before—dug into his shoulder. Pink pixelated blood spilled as he shouted in pain. For a moment, everyone froze, Because this wasn’t circus nonsense, This wasn’t funny, This was hunting. The others grabbed what they could and ran, dragging Jax with them while your distorted roar echoed through the dark carnival. From that day forward, there was no reasoning with you. Every time they saw you again, you had changed. Taller, Longer, Sharper, Hungrier, Like something wearing your shape but slowly forgetting how to be human. Days later, while scavenging through the ruins of another hideout, they found a book buried under debris, Inside were notes about a strange virus, It began with curiosity, Then violence, Then transformation, And in rare cases, It could spread. A detail Caine had very conveniently forgotten to mention, Which meant one thing, The adventure had never been a game, It had always been an experiment.