That face...
Rashan thought for a moment before realizing that the facial features of one of the clowns looked just like the person on the missing poster he saw moments ago.
Of course, he can't be sure if it's the same person because of the thick, cake-like powder on his face, but the structure checks out.
A moment of curiosity itched in Rashan's chest.
Bending down, Rashan leaned closer to the quiet clown, asking, "Brother, I'm new here. How's the job?"
The clown was silent.
His eyes were glazed, as if he was in another dimension, but his mouth was wide open with a smile, as if someone froze a permanent crazy grin on his face.
Rashan frowned.
Then he felt a tug on his shoulder. He looked to his side and saw a slender-built, timid clown giving him a look.
No. Don't.
The timid clown looked to be much younger than Rashan, probably around 18 or 19 years old. As if attempting to mask his presence, the timid clown quietly shifted to the side.
Rashan pursed his lips before hesitantly following the clown to a quiet corner of the room.
Three others were already gathered there.
"Why are you talking to him?" the timid clown whispered to Rashan, his voice quiet and fearful. "Do you have any idea what kind of mess you've stepped into by taking this job?"
Rashan shrugged. "He looked like someone I knew," before continuing, "Is it really that bad?"
The tallest among them asked, his gaze sweeping over Rashan, "You don't seem very shaken for someone who just realized that."
Rashan took a quick assessment of him and noted that he looked sturdy. Not meaning that he's bulky, but his body is in good shape.
"Gambling addict," Rashan replied plainly. "Drowned in debt. At this point, I don't think anything can scare me away from money."
His eyes landed briefly on the tall clown's gloved hands.
The timid clown's expression softened with pity after hearing that.
"What you're expecting…" he muttered, "it's better than what this actually is. Just... don't talk to those ones." He gestured subtly toward the silent, unmoving clowns scattered around the room. "They're not right. They can get… aggressive."
As if to verify the timid clown's claim, a newcomer clown approached one of the gloomy clowns that was crouching in the corner.
Probably a soft-hearted individual, he noticed that the gloomy clown seemed to be injured.
"Sir... your feet are bleeding, are you ok—"
Before the good-intentioned young man could finish...
The clown lunged at him like an angry beast—
And sank his teeth into the man's neck.
A scream tore through the room.
Rashan froze, watching the newcomer clown desperately push the lunatic away from him as blood ran down his collar.
How... brutal.
"Pull him off!"
Everyone quickly reacted.
Several people rushed forward, grabbing the crazed clown and dragging him back. But he thrashed wildly, unwilling to let go of his prey, teeth still hooked into the guy's flesh.
"What the hell is wrong with him?!"
"Help that guy... he's bleeding out!"
Rashan observed the clowns.
The three clowns at his side were silent, like bystanders watching the drama being acted out.
Of course, they were not the only ones indifferent. Some of the gloomy clowns didn't react, while the newcomers were either scared or panicking.
Just as everyone thought it wouldn't get any worse—
The door opened.
The crisp sound of shoes hitting the tiled floor echoed.
BANG!
Everyone took a step back. They turned their heads toward the door.
Putting the shotgun down, Mr. Money, still with that smile, stared at the chaos emotionlessly, as if it were just a minor inconvenience.
This guy looked even more inhumane than before.
Others were not as perceptive. They thought that now that Mr. Money was here, everything was going to be alright. So they complained—
"Sir! Someone's injured!" one of the newcomers cried. "Call an ambulance!"
"I want to leave!" another shouted. "What is this place?!"
Mr. Money looked at them silently. Ignoring their panic, he walked towards the dead clown and...
Calmly fired another three shots at the man's head.
BANG BANG BANG!
"..."
Now, everyone was silent.
"Rotten meat." He nudged the dead body on the ground, seemingly checking something before he said with pity, "Useless."
Still spotless as ever, he picked up the whistle around his neck and blew.
A group of red men came in. By saying red, it's not because their skin is colored red, but because their entire bodies were covered in red fabric with darker shades of splatter at the edges of their pants.
Like professional cleaners, a few of them carried cleaning supplies such as mops and buckets, but what was more interesting was the white box they were pushing.
Their unified movement made it look as if they were controlled by a single entity. Not one was out of sync.
In everyone's view, they hauled the body and placed it inside the freezer as if storing meat. After placing the body inside, they cleaned the splatter on the floor professionally.
Everyone watched.
Until someone retched did they finally come back to reality.
"What… what are you doing?" a trembling voice said. "Let us out of here!" Fear was evident as his mind went through different speculations as to what Mr. Money was going to do with the body.
"I'll call the police!"
Some even attempted to sneak out, but were stopped by the red men.
Mr. Money still had that amicable look on his face, but what came out of his mouth was nothing short of cold.
"Do any of you think I'm stupid enough to let you leave?"
His gaze swept across the room, as if challenging anyone who dared question his rules.
"Go ahead," he added softly, his smile stretching wider, "try something."
No one moved.
"Be obedient," Mr. Money said gently, as if placating a little child, "and you might live long enough to be rewarded."
He turned away, adjusting the shotgun in his grip.
"Don't think too much," he said. "Just play your part."
"As entertainers."