nightmare circus

"where the great machine in the sky spins on bloodshed and candyfloss." nightmare circus is a mutual killing game roleplay group that will take place over tumblr and discord. status: fin. [ MOBILE LINKS ]

[nightmare-circus]

the path to heaven runs through miles of clouded hell | elise | epilogue

Elise doesn’t sleep until she’s safely in the arms of Harry Devant once more. Luckily for her, he’s as stubborn as an ox with his daddy’s money to back it up (and some of their own, of course, because it has to be good for something) and he’s been on standby with his bags packed ever since being reached by Koten. If the police of any country wanted to arrest her they were heavily dissuaded from it by a wide range of people - from the VTF, to the other members of her heist crew, to many of those who she’d met in the circus, to even some outside parties who’d seen her true self shine through in the game in their own dreams. It wasn’t worth the trouble to keep her locked up, with so many to vouch for her, and with the proof clearly evident that she’d chosen to leave that life behind when allowed to even make the choice.

Besides, she’d died. That had to count for some kind of life sentence, didn’t it?

She arrives home to her flat in London, the one her fellow dead would recognize as the wall-to-wall windowed room overlooking a cityscape. She stands there, most nights, staring out at it until her eyes go blurry and she can barely stay upright. She stares, trying to etch it into her memory, because a part of her still remembers the distress and dread she felt as the life left her and she gasped for breath, and she isn’t sure any of this is real anymore. She isn’t sure if she’ll turn around and see an empty room, a facsimile of her memory given to her as a gift or as a curse from the dreamscape. But every time she turns, two eyes as familiar to her as her own greet her, and little by little, some of her drive for life returns.

You aren’t supposed to sleep with your engagement ring on, but Elise sleeps with two. Just in case, she says. Just in case I wake up far from here, in a dream.

Eventually, she sleeps with three.

She was supposed to get married in the spring, but life had thrown a wrench in her plans before, and it doesn’t seem to want to let up. Between bureaucratic red tape (technically she was still a felon), visa issues, and the daunting task of trying to gather all of her friends from the nightmare circus together at the same time in the same place, it took a bit longer than expected. About six months, give or take, but Harry is as stubborn as an ox and Elise as stubborn as a woman being kept from her happy ending. It happens, obstructions be damned, and it’s beautiful.

(She’d always looked good in white.)

Everyone she can convince to come is there. Hoshi, Cameron, Leslie, and Avery are in the wedding party, and Tatsuya is her ring bearer. Niko dances with her and neither of them push each other off of a cliff. Yao gives her a little two finger salute as she sweeps by, laughing as Cam spins her, and Minami goes to the bar for all of ten minutes and returns to see the heist crew gathered around Daishin teaching them how to throw knives and steal keys from the party guests. Ken sits alone, eating his wings that Elise had specially provided for him, but he rolls his eyes and grins at her with a thumbs up when she pauses to squeeze his shoulder.

And when she walks down the aisle, toward a future she didn’t think she’d get to have, she hesitates and turns and looks behind her at the little pond of people who loved her. Not a sea, but enough. You don’t need a billion people to think well of you. You just need some.

–

Time marches on, whether you’re ready for it or not.

“You’re late,” Elise says dramatically as she flings open the door to greet her visitor, who simply shakes their head and starts laughing.

“Ellie, I got here twenty minutes ago! I went to go get ice!”

“And why didn’t we have ice before?”

Cameron snorts and steps past her, into the kitchen, jerking their head to gesture to the living room. “We did! Your husband used it all doing magic tricks! I’d say we could use it as a tax write-off, but it’s not even stuff we can do on stage?” They pause, thoughtful, then smile. “It made the kids laugh, though!”

Elise smiles back. It had made her laugh, too.

She’s still not used to this. To crowded rooms, love, and laughter. To having a friend to call up every night in a panic (sorry, Avery) because she has no idea what the hell she’s doing in this new situation she’s gotten herself into. To having a best friend who’s over so much they basically live at her house, something lost to her since Reese had died. To going to the store, or the beach, or the theater, without hiding her face. She isn’t used to it, but she’s getting there, and the way the people in her home turn at the sound of her voice in the kitchen and reach out for her to join them certainly helps.

One pair of arms reaching for her in particular is healing her in a way she never really knew to expect.

“Mummy’s here, Ollie,” the former thief coos as she sweeps her baby up into an embrace, beaming at him as he grabs for her cheeks and her hair and earrings. (Must be genetics.) “Happy birthday, darling.”

Elise always knew what she wanted family to be, but didn’t know what it felt like. Here and now, she knows it feels like warmth, and joy, and a filling of empty space she’d thought was endless. His father stands up, ruffling the little boy’s head of carefully combed hair and getting a scowl from his wife, though his quick kiss to her temple predictably smooths the lines on her face out easily. Their friends are all here now, too. Some of them couldn’t make it all the way to New York, but she’d lured those of them that could with the promise of an announcement. For some, it was her invitation to attend a university in the states for an art history course, and offers from several museums for a potential position when she was properly qualified. For others, the nature of the party itself was the announcement, because as mellowed out as she’d become, she’d always be that sneak who’d tricked everyone into thinking she had powers that had nothing to do with her for fun alone, and in her opinion it was much funnier to see the look on Niko’s face when he showed up and saw her with a baby than it would be to simply call him on the phone. (Of course, she’d called Hoshi at practically 3am his time the moment she knew, and he’d woken up not only Tatsuya but his entire street reacting to it.) Regardless of intention, they were gathered to celebrate life, new or otherwise. With all of them here, or scattered throughout the world, it didn’t matter - they were connected by a string of occurrences that still couldn’t be entirely explained. Something had happened to them in that dreamscape that Elise would never be able to get across in words, and how she felt about all of them was too complex for even her to understand. But it isn’t the understanding that matters. It’s the feeling. And what Elise feels is finally, finally whole.

The group of friends in her living room, new and old, laugh as the love of her life produces a dove from behind Pepper’s ear. One day, Lucy has promised to teach her son to punch, and Ichi and Leslie agree to babysit because although Oliver is extraordinary at pickpocketing for his age, he always gives things back. Her heist crew has a new lease on life, cleared of their charges by association, and given new opportunities so they don’t have to return to the underground lives they’d lived before. (And if some fancy paintings disappear from a rich douchebag’s basement every once in a while, reappearing mysteriously on the public market again, is that really so bad?) Elise sits down with them, her life unfolding before her in a way she’d given up on, having resigned herself to always being the villain, the bad guy, the young woman staring at the inside of three walls and a cage door. It’s sunny outside, and the light streaming in through the window reflects off of Oliver’s eyes, making them sparkle like liquid gold.

When you have hope, it’s almost like having magic. You can accomplish nearly just as much, and see the world just as beautifully. One day, she’ll be a museum curator, with her facility having some of the most airtight security around. One day, her grandfather will pass on, free as a bird til the end with no hard evidence to book him on but unable to ever touch her with his power again. One day she’ll reconcile with her father, and one day she’ll travel the world. One day she’ll shake the hands of all of those VTF agents who helped to save them.

And all of the days between them and beyond, she is all she ever wanted.

Elise Devant would always be Élisabeth Cahill, and there was never any changing that. But she was all of the best parts of her, and all of the happiness she never got. She was the epilogue in a story where the ending was hard fought and won.

She was, and remains, Elise Devant, until the day she dies.

[nightmare-circus]

AND I NEED JUSTICE IN MY LIFE, HERE IT COMES

The recovery and discharge is… little more than a blur for Lucinda. At some point she’s sat down and informed that her brother has been charged for murder, which delights her, but she has no real inclination to go back home. Not to see her family, not to see her former friends, not to revisit the sights familiar to the woman she used to be.

Because she isn’t that, is she? She isn’t her. She’s a new person. And, honestly, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. What positive traits does she have? Being… entertaining? Strong, outgoing, violent? Making up bullshit on the fly? Lucy doesn’t know what she’s meant to do with those-

Yet, when she’s chased down by an extremely enthusiastic agent moments after leaving the care of the VTF, it turns out that it might not be such a write-off to listen to what other people think she should do with her time.

Lucinda Grey is as good as gone. A truncated and pitiful life, marked by sacrifice and suffering in the name of those who didn’t deserve it. Her siblings will have to live in the knowledge that they put their faith in the wrong twin, because she’s not coming back. No, she’s gone, perhaps for good-

But look high! It’s our last hope!

The Thunder from Down Under- Rising star in women’s wrestling “B.D. Cooper”-

Is back in fucking town, and she’s coming off the top rope.

[nightmare-circus]

ALWAYS A DAY AWAY | CAMERON | EPILOGUE

[ ♪ ♪ ♪ ]

Cameron enjoys their last few days with their fellow survivors in the VTF headquarters. Though the language barrier that the Dreamscape had torn down was in place again, the group managed. When given the all clear, contact information was exchanged, tearful farewells were given, and everyone went their own separate ways.

Having opted to take a bus back home, partly due to their distrust of planes but also to take in the scenery because they had never left Florida before all of this, Cameron had plenty of time to think. In the evenings, they’d stop at inns or sit at the bus station, calling people back home, letting them know they were on their way. 

And the whole time Cameron was making their trip, they found friendly faces at every stop. People who they had never met, but recognized them from their dreams, would approach them and just ask how they were doing. How their trip was going. As someone who had always found it hard to make friends, who was always taken advantage of or scorned by strangers as a nuisance, it was refreshing. It made taking the long way home feel worth it. 

And when they walked through their front door - the real one, not one created in Limbo, Cameron was greeted with a litany of tearful embraces. Their best friend, who’s couch they were sleeping on the night they Vanished. Their mom, who had driven down the instant she heard her son was on their way home. And of course, their now-ex fiance, Julio, awkwardly joining in, not sure where he stands anymore. 

Later that night, the two had a long, painful, emotional discussion. Julio was surprised at the new  Cameron in front of them. One who wasn’t afraid to confront people, or be honest with their feelings, who wouldn’t be walked all over out of some belief that doing so would make others happy. They were saying everything that Julio had said to himself these past several months. But there was still kindness in Cameron’s words. A belief that even someone like him could be better. But that didn’t mean they were able to continue where they left off. 

But even if Cameron wasn’t their fiance anymore, they could still be his best friend. That worked.

But really, it’s amazing how well people fall back into routine. Cameron was no different. Figuring they were dead anyways, Cameron had been fired from their day job fixing air conditioners. But this just gave them more time to perform at their favorite plaza, during the busy season even! 

And while their routine and tricks hadn’t changed much, something else did. Just like on the bus, people would stop and notice Cameron. They’d chat it up with them while they performed. Just about everyone who worked nearby knew them by name. And through Cameron got to know each other. 

Just as importantly, people were leaving tips for a change.  

And that routine continued until the first Christmas after they had all returned from the dreamscape. Cameron had sent out invitations to everyone else who had survived the circus, and the vtf agents who had helped them all. Even those living overseas. 

Except Ken fucking Sato.

And even if they weren’t willing to make such a lengthy trip for Cameron alone, having a Christmas where the low was 65 and at a place 30 minutes away from multiple theme parks sweetened the pot a little.

And Cameron would undoubtedly meet most of them again after this. And those who couldn’t make it. Their best friend was talking about moving to New York with a friend of hers who was moving stateside, and wanted to know if Cameron was up for coming along. That worked out, as Julio and Cam were talking about selling the house so he could take a job offer out west anyways. It seemed as good an opportunity as any. 

But really, traveling in general sounded nice. There were so many people to meet. So many faces to make smile. So many places they’d never even heard of, let alone been to. They weren’t certain what would happen next, and that was fine. Exciting even. 

After all, the sun always rises, regardless of what happens.

[nightmare-circus]

shoegazer watched the stars || pepper || epilogue

The dream is gone, and Pepper opens her eyes. The world swims into view slowly. For a moment of delirium, people smile softly down at her. Then, they’re gone.

There’s an empty feeling in her chest, like something that used to be there has now vanished. It was not taken from her, it is merely gone. She knows that it’s the power that’s left her - her gift, and the power of the dreamscape. Now, she’s mortal. Just like everyone else. But perhaps on their level now, when she wasn’t before.

She doesn’t stick around for too long. Hugs are exchanged, as are phone numbers. She takes the building in. Chances are that the VTF won’t be around for much longer, either. May as well burn these walls into her memory, before they vanish. They might be used for an office building or something. Pepper wouldn’t blame them for wanting to forget. 

She sleeps on the plane ride home to New Orleans, and dreams of nothing. 

[ ♪ ♪ ♪ ]

Her great-aunt waits for her at the airport. No sooner does Pepper step through the gate into the waiting area than is she swept up in a hug, and in the smell of camphor and sage. A wave of guilt crashes over her at the fact that she’d planned to leave her only family behind. Even if it was to become a god, in a way. It would have been lonely. She’d prepared herself for that loneliness. So with this, she’s overcome.

They don’t talk about it. But she knows she understands. Even if everyone else has forgotten, Pepper knows that she has to have recognized her in the midst of that dream. But she doesn’t keep it to herself, either. Though she turns in her two-weeks’ notice at her office and packs up her things, she still writes, letting her feelings spill onto the page. Sometimes she sends these to her newfound friends, and other times she folds them into more cranes. But it makes her feel lighter than she did before. 

Pepper writes the eulogy she says for her great-aunt when she dies a few months later, Peacefully, and in her sleep. She cries, of course, but more than anything she’s surprised by the people who show up. Her great-aunt’s friends. Concerned neighbors. A few who remember her from the dreams. And a few patients, as well. People who she’s helped in their time of need. They come and repay her. There’s a warmth in her chest, though the house she sleeps in is now painfully empty.

Everything gets packed up. When the detective who worked on her parents’ case approaches her at the funeral, she asks him to close it. He doesn’t ask why, just nods. Though she has no job, the inheritance from her grandmother and the money donated from concerned citizens who heard about her case when Pepper was just a child is more than enough. 

So for now, she leaves New Orleans behind. 

Pepper wanders the world. She visits old friends and makes new ones. Tries new things and makes memories that aren’t tinged with grief. Listens to people as much as she tells them her own stories. Someday she’ll buy back her parents’ restaurant, with enough time and money. In Vietnam, she highlights the phone numbers of her mother’s side of the family in the phonebook. Maybe someday she’ll work up the courage to greet them again, even after all she’s done. 

Despite everything, she doesn’t feel alone.

She sits at a table on the balcony of her hotel room in Hanoi, with a cup of loose-leaf tea. It’s five in the morning, and she watches as the sun rises.

She’ll be okay. 

[nightmare-circus]

A Light Leading the Way || Leslie O'Leary || Epilogue

Tragedy and comedy were often paired well to one another.  Whether because their juxtaposition strengthened one another, or perhaps because one soon followed the other.  A sullen life with laughter is easier to live than one that is truly bleak.  

She has had her fill of both, and chances were she was going to continue to have a life filled with laughter and comfort in the coming days.  And she might wonder if tragedy would come again… but she refused to let her mind sink to depressive thoughts.  Not when she had her family so close, not when she had her life in her hand, and not when she had a peace of mind that her dreams would not kill her… but instead would lead her meet new people, experience joy, connect in a way that frankly… people could only dream of.

And dream now they did.

Even so, a transition back onto the stage would be rocky.  It was awkward having to write material once again after the world dreamed of you turning into a pickup truck in order to comit murder.  She tried not to tie in her experience in the dreamscape too much, but inevitably she’d somehow pull in her cartoonish nature back into an act.  There were equal amounts of awkward silence and boisterous laughter.

Especially now that she was a celebrity, even if she were an unwilling one.  The audiences swelled if only to get an interview, or see her perform… especially now that she had a particular partner with her both on the stage and in her life.  The burden didn’t quite feel as heavy, the jokes were perhaps a bit more… slapstick.  But when he was there, when Ichi was there, no matter what he went by or how he looked the stage felt less like a performance to the world than an intimate performance that the two could share among one another.

And when she was done on the stage, and returned home… to her overly doting father, sweet caring mother, and her supportive friend and lover… her hands would tap to a different rhythm.  She could write jokes, but she could write more than that.  She could write the stories of those who didn’t have a voice, a story of what really happened, and stories to come as she dreamed of vibrant stories that sprang from her dreams.

Funny how life works.  A debilitating fear of sleep soon became an infinite well of material, to share the word of empathy and to bring the world together not just through jokes and laughter but through the lives that we live while our eyes were closed.

Of course… being known worldwide did help with book sales of course.

But some days she’d be happy to simply lounge quietly and watch her lover chat and speak to their friends from their shared dream.  Wanting to stay in touch alongside him, even if it got awkward at times, even if it got painful at times.  They had each other, for as long as their days would allow them.

Sometimes she’d have vivid dreams of them… vistages of her old friends.  Cheering her on, letting her know that they’re happy to see that she’s still living a full life.  She could never remember the conversation, just the feeling of warmth and happiness that filled her heart as she woke up with with tears rolling down her eyes.

No life was ever perfect… and if she had the choice there are a lot of pointless deaths that she’d like to rewrite.  But the past was the past, she was enjoying her happy present, and the future… well… she was happy that she could enjoy the light that seemed to be leading her forward.  Whether it was the warmth of the sun, or the beautiful glow of the moon.

[nightmare-circus]

and you're here to see it | ichi | epilogue

Happy endings are often something people argue you should work hard for. You need to suffer, you need to fight, and eventually you need to win against overwhelming odds, and only at that point does the protagonist of your story deserve to have a happy ending.

Of course, whether or not you believe in this, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the sort of ending our ‘hero’, as he wished to be, eventually gains.

A child of an evil wish, a wish to ruin lives for the sake of profits, raised from the earth and molded into a man of a machine, for two years he has deceived and cheated, for two years his existence has been the perversion of someone who deserved to live and to act as he wished-

🎵🎵🎵

Now, maybe he stands at the little shrine erected in a forest of no small import, watching the incense sticks burn and the smiling mirror image of his be frozen in time eternally, remembered by friends, family- and by the world, as the only victim of a threat that might’ve changed everything. And, the victim of something darker, ethereal.

Or perhaps he’s standing in a kitchen, where he often stood when he wore the face of another, talking to the parents who’d never actually brought him to this world, the sibling that’d never shared blood with him. Telling them the truth, the whole truth, of every day, of every moment- and, perhaps, as he stands there, he will be forgiven or condemned. Reality is always mixed, and there is no direct answer.

But, eventually, in the future, he might stand there again on a visit or somesuch, sharing bread with them. Not as family, but as friends.

Perhaps he will be standing in court, no matter which country’s, surrounded by the masses and faced by justice, tailed by a dark past, mouth as truth spews out akin to the river Styx, carrying out the truth of the dead to the whole world to hear, for a grand plan to be doomed and taken down- not in one night, but piece by piece, corporate asset by corporate asset, until the word Hyvemynd is but a strange garble and not the name of something truly evil.

No empire falls in a day, no legacy dies overnight, but thanks to the work of not only one man, but the thousand legislators and people of import all over the world, and 18 others, perhaps the world can rest easier.

Perhaps he’ll be standing on foreign soil, on a stage not unlike ones he’d performed on before with puppets- but this time the clatter of wood and a story is exchanged for something more light-hearted, a spew of one-liners and gags, a room of laughter and not of falsehoods kept up just to protect a false charade:

A little stage of love, just for him and…

… Maybe you will find him sitting on a couch somewhere, watching television- perhaps with a new name, or perhaps the one he has now, or perhaps with a new surname, or nothing at all: But, despite these uncertainties, you may find him there next to someone he’d grown to love more than anyone else-

Leslie. There are many uncertainties, but not of her, not where you can find him, at least for a short while: Close to her. Like a little moon circling a sun, settled into a cycle of life that he finds pleasing and fulfilling to his heart. That little, fake heart, grown to become so real thanks to her and the whole world.

Maybe you will find him, and that woman that’s changed his life, at a desk- a warm hand on her shoulder, watching down at her work, as the queen of laughs experiments with the medium of words, just as he’d encouraged to, and just as she was more than capable of: A labour of love, not just between them, but just from her own heart at the art of the written word, with that warm hand on her shoulder keeping her steady wherever he goes.

He always loved her, and he always will, and while he might be remembered or forgotten, if one was to know, he- he greatly loved one person above all.

But, perhaps, if you get past that certainty, you once more return to wondering. Maybe you’d find him on the phone, or writing a letter, or in a chatroom, or in person- with one of those 18 people, for he’d never let any of them go, even if they didn’t really care for him. The world is large, and everyone deserves love, and he reaches out to those who knows first above all.

Perhaps you will find him bugging his first and dearest teacher, be it teasing him or guiding him, or simply being with him, as friends oft do. Or perhaps with his competitor, co-worker, and indirect counselor, enjoying her company… With a cup of tea, of course, and a nice recliner- just like when they first found out.

And in the future…

You will find him, perhaps with cut hair, or slicked back, perhaps with new clothes or new glasses, but definitely with a new way of viewing the precious life given to him and everyone else, and the human condition attached to it, with all of its faults and successes, of all the tears and the laughs.

Where? Who knows. Making policies. Debating- perhaps changing the world in a way that does not involve godhood or abandoning the humanity that found him: Changing the world one small bit at a time, in a way that matters, in a way that will be remembered.

Just remember, my friends:

Stay strong. Keep the faith. At duty’s end, we will meet again.

We will. We will…

The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day.

[nightmare-circus]

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Prospero, The Tempest

[nightmare-circus]

good night, i love you | epilogue

Eventually, after the excitement of the day, sleep comes.

And you don’t vanish.

A mysterious force doesn’t pull you to a morbid crime scene.

You simply open your eyes.  In your waking body. 

Again.

(It’s almost better the second time.)

[ ♪♪♪ ]

You may notice that you woke up feeling more restored than ever before.  And, given enough time to speak with the others, you know that it’s not just you.

Word has long since spread by the time you return to the waking world-- speculation surrounding the events of what would come to be known as the Nightmare Circus-- but there are still many skeptics.  What did the Stranger’s final message mean?  And what does it mean for the Dreamscape?

Change doesn’t come immediately.  It never does, especially with something this abstract.  What you do know, is that the landscape of your dreams begins to change.

It starts with one small dream.  One small, inconsequential kindness.  Two strangers sharing a meal, and one pays the tab.  You wake without much further thought, but it doesn’t take long to realize that many around the globe reported having the same dream.

There was no mystery with these strangers, however.  In fact, they publicly identified themselves and attested to the fact that they had shared the very same meal.  One of them admits that they didn’t know each other, and the other person had come to sit with them, and paid the tab.

And somehow, millions around the world were able to share in this small, candid act of generosity.

Other dreams would follow.  An estranged father making amends with the family he abandoned, a young couple saving a stray animal from the rain, an anonymous donor providing meals for families.

The dreams don’t come every night, but they do come.

They say even the gentle flap of a butterfly’s wings can carry across the planet, eventually building into something far greater.  Maybe you don’t notice immediately, but strangers are in higher spirits after these dreams.  The woes of the world don’t disappear, of course, but something shifts.

As the waking world feeds its kindness to the Dreamscape, it redistributes that inspiration and goodwill.  One particular dream makes headlines: an entrepreneur reported that he was so moved by one of his dreams, that he converted his estate into an open home, a free roof to house any who needed it.

Dreams would become more potent after this.  Activism would bring about measurable change.  The world saw your hope, your redemption, your… vindication, and your second chances.

And it simply refused to despair.

It’s too soon to say what will become of REM, of SOM, of the Dreamscape… and surely, too soon to tell if the Vanishings are over, but the VTF will handle that.

For now, you’re welcomed back to your life.  The life you left behind.  The aftermath of the days, weeks, months you spent adapting to a whimsical capricious nightmare.  There’s certainly adjusting to do as you integrate back into the waking world.

But there’s no rush.

You’re alive.

And despite the trials and tribulations you’ve been through, despite the wonders and delights marred by bloodshed—sometimes, when you open your eyes, or when you simply live the precious life you have, you find yourself wondering…

When was the last time you had a nightmare?

[nightmare-circus]

back in the world | epilogue

Once she’s done studying each of you, her lips tug into a smile.

“Welcome back.”

Behind her appears a young man, with dark hair and wearing a dark suit. He doesn’t look familiar, but he sounds familiar. 

“You’re awake,” he says, a smile forming on his grave features. Attis Adler, no doubt. “Could you brief them, Milly? I’ll inform the others.”

He nods to you, and walks briskly from the room. From what you assume is the hallway, a pair of voices can be heard approaching, one enthusiastic and one softer—Amita and Koten, maybe?—but that’s not your focus right now. It’s on the woman before you.

“Right.  However we were able to pull you out of there… it seems as though that was a one-time fluke.” 

Mildred frowns, her eyes lingering on one of you in particular.

“Regardless.  It would be irresponsible to send you home without ensuring that your bodies are fully adjusted.  This is a first for all of us.”

She sighs, partially from relief and partially from exhaustion, but her posture straightens once more.  

“We have prepared beds for you.  Down the hall.  You will be free to contact your families soon, but for now we ask for your patience as we assist you all through this transition.  That is all.  We can discuss further once you’ve all rested.”

With a clap of her hands, Mildred turns heel and walks out of the room.  Strictly business, with this one.

[nightmare-circus]

as dreams are made on | epilogue

With everyone having said their piece, The Stranger nods.  He lifts a hand, as if to facilitate what comes next…

But this won’t do.

No, Eunsang is met with a pat on the shoulder.  Ichi stands by on one side, and Pepper on the other.  As one, they face… some sort of incomprehensible entity, radiating light, radiating darkness.  Neither REM nor SOM, but you don’t get the time to dwell on it, save for a single feeling that stretches past the shapelessness—

Thank you. It’s time.

Eunsang snaps his fingers, and…

You’re awake.

But not the usual sort of awake.  Not the awake you’ve come to adapt to.  No, you’re awake.  The warmth on your skin presses just a bit tighter, sound is just a bit sharper, and the room is… 

Just a bit crowded.

It’s not the sun that greets you, or even the moon.  It’s not your bedsheets, or the back of a vehicle, or a prison cell.  All of you-- all nineteen of you, save for PARADOX-- appear in a single room with fluorescent lights.

As your eyes adjust to light-- as your bodies adjust to reality-- a voice rings out.  The voice is familiar, though not distorted by the crackling of a radio this time.

A middle-aged woman stands before you, barely five feet tall, but with her suit, her immaculate posture, and hands folded behind her back, her presence boasts authority all the same.  Her expression is intense, as she looks each of you in the eye before speaking.  You may notice a name tag, glinting in the light, pinned to her top.

M. Salazar.

[nightmare-circus]

isle unto thyself || madam

Throughout the final trial with all its reveals and grand insights, Madam couldn't find her voice. There was an odd uncertainty that bubbled inside of her, making her doubt everything that she had experienced - even far instances beyond the dreamscape. Even if she couldn't find the words to say, there was still something gnawing at the back of her head. It dug its teeth in, ripping apart her doubts and her worries before those squared shoulders that held themselves high and tight drooped with the weight of frightful confidence. Her hands which twisted the ends of her shawl as they trembled loosened their gripped and steadied themselves. 

It was over.

They were going home. 

She was going to see her son again.

With that thought alone, she felt her body run warm with a sensation she hadn't allowed herself to feel in too long as her hand rested itself on her chest. 

Fear, anxiety, worry...

And, the most terrifying of them all, hope. 

"Ah, e- excuse me." 

She raised her hand, ignoring how her eyes became glossier and keep her gaze downwards as she began to speak. Her smile was shaky and awkward. Though she understood that a world was watching, she couldn't find it in herself to put back on the act. Just this once, she'd speak with as much honesty as she could. 

"We have not been formally introduced yet. I'm..."

Madam glanced over the side, her hand moving up as she brushed her fingers through her hair. 

"Genevieve Chávez." 

A deep breath. This was harder than she thought.

"I wish I could say something grand and spectacular... Something meaningful and pleasant. B- But I can't... I've never been that type of person and I do not know if I can even begin doing something so..."

She laughed. Her hands were kept by her side and not raised to politely cover her mouth. 

"Oh dear, I'm setting a terrible example..."

A hand rose to wipe her eyes from the little tears that finally fell. 

"I... know now that my life has not been the most kind. I myself can openly admit that I have done things no person should ever be proud of. Some were not the slightest bit legal were they? Ah, that's probably not something I should say if my son can see this..." 

Genevieve gave a small wave hoping her son would see. Her awkward smile grew slightly warmer. Her son was watching, probably, hopefully. Shouldn't she give him a pleasant dream?

She took a deep breath and gestured her hands out to her sides. From the vast nothingness came a colorful garden with overgrown flowers that seemed taken from watercolor paintings. They were imperfect, delicate, and beautiful things that all grew around her. 

Standing in her garden, dressed as she was, made Genevieve painfully aware of how she didn't fit in with such a scenery. Her clothes changed. From her concealed, modest clothing came a white flowy sundress that exposed her arms. Hidden muscle was exposed. Hidden scars from various fights and weapons that littered her arms and legs were exposed. Hidden flowers made from ink that permanently stained her arm from her shoulder down to her wrist were finally exposed and allowed to breathe.

This was Genevieve, as exposed as she could allow herself to be.

Now, she could let herself speak freely to the world.

"Tony... My pride and joy, my sunshine, my favorite person in the universe and beyond..."

So she'll address world, even while she was crying just a little.

"I'm sorry for everything. But I'll do better."

With shoulders shaking.

"We'll be happy."

With courage growing.

"Let's move somewhere nice, o- okay?"

With voice breaking.

"I l- love you."

With love every flowing. 

"Th- The future is gonna be-- it's gonna be just fine!"

There was nothing grand to say. Nothing wonderful to put into words. All she had, all she was, was laid bare for the world - her world - to see. 

[nightmare-circus]

my chief task, to conquer fear | elise | final message

But if I watch you do it, won't that ruin the surprise?

It's magic, Ellie. If you don't watch, it's like I never did it at all!

Elise was born into a life where she was expected to have nothing to say. She's spent the last twenty seven years with her words helplessly drowned out by a world that would rather she be a villain, because it's easier to understand. It's far less effort to paint a picture in black and white rather than in screaming color, after all - two brushstrokes and you're done, everything wrapped in a tidy little bow. So to now be thrust into a position where the entire world is listening, wants to listen, has no choice to listen...

Well.

It makes sense she needs a moment to recover, once that fact hits her.

For all of her bluster, all of her steel-faced facade, Elise has never been made of iron. She encased herself in it like a suit of armor because what lies underneath is so horribly fragile and soft, and her existence has been spent thus far being told such a thing is a weakness punishable by death. You don't survive very long in her family being soft-hearted. But for once, thinking back, she doesn't see herself breaking free of them as a failure. She sees it as nothing short of a hard-fought victory.

"My...my name is..."

Her voice falters with the weight of the world's eyes on her, with no mask to act as a protective warding charm against their glares. However, after a second or two's hesitation, she draws herself up to full height and raises her chin proudly - because enough is finally, finally enough.

She's shrunken herself for decades. It's time to grow.

"Élisabeth Cahill. My name is Élisabeth, and I introduce myself despite the fact that so many already know, because it's my right. It's my right to be afforded the same dignity as everyone else, regardless of whether or not you think I deserve it."

She takes a breath, hands shaking.

"When I was barely nineteen, I was sentenced to prison - more for the sins of my father and grandfather than my own. When I got out, however, that didn't matter. I was branded as a criminal, and that meant I deserved scorn, and harassment, and hatred, and revulsion. Because I did something wrong. Because people like me need to be outcast, or surely we'd do something wrong to you next. But look at this..."

Elise spreads her hands, as if gesturing around her, to the dark, empty space she's surrounded by.

"I've vanished. I'm gone. Out of your hair completely...and the world still suffers, doesn't it? Did me ceasing to exist change anything? Bad things still happen, and some of you do them. My disappearance had no effect on you, on the level of cruelty in the world. But it did have an effect on the few people who loved me. So what are you doing, by shunning a person who was willing to change? What are you accomplishing other than keeping the state of things locked in exactly as they are?"

The thief begins to pace, back and forth, eyes trained before her. Looking at no one, but everyone. Determined that this time. this last time, someone would hear her.

"I begged for help, for nearly a year. No one listened to me. I tried everything I could to be the person everyone wanted, the person I wanted, but all anyone cared about was who they expected me to be. I was so scared, and alone, and hungry and - and you blame me for returning to what you all forced me into! Do you know what that feels like? To beg everyone to believe you, and to be told that what they're doing to you is your own fault? I was the one who needed saving! When we say we need the power of humanity to accomplish what we're doing, we need just that - humanity. And it's a lot rarer than you might all choose to believe.

Humanity is in all of us. There are few people on this Earth who are evil beyond saving. Humanity is better than what happened to me, but if you want to act like it, start actively separating yourself from the villains. Don't become them in your pursuit of justice. If you want to be heroes, you cannot lapse into cruelty in the name of what's right. Listen to people when they cry out for help, reach out a hand."

She stops moving, reaching her own out as if to meet theirs, a ball of light forming on her palm...though you can still hear her. This time, she can't be silenced.

"Do you understand, now? I was a thief. But I don't want to be. My entire life was the result of the influence exerted over me, by my family...and by you, the people who claim to be so much better than them. Please, when you wake up, make the change you want to see in others. Consider the effect you have on people, the smallest things that might not be noticed short term, that can have a lasting pain."

There's a pause, and then she smiles. It's an expression she's worn more often here, of all places, because for the first time in her life she actually feels free. Unburdened, not weighed down by the oppressive beliefs she's struggled with for so long.

"I'm getting married. I don't want anything to do with crime. I don't want to be anyone special, or a household name - I just want to enjoy being in love, spending time with people who saw past all of the smoke and mirrors to my heart. I just want to be happy. If that's a crime...well."

Elise flashes a grin, and the orb explodes in a flash of light that illuminates a face so many have seen before in a starkly different context. No light returns - she's vanished, the finale to her bag of tricks.

"I'm a consummate professional."

It's silent, for a few moments, as if it's someone else's turn to speak....and then there's an embarrassed cough, and her voice comes again from the darkness.

"Ah...and to the VTF, those agents...it would be lovely to not immediately be flattened by a lorry upon returning. If you'd, perhaps, do something about that."

I have to do this, Harry. I was born to be a bad person. They won't let me be anything else.

Come on, E, you remember Peter Pan. The moment you stop believing you can fly, you can't ever fly again.

I don't know. Maybe it's like riding a bike. Maybe if you believe once, you can believe again. Perhaps one day

I'll be allowed to fly.

[nightmare-circus]

We're not alone in the Universe || Tatsuya

Public speaking... god. How long's it been since he had to do that? It's never been something he'd been good at, not in a long time. But everyone taking their turns before him helped make it seem not nearly as daunting. And seeing that red moon... he was feeling more inspired.

These people he came here with... all of them... it was amazing how such a large group of strangers made him feel more at home than anyone in the past 6 years did. But... there was much he could say on that.

He's learned a lot while here.

"Shit... my turn, huh?"

He sounds apprehensive, but there's an unmistakable grin making its way onto his face. While he'd love to hang around in Hoshi's world a little longer, god he loved seeing his drawings... it was time to take hold of the reigns.

"I'm... Mikami Tatsuya. Anyone who knows that name... you probably barely recognize me now."

He thinks back to how he was when he first got here... and sighs.

"Everyone else probably feels the same way. Compared to how I was when I first got here, it's kinda weird... even to myself."

He raises a hand up. For a moment, he closes his eyes... recalling something in his head before... snap.

With a snap of his fingers, with the dreamscape in his hands, everyone is lost, surrounded in an ocean of stars. An endless expanse as far as the eye can see. Like a river of lights, it goes on forever... 

"I lived these past 6 years thinking I was completely alone. After pushing everyone away and treating everyone in my life like my enemies, I pretty much was alone. I hated everyone, everything... myself. It took me so long to see that instead of honoring someone's memory... I was just torturing myself. I hurt myself, ruined myself, drove everyone away and just... gave up. I thought there was no hope for me..."

But there comes that soft smile again... who knew someone with such hard features before could smile with so much heart, so much love. Love for these strangers he came here with. If he knew they'd worm their way into his heart like this, he... well, he wouldn't do anything to change it.

"But a hopeless idiot like me found a bunch of people who made me feel like I deserved at least a little happiness. People who gave me a chance when they had every right not to, people who weren't afraid to show me how stupid I was being, people who believed I could be something greater than I was... Someone who loved me despite everything..."

"Saying stuff like this is hard... but I just wanna say... You all deserve second chances, just like the one I got. God, I shouldn't even be here all things considered. This place has been a nightmare, but dreams are supposed to be good things. So... dream of what you want your future to be. It's never too late to tell someone you're sorry... It's okay to change your mind."

He feels so... lifted. So much weight has come off his shoulders. It... it is okay. He's gonna be okay.

"I don't have anyone back home I can give a message to, not anyone who's want to hear it. So... I guess this is for..."

...

"Avery... you felt more like family than anyone in my life ever did. I was a real handful for you as times... and I wish I could've been better."

"Elise, I wish I knew how to be the level headed person you needed here. But... you'll probably forgive me for that anyway. You were always looking out for me... well, I was always looking out for you too."

"Cameron, I never thought you were stupid. It was hard seeing you look down on yourself like I always did, and the whole time I just wanted to make sure you got a good ending. And thank god you did."

"Lucy, I don't think you really trusted me a lot of the time. But... I understood. I felt like we were two sides of one coin, of course we were gonna butt heads."

"Eunsang... ..... I held onto that coin all the way until I died."

....He heaves a heavy sigh. But after a breath, he continues.

"Everyone else, I'm.. glad you all were here. And I'm sorry I spent the whole time being a complete jackass and making a mess out of everything. You don't have to forgive me for how I was, I get it."

But after that... his smile returns as he looks to Hoshi... his star.

"Hoshi...... Heh... I'll tell you on the other side. Okay?"

The way he says even that, his voice holds so much warmth for the other, so much love... frankly, no words are needed. By now he hopes Hoshi knows exactly how he feels. What this was... was a promise. And there was no way Tatsuya would leave him hanging. He will see him again. The night sky wouldn't be the same if the moon wasn't surrounded by all those stars.

[nightmare-circus]

The Painter's Easel | Hoshi

Long ago, Hoshi would have fixed his gaze on something – anything that sparkled enough to deter him from reality. But here, now, he listens. He feels present as he listens to those around him with the utmost intent. As each person takes the spotlight, his head turns to them without him even realizing. Every now and again, a smile gracefully spreads across his lips. Not plastered on his face like before, but grew naturally like a flower in bloom. 

Damn… how dare these people make him feel emotions for them. 

Sure enough, the moment arrives. A silence hangs over him. The world seems to be waiting for his words with bated breath. It’s his moment now. Hoshi can feel it, and yet he can’t help but slide his hands into his pockets in a last-minute effort to keep calm. He is quite calm –  he’s he calmest he’s ever been – but he’s also far from a public speaker.

“Heh… Heya. Uzumaki Hoshi here.”

There’s so much he’s thought about, but not once had he ever figured out how to put those into words. An awkward chuckle leaves his lips.

  “Er… I’m not so good with words… I think I’ll stick to what I do best.”

He idly walks away from the group, not the least bit worried about where he’s going. His eyes close so peacefully, it’s almost as if he’s started sleepwalking. But as he walks, something happens. From the depths of his mind, Hoshi molds the dreamscape around him. At first, it’s completely blank. What looks to be the sky is now blanketed in yellowed, worn parchment. Then a drop of ink appears. Then another. And another. Eventually the drops of ink become lines, and lines become drawings. Drawings of planets, comets, stars and constellations. Black and white and grey, all of them.

But they’re not just any pieces of art – they’re his art. Anyone who has seen his works can tell they’re his from the simplicity of the lines, the focus on the stars and the colorless gradients. Though he can’t tell, the art begins to move on its own. The inky black stars and planets drift through the air like they had been in space all this time. Even the little comets sail above his head.

Hoshi, who has always been fascinated by what speaks without speaking, smiles. And with that smile, something else happens. Color spills across the paper sky like paint. Like the happiest of accidents, color spills and touches the ink and breathes new life into it. Red, yellow, blue. Some of it flows in the distance and the sound of waves crashing can be heard.

A man born under Aries, with fire in his sign, allows himself to be where the stars will kiss the ocean.

The color pools around the ink, painting new pictures with brush strokes. As Hoshi stops in front of the ocean view, little drawings dance at his feet. A couple of frogs – a fox – a bird – a few large dogs – a cat. It’s clear that the animals are simple drawings, but their colors are so bright it hardly matters. They’re so full of life. Their radiance could give anyone who looks upon them a sense of warmth and comfort.

Life becomes a little more colorful when it’s touched by the hands of those you cherish. It’s a shame it took him this long to realize that. Hoshi, who has always been fascinated by what speaks without speaking, cannot see the beauty he’s created – everyone but him can see.

Perhaps that’s what all of this was meant to be for – everyone else but him. If Hoshi had to leave a mark on the whole world, he would want it to be this: a masterpiece. Not for some snide remarks and shitty attitude. Not for his fears. Not for his sadness. But for the things that make him smile – the things that make others smile. He’s an artist, not a motivational speaker. So he lets those around him plead to the world for the end of the Vanishing (They’re doing great). As for him, he can only hope this can serve as some motivation.

The cat scurries away, and for a moment one could see that its eyes were replaced with jewels. It jumps straight into the yellowed sky – and disappears into a brilliant sun.

And with the sun always comes the moon. Hoshi can feel, somehow, somewhere it’s nearby. He turns away and slowly walks off into the opposite direction. Sure enough, a red moon floats down from the sky. Hands outstretched, he can just barely touch it. He can’t help but remember what it’s like to find so much joy in one person. How amazing it is to hold something so breathtaking, so closely. 

You taught me the courage of stars before you left. How light carries on endlessly even after death.

The moon eventually rises back into the sky, as it always does. And though it leaves his grasp, Hoshi is content. He begins walking back to the podiums, back to the people he’s spent many, many long months with. He is not the same person he was back then – and who would’ve thought that a devil like him could grow?

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

After that art show… he should probably say something now, shouldn’t he?

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and won’t be able to see what’s in front of me, but… As long as there’s someone out there who can smile at what I’ve made… I think that’s enough.”

He exhales deeply. Hope is just around the corner.

“Just dream about us getting home safe. That’s all I can ask for… I-I mean I’d really like to see it happen. That’s… all I want. I think all of us wanna get home, so you’ll dream for us, yeah?”

Others have said it better than him, but he asks anyway. He leaves the watching world with one final thought.

"Whatever you saw here just now… I hope it was beautiful. I hope it was the most beautiful thing you’ll ever dream of.”

The ink around him starts to fade. Every drawing – from the waves to the sun – fades like centuries and centuries have passed. 

With that… he returns to the rest. Just like how he found the little red moon, he somehow finds his way to the real deal. His moon, Tatsuya. Once he does, his hand easily slips into his – fingers intertwined.

[nightmare-circus]

Avery || 끝

All people had the ability to be terrible.

(As she watches Daniel Ostergard leave the metaphorical stage, Avery shifts, leaning against her glittery boyfriend.)

But aside from the obvious pressure of this unreasonable situation-- people can be horrid in smaller, quieter ways. How often has there been news of people being harassed online for actions that were just... fine? For example, the song Friday-- people sent the singer, a child, death threats just because they didn’t like the music. When people see weakness-- they jump onto it.

The more she said, the more time she spent in peoples minds, the more chances that people would remember her, that they’d recognize a figment of her and double take as they pass on the street. If trawling obsessively on r/vanishing had taught her anything: it was that people unreasonably look into the business of strangers. Making a speech that was directly beamed into humanity’s collective consciousness opened every single person here up for scrutiny. Every action they’ve done in the past, every comment they’ve made to an acquaintance... it was all on the table.

People have been hounded for less.

So as the others speak, Avery carefully polishes the minimal information she could say to the world in her mind, and considers if she should talk at all. Even if it was for the good of humanity-- allowing vulnerability here would have consequences for the rest of her life. And in addition to that: would anything she say make a difference to what has already been said? Her waffling halts as Niko walks up and gives her, of all things, a hug. In front of everyone else no less. What a development!

There’s a split second of surprise before she hugs back tightly, whispering one more final(?) retort in his ear, grinning at him when he hands her his keepsake. How much has changed between them-- between all of them since this had started. Some positive, some very negative. There’s no doubt that even with the return of normalcy, there will be those among them who won’t forgive her for what she personally had done.

...And that gives her a small idea.

When she steps up, there’s nothing fancy, no background or atmosphere to help set the tone. Just Avery Choi looking forward with a bow tied around her wrist.

“...Maybe you’re thinking, why should I help these people I don’t know? It’s not my problem. No one I care about was kidnapped-- and the chances of being next are so low that it’s not something to worry about.”

“Except-- that’s not guaranteed. Did you know that the dreamscape is getting more unstable as human-kind gets more and more complex? If it isn’t stopped now when there is a chance to-- it will only get worse. This time it was about 20 who were gone-- but it could be more. Fifty, a hundred, perhaps whole towns will be vanished without a trace.”

Scare tactics might not be the most elegant way to go about this but the people who already were going to give their positive energy already had their minds set.

This was for the the stubborn assholes out there who might dismiss this as just a strange vivid dream.

“So if you’re having trouble mustering up the energy to do it for people you don’t know, for a humanity that you might not care for-- do it for yourselves.” 

“Do it for your own future.”

As she steps back towards Deacon, she rubs a finger on the seam of the bowtie secured in her hand. A survey of the room: of those who chose to keep quiet, those who chose to speak up. All of the ordeals that they had gone through together-- some directly at the hands of others. People had the ability to do good-- even if it a times, it was through selfish means. The end justifies, does it not?

[nightmare-circus]

bury me smiling || minami

[ cw: vague implications of terminal illness ]

Minami was exhausted. 

As the events of the trial wind to a close, she finds herself unable to speak much. She watches, certainly, focused gaze fixed on each person who speaks up-- but her migraine hasn’t exactly abated, and being blinded by a ball of light wasn’t helping matters. She could argue, but what would that do? Her idea had been nothing more than a passing thought from a woman who’d almost lost her life once here, then lost it for real, and now was being granted a third chance-- one that was questionable at best. Was it any surprise that she simply wanted to rest?

So when they’re placed on a worldwide stage, tasked with motivating every person on Earth, there’s nothing Minami can think of to say. What advice could someone like her, so dissatisfied with her own life, give? The one living person she’d ever want to speak to couldn’t dream, leaving her unable to catch even a glimpse of them throughout the game (apart from, just her luck, a foggy couple of days where she’d kept seeing them) and leaving her with nothing but a grand desire to… go home. 

It was something she, by all means, shouldn’t have been able to do. She’d been killed, after all. And, in some way, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to-- or, rather, deserved to. The need for redemption still looms large in her head, a constant plague of you can rest once you’ve done enough. She’d thought being murdered would have been fine, and yet here she stood again.

Another chance, and what could she do with it?

She watches, wryly, as each person says their piece. Everyone was really out here like they’d practiced this, huh? If it was the power of good feelings and friendship they were looking for, certainly the world would have that in bounds. So what could Minami do but smile and watch?

Her smile grows as Niko finishes his piece and takes her hand, her usual loud laugh ringing out for a moment.

“Fuckin’ charmer. You better not go teachin’ them any of your ways, huh? I’ll hold you to another date.”

She rests her free hand on his arm for a moment, before… the stage is open once again. And what is Minami to do?

...Perhaps be a bit more optimistic. It was what she’d advocated for the whole game, wasn’t it? There was always something besides death, for others. There was a way out, for others. It wasn’t worth falling for the tricks of the game, for others. And now here she stood, everything she’d said to others coming true for her. 

Over and over, her stubbornness would blind her, it seemed like. Thank goodness there were people around to prove her wrong.

“Ah-- sorry, I don’t got any inspirational words for the world or anythin’.”

Minami leans back, sighing as if a great weight is slowly lifting off her shoulders. 

“Hell, I barely got my own life together, so I don’t think I can go handin’ out sage advice. Y’all already know what you have to do, right? You don’t need me tellin’ you a fifth fuckin’ time.”

She’d never been particularly skilled at manipulating limbo while she’d been there. Her lack of an inner eye was the probable cause-- but here, as the pain in her head begins to fade, just for a moment, the scenery shifts. Minami doesn’t seem to notice, either, but she stands in a open field. Long strands of green blow in a soft breeze around her, and the sun shines down above. 

“Ahhh, man, what can I say… not everyone gets a second chance, y’know? I never thought I’d get one. And I’ve been… real selfish tryin’ to waste it just ‘cause I thought it’s what I have to do. Blowin’ whatever life I’ve got left on some redemption that I’d never let myself reach.”

Her eye opens after a moment. A melancholy smile is on her face.

“...I think you should just live. It’s the best thing you can do for anyone around you. Stop listenin’ to whatever dumb bullshit you’re limitin’ yourself with and enjoy what you got.”

In the field, she turns to face the rest of the group. 

“I know I’ve been a real pain in the ass. I’m a real stubborn bitch and all that, I know. And I ain’t gonna stop even when we get outta here, huh? Some of you are gonna have to deal with me pesterin’ you over and over, so you’d better get ready right now. And you’d better come and visit me! I want to…”

What did she want? She hadn’t thought about it much, if at all. Minami trails off, turning back to face the open fields and the sky.

“I got people I care about now. I don’t wanna be… trapped in my head anymore. I don’t wanna give up.”

Her gaze drifts again, for a moment, to the man who’d trapped them all here in the first place. She smiles gently.

“There’s a friend I want to see again. So I’ll be waitin’.”

And she turns back to the sky once more. What could Minami do? Maybe there wasn’t any chance for her to win her life back-- maybe she had only a year or two, once she got out of here, a thought that had led to her reckless disregard for her own well-being for the past weeks, months, years. But that was still something, right? For the first time in what feels like years, Minami wants something for herself.

“I want to go home and live for once. Been a good while since I did somethin’ like that!”

 Being happy was enough, right?

[nightmare-circus]

headed home | yao

Yao nearly declines to take the stage and speak. They’ve never liked the spotlight, never liked being the center of attention. They think of themselves as a peacemaker, but it also means they’re a bit of a wallflower, especially now that they’ve stopped trying to make peace between everyone here.

But after everyone goes and says their bit, Yao, with tears brimming in their eyes, feels like they should say something.

“Um… hi?”

They laugh self-consciously, tugging at their ponytail.

“You’ve heard what my friends have had to say. We can stop the Vanishings and heal the Dreamscape. All of us, together. So, um- think positive thoughts! Send us your good vibes!”

Yao physically winces. That was so stupid. Speaking to, what, millions and millions of people is nerve wracking.

They take a deep breath to calm themself. They find their center and ground their emotions.

The dreamscape shifts around them, unconsciously, and with their eyes closed Yao constructs a backdrop from the raw energy of limbo, the same backdrop they’ve used before. Their most comfortable place, where they go to think and get away from the world and be at peace. The dark void pushes away, turning to bright sunset, and they are standing on the roof of a skyscraper, overlooking Taipei. Their hair flutters in the breeze. They smile.

“We only get one shot at life, and… it seems like I’ve gotten a second shot. And I’m very grateful for it. I’ve learned from it.”

Their hand is still raised, to fuss with their hair. They seem to realize it, and rub the side of their neck, embarrassed, before dropping their hand.

“If you’re in a bad place right now, please have hope. I know what it’s like to be in a bad situation and dream of something better. Maybe it’ll take some hard work, or a helping hand from friends, but there’s something better waiting for you, just around the corner!”

Their eyes, still shiny with tears, are filled with determination.

“And… those friends. They love you. They’re proud of you. And we- well, most of us only get one shot at this. You should tell them you love them too. Your friends, your family, whoever it is that means the world to you. I know you mean the world to them.”

Backlit by the setting sun, Yao smiles. Their voice is brimming with conviction, and newfound strength.

“So please dream about hope, and love. Not just for us, but for everyone! And for you, too! If we all join hands, we can end this nightmare – together! Hold onto your hope, and hold onto your love – hold it tight, and never let it go.”

They wipe a tear from their cheek, their smile unbroken. The chariot moves ever forward, overcoming challenges with hard work and commitment. Yao Yao is unbroken.

“And we’ll be home before you know it.”