The Laughing King

The Crimson Invitation

The countdown on the card said 71:42:13 when I woke up.

I didn't sleep. I don't sleep when someone writes my name in silver ink. Subject 07. That name was buried under six years of fake addresses and burned files. If the Carnival knew it, they knew more than the subway guys. They knew the old stuff.

I made coffee and stared at the card. Black, heavy, edges cut clean. The wax smile had dried into a scab. I didn't touch it again. Touching it twice felt like agreeing.

My phone lit up. Unknown number. I let it ring. Then it rang again. And again. On the fourth time, I answered.

"You didn't RSVP," the same voice said. Old. Smooth. Like he'd been practicing calm for decades.

"I don't go to parties I didn't throw," I said.

"You threw this one, Mr. Veyn. You just don't remember yet."

I hung up. The countdown ticked to 71:41:02. One minute, eleven seconds. That's how long it takes to boil water, or to decide you're done being hunted.

I packed light. Cash, a burner, the mask. The mask went in a bag. Wearing it in daylight gets you stopped. Wearing it at night gets you shot. I picked night.

The city looks different when you're waiting for a war. People still buy groceries. Kids still miss buses. But the air gets thinner. You notice cameras. You count exits.

I took three trains and two cabs. No one followed. Or they were better than me. Both options were bad.

Statton was the last place I wanted to be. The 7:02 runs through Statton. Drell and his friends had said my name there. The news had said "The Joker" there. Now the invitation was pointing me back.

Statton at 2 AM is empty in a way that feels personal. The station lights buzz. The schedule board says the next train is delayed. It's always delayed.

I waited on the platform. The countdown in my head said 69:18:44.

"You're early," a voice said behind me.

I didn't turn. Turning is what they want. "For what?"

"For the game."

Now I turned.

She was maybe thirty. Doctor's coat, sleeves rolled up, blood on the cuff. Not fresh. Not hers. She looked tired in the way that doesn't come from one night. It comes from many.

"You're Mirexa Sol," I said. I'd seen her photo. Back-alley clinic on 8th. Treats people who can't go to hospitals. Treats people the Carnival forgets.

"You're the clown," she said. "The news likes you."

"News likes anything that bleeds." I looked at the blood on her cuff. "Yours?"

"Not tonight." She stepped closer. Not scared of the mask. That was interesting. "You got one too, didn't you?"

She pulled a card from her pocket. Black. Red wax smile. Same as mine, but the numbers were different.

68:03:19

"They staggered them," I said. "So we don't compare times."

"Or so we panic alone." She put the card away. "A man came into my clinic last night. Gut wound. Said nothing. I stitched him. When I turned around, he was gone. He left this."

She held up a playing card. Joker. Red ink on the face. Handwritten under the smile: Don't trust the Carnival.

"That's not subtle," I said.

"Neither is a clown mask." She studied me. "You burned yours, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"Because it showed up again. On your table. Mine too." She nodded to the tracks. "They want us here. Statton. Where you made the news."

"Why?"

"Because the game started already."

The lights above us flickered. Then died. Emergency lights kicked in. Red. Dim. The same color as the wax.

A voice came over the loudspeaker. Not the MTA voice. This one was calm. Amused.

"Good evening, contestants. Welcome to the pre-round. Rules are simple. There is one exit. It opens in twenty minutes. To open it, you need a key."

I looked at Mirexa. "You hearing this?"

"Yeah." Her hand went to her coat pocket. She had a scalpel there. Doctors and killers hold them the same way.

"There are ten of you in the station," the voice went on. "And five hunters. Hunters are already inside. They were here before you. The key is with one of them. Good luck."

The loudspeaker clicked off.

Silence. Then, far down the tunnel, something metal scraped concrete.

"Ten contestants," Mirexa said. "You, me. That's eight we haven't met."

"Five hunters," I said. "And a key."

"You don't seem scared."

"I'm terrified," I said. "I just laugh when I'm terrified. It confuses people."

Another scrape. Closer. Then a laugh. Not mine. Wet, broken, like a throat that had been hurt.

"That's one," Mirexa whispered.

We moved. Not running. Running gets you seen. We stayed near the pillars, out of the open. The red lights made everything look like a photo from a crime scene.

A man stumbled from the stairwell. Mid forties, suit, tie gone. He saw us and froze. "You got one?" he asked. His voice shook. "The card? I got one. I don't want it. Take it."

"Keep moving," I told him. "Don't stop. Don't group up. That's what they want."

"They?" he said. "Who are they?"

Another laugh from the tunnel. This one answered him.

The man ran. He chose the tracks. Bad choice.

The scrape got louder. Then a shape came out of the dark. Big. Not fast. It didn't need to be. It wore a mask too. Not a clown. A blank white face, no mouth. It held a hammer. A real one. Construction, not prop.

It saw me. Tilted its head. Then it laughed. That broken, wet sound.

Mirexa grabbed my arm. "Plan?"

"Yeah," I said. "Don't be where the hammer is."

The hunter charged. Slow, but it covered ground. I shoved Mirexa left and went right. The hammer came down where I'd been standing. Concrete cracked. Sparks.

The hunter turned. No wasted motion. It knew I was the problem.

"Hey," I called. "You get dental with that job?"

It didn't answer. It swung again. I ducked. The hammer hit a pillar. Chunks of tile exploded. One cut my cheek. Warm.

Mirexa was behind it now. She had the scalpel out. She didn't go for the back. She went for the hand. She cut the strap holding the hammer. The hunter's finger twitched. The hammer dropped.

It didn't care. It reached for her with both hands.

I didn't think. I moved. I hit the hunter's knee with the side of my foot. Not hard. Just right. Joints are jokes. They bend wrong if you tell them to.

The hunter went down with no sound. It tried to get up. Mirexa kicked it in the mask. The blank face cracked. Under it was just skin. A man. Scared, maybe. Or empty.

"Key," I said. "Check him."

She did. Fast, professional. Nothing in the pockets. Nothing in the sleeves. She looked at me. "No key."

The loudspeaker came back. "Nineteen minutes. Four hunters remaining. One contestant eliminated."

The man who ran for the tracks.

"They're tracking us," Mirexa said. "Cameras, something."

"Or someone's watching," I said. I looked up. The red lights had no cameras I could see. That didn't mean they weren't there.

We left the hunter on the ground. He wasn't getting up soon.

The station had two levels. We were on the upper. The exit was below, behind a gate. Closed. Next to it, a keypad. No slot. Just a screen.

"Key's not physical," Mirexa said. "It's a code."

"And the hunters have it." I checked the time. 17:22. "We need to take one alive."

"That one wasn't talking."

"Then we find one who is."

We heard screaming from below. Then a gunshot. Then nothing.

"Three hunters left," I said. "Seven contestants."

We took the stairs down. Slow. The red lights were worse here. They made the shadows move.

The lower platform had a train sitting there. Doors open. Empty. Or not.

A woman was inside, sitting. Late twenties, business clothes, briefcase. She looked up when we stepped in. "Thank god," she said. "You're real people. I got this card and I..."

"Quiet," Mirexa said. "Are you alone?"

"Yes. I hid. There was a man with a..." She stopped. Her eyes went past us.

I turned.

Hunter number two. No mask. Just a hood. Knife in his hand. Kitchen knife. Long.

He wasn't slow like the first. He was fast. He went for the woman first.

I threw my bag. It hit his face. He stumbled. The woman screamed.

Mirexa moved. She didn't go for the knife. She went for his eyes. Thumb and finger. He reeled back, swearing.

I got his wrist. Twisted. The knife clattered. I kicked it under the train.

"Key," I said. "Where's the key?"

He spat at me. "You think I know? They tell us nothing. They just say kill or be killed."

"Who's they?" Mirexa asked.

"Voices. In the ear." He tapped his ear. Nothing there I could see. "They watch. They laugh."

The loudspeaker: "Fifteen minutes. Three hunters remaining. Six contestants remaining."

Another one gone.

"Code," I said. "To the gate. You know it?"

"I swear I don't. They said the last one alive gets out. That's all."

I believed him. He was scared in a way that was real. Hunters were just contestants who got a different card.

I let him go. He ran. Into the tunnel. Not my problem.

The woman in the train was crying. "I don't want to die."

"Nobody does," Mirexa said. "That's why you won't."

I checked the time. 14:01.

"Plan B," I said. "We don't need their key."

"What's plan B?"

"We make our own." I looked at the keypad by the gate. "Nyxorin."

"Who?"

"Friend of a friend. She can break anything that talks to satellites." I pulled the burner. No signal. Of course. "We need to get above ground."

"There are two hunters left," Mirexa said. "And the gate's the only exit."

"Then we move the gate." I walked to the edge of the platform. The tunnel went dark both ways. "You ever jump a train?"

"No."

"Today's a good day to learn."

The loudspeaker: "Ten minutes. Two hunters remaining."

One more down. Without us.

Then we heard it. A new sound. Music. Carousel music. Tinny, warped, coming from the tunnel.

Both hunters came out together. No masks. No hoods. Just men. One had a pipe. One had a chain. They weren't laughing. They were humming with the music.

"Last chance," the pipe man said. "Give up. It's easier."

"For who?" I asked.

"For you." He swung the pipe. Lazy. Testing.

I stepped back. "Mirexa, the woman. Get her out of here."

"Where?" Mirexa said.

"Up." I pointed to the maintenance ladder. It went to the ceiling, to a hatch. "Hatch leads to the street. If it's locked, break it."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be loud."

The chain man swung. I ducked. The chain sparked off the ground.

Mirexa grabbed the woman and ran for the ladder.

The pipe man grinned. "Hero."

"Clown," I corrected. "There's a difference. Heroes die. Clowns get up."

He charged. I didn't dodge. I stepped in. Close is where pipes don't work. I hit his elbow. The pipe dropped. I caught it.

The chain man wrapped his chain around my arm. It burned. I smiled. The mask was still in the bag, but I didn't need it.

"If you're still breathing," I told him, "the joke isn't over."

I pulled. He wasn't ready. He came forward. I hit him with the pipe. Not the head. The knee. Always the knee.

He went down. The pipe man was up again. He had a knife now. From where? Doesn't matter.

The loudspeaker: "Five minutes. One hunter remaining. Four contestants remaining."

Mirexa was at the top of the ladder. She was hitting the hatch. It wasn't opening.

"Break the lock!" I yelled.

The pipe man lunged. I blocked with the pipe. Metal on metal. Loud. My hands shook.

The carousel music got louder. Then it stopped.

All the lights died. No red. Just black.

Then one light. White. Spotlight. On me.

The loudspeaker didn't crackle. It spoke clear. The same old voice. The one who knew Subject 07.

"Hello, Kaelor," it said. "You're making this fun. But the game needs stakes."

The spotlight moved. To the ladder. To Mirexa. To the woman below her.

"Choose," the voice said. "The gate opens for one. The hatch opens for one. You have four minutes. If you choose neither, the station floods. You all drown."

A new sound. Water. From the tunnel. Rushing.

Mirexa looked down at me. She didn't speak. She didn't have to.

The woman was crying. "Please."

The pipe man was on the ground, laughing. Not a broken laugh. A real one. He knew the voice. He was part of it.

I looked at the gate. Closed. Keypad dark. I looked at the hatch. Mirexa hit it again. It didn't budge.

Three minutes.

I took the mask out of the bag. The crack down the left eye caught the spotlight. I put it on.

The world got quiet.

"Kaelor," Mirexa said. "What are you doing?"

"Winning," I said.

I walked to the pipe man. He was still laughing. I knelt. "Ear," I said. "You said voices in the ear."

He stopped laughing. "What?"

I hit him. Not hard. Just enough to turn his head. There. Small. Flesh colored. An earpiece. I tore it out. It was bleeding.

I put it in my own ear.

Static. Then the voice. Close now. "Mr. Veyn. You're not supposed to have that."

"Neither are you," I said. "Open the gate."

"Why would I?"

"Because if I die here, you don't get to see what I do next. And you want to see it. That's why you invited me."

Silence. Two minutes. Water at my ankles.

The voice sighed. "You're right. I do want to see it."

The gate clicked. The keypad turned green.

The hatch above Mirexa blew open. Light from the street. Sirens. Real ones.

"Go," I told her. "Take her and go."

She didn't argue. She climbed, pulling the woman.

I looked at the pipe man. "You lose."

He grinned. Blood in his teeth. "No. You just started playing."

The water was at my knees. The train lights flickered.

I walked through the gate. It shut behind me.

The last thing I heard before the station went dark was the loudspeaker, laughing.

And the countdown on my card, back in my apartment, changing.

71:39:00

It went up.

I wasn't late. I was early.