Chapter 16: Are You Scared?
"I'm not a circus freak! I'm a hero!" Four Arms grumbled, explaining himself for the tenth time to the bewildered police officers.
After Ben had once again completed his daily mission of apprehending a common street robber—this time with significantly more property damage than necessary—the Tennyson family was finally nearing their next destination. The Rustbucket rumbled along the highway, leaving the confused city officials in its dust.
...
"A circus? Seriously? That's for little kids!" Ben protested, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. He was vehemently against the idea.
"I love the circus!" Gwen, naturally, held the exact opposite opinion, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"That's because you're basically a clown yourself," Ben retorted, earning a sharp glare from his cousin. He leaned back against the cushions of the RV's dinette, feigning a yawn. "Ah, whatever. I'm getting sleepy. Let's just find a place to park for the night. We can always see a circus some other time."
"Ben, it's eleven o'clock in the morning," Grandpa Max reminded him from the driver's seat, his eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror.
Sitting on the nearby sofa, Klein shot Ben a long, knowing look, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
...
What was meant to be, would be. Despite Ben's most creative and persistent attempts to sabotage the outing, the Rustbucket eventually pulled up to the vibrant, striped entrance of Zombozo's Traveling Circus of Laughs.
"Uh... look at that line," Ben said, pointing with a desperate air. "I bet the tickets are almost sold out. It'd be a total waste of time to queue up. We should just go back and come back another day."
"Don't be silly, we're already here!" Grandpa Max said, clapping a firm hand on Ben's shoulder and steering him forward before he could bolt.
Just then, a man with a painted-on smile and a curly mustache, clearly the ringmaster, stepped out from the main entrance.
"And now, a little preview for our waiting guests! Welcome the incredibly strong Thumbskull!" the man announced, his voice booming with practiced showmanship.
A hulking man with a dim-witted expression and a disproportionately small head emerged from the shadows, a thick steel bar held in his meaty hands. With a grunt, he bent the bar into a U-shape and tossed it aside like a piece of scrap metal.
"Next, let's give a warm welcome to Frightwig! Heaven only knows what this hot tamale looks like with her hair down!" the ringmaster continued, winking at the crowd.
A woman with a lithe, athletic figure and a cascade of fiery red hair stepped into the light. Even under the strange, garish makeup, her sharp features were undeniably beautiful. Her hair, however, was the main attraction, writhing and twisting like a nest of crimson tentacles. With a flick of her head, the tendrils shot out, ensnaring the bent steel bar and coiling it into a perfect, tight circle.
"And finally! Appearing now is the one, the only, Acid Breath, who hasn't brushed his teeth in who knows how many years!" The ringmaster passionately raised his free hand, gesturing to the final performer.
From the shadows shuffled a gaunt, sickly-looking man who seemed one cough away from collapsing. He unclipped a specialized breathing mask from his face, took a shallow breath, and exhaled a putrid, greenish puff of air onto the steel ring. Instantly, the metal hissed, bubbled, and dissolved into a puddle of molten slag.
"Well, that's quite the performance, isn't it?" Grandpa Max commented, his initial interest now fully piqued. "This is going to be great! Come on, everyone." He led the way, disappearing into the giant circus tent.
Gwen excitedly grabbed Klein's arm, pulling him along. Whether she was genuinely just eager for the show or using it as an excuse to hold onto him was anyone's guess. Klein, for his part, didn't mind in the slightest. He was actually a little interested. While the abilities of those three were utterly insignificant in his eyes, he did find a certain simple pleasure in watching lesser beings perform for him like trained monkeys.
"Let's go, Ben," Klein's voice cut through the air, shattering Ben's half-formed plan to sneak back to the Rustbucket.
Defeated, Ben heaved a sigh and trudged along after them.
...
"Hmm... quite boring."
Not long into the main performance, Klein was already resting his elbows on his knees, his chin propped in his hands as he stared blankly at the clown, Zombozo, prancing on stage. The clown was certainly clown-like, but the jokes were stale and the gags were predictable. He couldn't understand why everyone else in the audience was roaring with laughter. The only other person not cracking a smile was Ben, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Suddenly, Klein's eyes narrowed. He caught the faint flicker of a strange, blue light behind Zombozo, just barely discerning the outline of a massive machine through the stage curtains. A flicker of understanding crossed his face. He glanced around at the crowd, their laughter now seeming unnaturally loud, almost manic.
'Finally,'he thought, a slow smile spreading across his face.'Something interesting.'
"Uh, I gotta go to the restroom," Ben announced, seeing his chance to escape the soul-crushing boredom.
"I'll come with you, Ben," Klein said, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. He saw right through his cousin's flimsy excuse and casually draped an arm over his shoulder, steering him out of the seating area and towards the back of the tent.
A few moments later, faint flashes of blue and green light pulsed from behind the heavy curtain leading backstage.
"Hmm? It seems a spectator has snuck backstage," Zombozo said with a wide, unsettling grin, turning to look behind him.
The curtain rippled, and Ghostfreak phased right through it, appearing on stage like a phantom. A second later, the curtain was yanked aside, and a crystalline figure, Diamondhead, stomped onto the stage.
"That's Cousin and Ben!" Gwen gasped, her mind snapping back to clarity as she recognized the blue Omnitrix symbol on Ghostfreak's chest and the green one on Diamondhead's.
"How did they get up there?" Grandpa Max asked, the fog of forced amusement lifting from his mind as well.
In that instant, they both realized something was terribly wrong. The show was no longer funny, and they could feel the strange, draining effect on their emotions cease. Seeing that Ghostfreak seemed to have the situation under control, they decided to wait and see how this played out.
On stage.
"Heh heh, spectators who run around backstage are very, very annoying!" Zombozo cackled, suddenly spinning and throwing a punch at Ghostfreak. To his shock, his fist passed straight through the alien's spectral body as if it were smoke.
In a flash, Ghostfreak's single clawed hand shot out, grabbing Zombozo by the neck and slamming him down onto the stage floor.
"You! Get over here! Beat him for me!" Ghostfreak rasped, pointing one long finger at Diamondhead, then back down at the struggling clown.
But Diamondhead only shifted his weight, his crystalline feet rooted to the spot. He wasn't moving.
"It seems old Zombozo is being underestimated," the clown wheezed. He grabbed Ghostfreak's wrist with both hands and tried to twist it, but it was like trying to bend steel.
Seeing Zombozo still struggling, Ghostfreak released his grip, only to slam his other fist into the clown's face, sending him flying across the stage.
Zombozo crashed hard into the back wall. Before he could even push himself up, Ghostfreak was floating silently in front of him. The ethereal alien peeled back the black-and-white striped skin on his chest, revealing a horrifying cavity filled with writhing, purple tentacles.
"Ahhh!!!" Zombozo shrieked, a sound of pure terror that echoed through the now-silent tent. He curled into a ball on the ground, hugging himself tightly.
"Come here!" Ghostfreak shouted at Diamondhead again, his voice a low command. "Are you scared?"
"I'm scared!" Diamondhead didn't say a word, but Zombozo screamed the answer for him.
The clown shakily propped himself up, stealing a terrified glance at the nightmarish creature before him. He was about to beg for mercy when Ghostfreak's fist connected with his jaw again, launching him into the air once more.
"Did I tell you to move?" Ghostfreak's voice was as cold as the grave.
Sliding down the wall in a heap, Zombozo could only squat with his head in his hands, not daring to make a sound, terrified of earning another beating.
"Come here!" Ghostfreak bellowed at Diamondhead for the third time. This time, Diamondhead finally moved, taking a slow, hesitant step forward.
"Boss! The money's all packed!" Before Diamondhead could make his move, another backstage curtain was thrown open, and Acid Breath's reedy voice called out.
Ghostfreak and Diamondhead both turned their heads to look at the newcomer. Acid Breath froze, his eyes widening in panic. Seeing his chance, Zombozo immediately seized the opportunity.
Bang!
A massive puff of white smoke and a shower of colorful streamers erupted where Zombozo had been cowering. When it cleared, he was gone.
"Phew," Diamondhead couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh of relief. He then clenched his crystalline fists and turned his attention to the still-frozen Acid Breath, a grim smile forming on his face. "Looks like your boss sold you out."
Hearing this, a cold bead of sweat trickled down Acid Breath's pale forehead.
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