Chapter Text
The duel had started over something stupid.
At least, that was what Wemmbu would tell himself afterward.
If there was an afterward.
“Come on, Flame.”
Wemmbu tightened his grip on his weapon and took another step backward.
Across from him, Flame stood completely still.
The wind dragged dust across the battlefield between them. Neither player moved for several seconds.
Then Flame grinned.
“You sure you wanna do this?”
Wemmbu laughed.
“You challenged me.”
“And you accepted.”
“Exactly.”
“So don't complain when you lose.”
Wemmbu's grin widened.
“You first.”
Flame moved.
The first strike came so quickly that Wemmbu barely got his weapon up in time.
Metal collided with a sharp crack.
Wemmbu stumbled back.
Flame followed.
Another strike.
Another.
Wemmbu ducked, rolled away, and came up several blocks away.
“Still got it,” he muttered.
Flame heard him.
“Barely.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Wemmbu charged.
The fight became a blur.
They knew each other's habits too well.
Every time Flame shifted his weight, Wemmbu knew what was coming. Every time Wemmbu feinted, Flame recognized it. They had fought enough times that the duel felt almost familiar.
Almost comfortable.
Until Wemmbu made one mistake.
His footing slipped.
Just for half a second.
It was enough.
Flame's attack connected.
Wemmbu froze.
The world seemed to become strangely quiet.
His weapon slipped from his hand.
He looked down.
Then back at Flame.
“Oh.”
His knees gave out.
Flame's expression changed immediately.
“Wemmbu?”
Wemmbu hit the ground.
Everything went dark.
Flame caught him before he could fall completely still.
“No. No, no, no.”
The confidence was gone.
The grin was gone.
Flame dropped beside him, shaking his shoulder.
“Wemmbu.”
Nothing.
“Wemmbu, get up.”
Still nothing.
Flame looked around as if someone else might suddenly appear with an answer.
There was nobody.
He tried again.
“Come on.”
His voice cracked.
“You're not allowed to do this.”
Nothing.
Flame pressed a hand against Wemmbu's chest, desperately searching for some sign that he was still there.
“Come on.”
The words came quieter this time.
“Please.”
But there was no answer.
And Flame couldn't fix it.
But on this server, there was no respawn waiting.
No familiar world waiting.
No second attempt.
Just silence.
Wemmbu opened his eyes.
He immediately frowned.
“Huh.”
There was no ground beneath him.
No sky.
No blocks.
No sun.
No moon.
Nothing.
He was floating.
Completely surrounded by black.
Wemmbu turned slowly.
“...Okay.”
He waved one hand in front of his face.
He could see it.
Barely.
“So I'm dead.”
That seemed reasonable.
He looked down.
There wasn't even a void beneath him.
Just darkness.
“Minecraft void?”
He waited.
Nothing happened.
“That's boring.”
A voice answered.
“You are not in the Minecraft void.”
Wemmbu froze.
“...Cool.”
He looked around.
“Who said that?”
“I did.”
“Very helpful.”
There was a pause.
Then:
“You have been selected for temporary relocation.”
Wemmbu stared into the darkness.
“That's a sentence.”
“You will remain in another world until certain conditions are fulfilled.”
“Can I say no?”
“No.”
“Worth asking.”
The voice continued.
“You will be placed into the human world.”
Wemmbu blinked.
“The what?”
“The human world.”
“Like... humans?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds terrible.”
There was another pause.
“You will survive there temporarily.”
“And then?”
“You will return to your original world.”
Wemmbu considered that.
“Okay.”
The voice seemed almost surprised by how easily he'd accepted it.
“You have questions.”
“I have several.”
“Ask.”
“Why me?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Great.”
“Why the human world?”
“Necessary.”
“Why do you sound like a bad tutorial?”
Silence.
Wemmbu smiled.
“Okay, next question.”
The voice ignored him.
“Before relocation, identification is required.”
A pause.
“State your name.”
“Wemmbu.”
“Gender.”
“Male.”
“Type.”
Wemmbu stared.
“...What?”
“Type.”
“What does that even mean?”
“State your type.”
Wemmbu shrugged despite knowing the voice probably couldn't see him.
“Both.”
There was silence.
A long silence.
Wemmbu grinned.
“Gotcha.”
“Response recorded.”
His smile disappeared.
“Wait.”
“Identification complete.”
“Wait, I was joking.”
“Identification complete.”
“Hey.”
The darkness suddenly disappeared.
Wemmbu dropped.
He landed on grass.
Hard.
“Ow.”
Wemmbu sat up.
He looked around.
There were buildings.
Roads.
Cars.
People.
Lights.
Signs.
Things that looked vaguely familiar from Minecraft but also completely wrong.
Wemmbu stood.
“...Oh.”
A car passed him.
He jumped backward.
“What the fuck was that?”
Nobody answered.
People walked past him.
Nobody seemed particularly concerned that a confused Minecraft player had just appeared on a sidewalk.
Wemmbu looked at his hands.
Still there.
His equipment was gone.
His normal surroundings were gone.
His world was gone.
He sighed.
“Well.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Guess we're doing this.”
The voice returned several hours later.
Wemmbu was sitting outside a building, trying to understand what a vending machine was.
“Wemmbu.”
He looked up.
“Oh, you again.”
“You have been provided with accommodation.”
“Accommodation?”
“A house.”
Wemmbu blinked.
“Why?”
“You require somewhere to live.”
“Fair.”
A set of coordinates appeared in his mind.
Wemmbu stared.
“That's creepy.”
“You have also been provided with employment.”
“Employment?”
“A position at a coffee shop.”
Wemmbu's face fell.
“You're making me work?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until sufficient funds have been accumulated.”
“Funds?”
“Money.”
“Oh.”
Wemmbu sighed.
“So I work, get money, and then you take it?”
“Correct.”
“And then you send me home?”
“Correct.”
“...Simple enough.”
A piece of paper appeared in his hand.
His resume.
Wemmbu looked at it.
Then looked at the sky.
“Did you seriously make me a resume?”
“Yes.”
“That's humiliating.”
“Your employment begins tomorrow.”
The voice disappeared.
Wemmbu stared at the paper.
“...I hate this place.”
The coffee shop was smaller than he'd expected.
It smelled like coffee.
Obviously.
Wemmbu stood behind the counter while his new boss explained the basics.
He tried very hard to look like he understood.
“So you just... make drinks?”
“Among other things.”
“Right.”
His boss gave him a suspicious look.
“You've never worked anywhere before?”
“Not really.”
“That obvious?”
“Very.”
Wemmbu smiled.
“Great.”
The rest of the day passed in a confusing collection of instructions.
Cups.
Machines.
Money.
Orders.
Customers.
Things that were apparently common knowledge but made absolutely no sense to him.
By the time he returned to his new house that night, Wemmbu collapsed onto the couch.
He stared at the ceiling.
“These people are weird.”
The weeks passed.
At first, everything felt impossible.
Then it became merely confusing.
Then it became normal.
Wemmbu learned how money worked.
He learned how cars worked.
He learned that phones apparently did almost everything.
He learned that people had invented machines specifically to heat food.
He learned that coffee shops had people who would complain if their drink was the wrong temperature.
He learned that Minecraft apparently did not exist here.
That one bothered him more than he expected.
Still, he adapted.
He worked.
He went home.
He slept.
He woke up.
He worked again.
The promise of returning to the Unstable Universe stayed somewhere in the back of his mind.
He'd go home eventually.
That was enough.
Until the circus appeared.
Wemmbu noticed the posters on his walk to work.
There had been none yesterday.
Now there were dozens.
THE FREAK CIRCUS
The words were printed in enormous letters.
The image beneath them showed a strange collection of circus performers.
Wemmbu slowed down.
“Huh.”
Another poster had appeared on the wall across the street.
Then another.
And another.
He frowned.
“Those weren't here.”
People around him didn't seem particularly bothered.
Wemmbu shrugged.
“Not my problem.”
He kept walking.
Then he heard shouting.
Wemmbu stopped.
A crowd had formed farther down the street.
Someone was yelling.
Someone else shouted back.
Wemmbu sighed.
“Of course.”
He walked toward them.
A man was standing over someone dressed in strange circus clothing.
The masked figure had fallen against the side of a building.
The man raised his voice again.
Wemmbu didn't know what the argument had been about.
He didn't particularly care.
But when the man shoved the masked performer again—
Wemmbu stepped in.
“Hey.”
The man turned.
“What?”
“You wanna stop?”
The man scoffed.
“Mind your own business.”
“Unfortunately, this became my business.”
The confrontation ended quickly.
Wemmbu wasn't interested in dragging it out.
Once the man finally backed away, muttering under his breath, Wemmbu turned toward the performer.
“You okay?”
No response.
The performer slowly stood.
Wemmbu frowned.
There was something familiar about him.
The colors.
The posture.
The way he held himself.
Something about it tugged at a memory that refused to surface.
Wemmbu stared at the mask.
“Do I know you?”
Silence.
“Right.”
He sighed.
“Mask.”
The performer didn't answer.
“Can't talk either?”
Nothing.
“Great.”
Wemmbu crouched and pulled a bandage from his bag.
He held it out.
“Here.”
The masked performer stared at him.
Then slowly took it.
Their fingers briefly touched.
Wemmbu paused.
Something about that felt familiar too.
He shook the thought away.
“Anyway.”
He stood.
“I've gotta work.”
The performer remained there.
Watching him.
Wemmbu turned and walked away.
He didn't notice the way the masked figure's head followed him.
He didn't notice the silence that followed him down the street.
And he definitely didn't notice the way the figure tightened his grip around the bandage.
Wemmbu just kept walking.
He had a shift to get to.
The coffee shop was busy.
That was the first thing Wemmbu noticed when he walked through the door.
The second was that everyone seemed to be talking about the circus.
Again.
He tied his apron around his waist.
“Why does everyone care so much about this thing?”
His coworker glanced at him.
“You haven't heard?”
“Heard what?”
“The circus.”
“I know about the circus.”
“Then you know about the disappearance.”
Wemmbu stopped.
“Disappearance?”
His coworker nodded.
“Someone disappeared right around the time those posters started showing up.”
Wemmbu stared.
“Oh.”
There was a pause.
“That's probably related.”
“You think?”
“Probably.”
His coworker lowered their voice.
“People say the circus has something to do with it.”
Wemmbu glanced toward the window.
One of the posters was visible across the street.
The masked performers stared outward from it.
He remembered the person from yesterday.
The strange colors.
The mask.
The complete refusal to speak.
Wemmbu shrugged.
“Maybe they ran away.”
“With who?”
“I don't know.”
“With their lover?”
Wemmbu laughed.
“Sure. Why not?”
His coworker didn't laugh.
Wemmbu realized they were serious.
He shrugged again.
“People disappear.”
That was the explanation he settled on.
Someone ran away.
Someone found someone else.
Maybe they didn't want to be found.
Simple.
Normal.
Not his problem.
He went back to work.
By the end of his shift, it was dark.
Wemmbu stepped outside.
The streetlights flickered on one by one.
He adjusted his jacket.
The city had become familiar over the last few weeks.
He knew which streets were busy.
Which shortcuts were faster.
Which stores stayed open late.
He even knew which corner had the worst traffic.
He'd learned the human world.
Or at least enough of it to survive.
He started walking home.
Halfway there, he saw another poster.
He stopped.
It was different.
This one showed the circus tent.
Huge.
Impossible.
Almost too large for the space surrounding it.
Wemmbu stared.
“I don't remember this one.”
A strange sensation passed through him.
For a second, he thought he could hear music.
Faint.
Distant.
Then it vanished.
He shook his head.
“Nope.”
He kept walking.
The next morning, another poster appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
The circus became impossible to ignore.
People talked about it constantly.
Some were excited.
Others were frightened.
Some claimed the performers had been seen wandering around the city.
Others insisted the entire thing was a publicity stunt.
Wemmbu listened to all of it without really caring.
He had his own problems.
He had bills.
He had work.
He had a mysterious voice in his head waiting for him to earn enough money to go home.
That was enough.
The circus could do whatever it wanted.
Until he saw the clown again.
It happened several days later.
Wemmbu was walking to work when he spotted the familiar colors.
The same strange performer.
The same mask.
The same posture.
Standing at the edge of the sidewalk.
Wemmbu slowed.
“Hey.”
The performer turned.
Wemmbu pointed.
“You.”
No response.
“Remember me?”
Nothing.
“I gave you the bandage.”
The performer looked down briefly.
Wemmbu noticed that the bandage was still there.
“...You kept it?”
The masked figure didn't answer.
Wemmbu frowned.
“You're really committed to this silent thing.”
Nothing.
“Okay.”
He started walking again.
Then stopped.
Something about the performer bothered him.
Not in a bad way.
Just...
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Wemmbu looked back.
The clown was still watching him.
“You know,” Wemmbu said, “I swear I've seen you somewhere before.”
The performer remained silent.
Wemmbu waited.
Nothing.
“Right.”
He sighed.
“Have a good day, mysterious clown person.”
He left.
Behind him, the performer didn't move.
That evening, Wemmbu's voice returned.
“Your employment is progressing.”
Wemmbu groaned.
“Do you have to sound so happy about it?”
“You are approximately—”
“No.”
“I have not finished.”
“Still no.”
A pause.
“The circus has become active.”
Wemmbu sat upright.
“What?”
“You are now approaching the central event.”
“What central event?”
No answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Wemmbu frowned.
“You can't just say something creepy and disappear.”
Nothing.
He leaned back.
“Fantastic.”
He stared at the ceiling.
The circus.
The posters.
The missing person.
The strange masked performer.
The voice.
The unfamiliar world.
He had spent weeks convincing himself none of it mattered.
Now it was becoming harder to believe.
The next morning, the city felt different.
Wemmbu couldn't explain why.
The streets were the same.
The buildings were the same.
The traffic was the same.
But people seemed quieter.
More watchful.
He passed another circus poster.
This time, he stopped.
The image showed the masked performers again.
Wemmbu stared.
Something moved in his memory.
A battlefield.
A grin.
Yellow.
Red.
A voice.
Come on, Wemmbu.
His expression changed.
He blinked.
The memory disappeared.
“...Weird.”
He kept walking.
He didn't know why his chest felt tight.
He didn't know why the clown's colors seemed familiar.
He didn't know why the circus suddenly felt like something he'd already seen.
He didn't know why he had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him.
So he did what he'd been doing since arriving in this world.
He ignored it.
He walked toward work.
He crossed the street.
He passed the posters.
He passed the people.
And somewhere behind him, hidden among the city streets, a masked figure watched him leave.