#circus alert

Jester - Trapped with Jester

Jack - Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack

Peirrot - The Freak Circus

Jestyn - Kingdom of Marionettes

Deiran - Don't Eat the Cashier

Flo - Where the Spotlight Lingers

And More!

I absolutely adore visual novels, phycological horror, and non-human clown men!

Ask me about my underrated faves!

Note: Most of the games mentioned here are 18+

This is my first fanfic, so I’m a bit nervous 😅

Hope you enjoy!

...

Here we go again.

Putting on your cap and work vest with a badge that reads “MC” you let out a heavy sigh.

Today, just like on all the previous days, you look at yourself in the mirror of your locker. A vague “Uuugh” — a ritual of every morning. And how did your life even lead you to working at a scrapyard? You wanted to become an engineer. You passed all the exams. You graduated from an engineering school. But no — no one hired you.

Leaving the office with a notebook in hand, you head toward a recently arrived truck. Bob greets you with a tired smile. As always, he steps out of the vehicle and nods at you, like, how are you. You respond with a small nod downwards — same as usual.

“Batch of scrap, buddy,” Bob says, opening the truck. Inside lies a pile of metal junk — from a broken alarm clock to a car engine.

“If you see something interesting, take it. This junk was recently separated from the city landfill,” he adds, leaning against the metal gate. “Tch. Humanity still hasn’t learned how to sort its trash.”

“That’s why they invented separate professions for this kind of work — so they wouldn’t have to clean it themselves,” you say, opening your notebook. Mostly, your job is to check whether all the trucks have arrived or not.

A heavy hand rests on your head.

“Say our workers’ motto,” Bob says, looking at you.

You sigh. Whenever you’re unhappy with your job, Bob gladly comes over to remind you of the motto.

“Metal recycling is a noble cause,” you recite tiredly. “We should value what we have and not complain.”

Bob lets out a light chuckle. He likes this job. He wants everyone who works here to like it too. He removes his hand and steps aside, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and taking one out. Yeah — a habit of his.

“Oh, and one more thing… There was a robot in the scrap, if I remember correctly. Not sure if it still works,” he exhales smoke and looks at you. “But you can try turning it on.”

Your eyes light up. Bob knows how much you love engineering, and more than once he’s brought you bits of technology — not always metal. You loved fixing them. The news instantly lifts your mood.

“Knew you’d like it,” Bob smiles, noticing your expression.

Quickly finishing his cigarette, he puts on his gloves and starts loading the scrap into containers. Those containers will later be taken to the scrapyard. While he works, you run through all your recent engineering lessons in your head, imagining what the robot might be like.

“That’s it. Only the robot is left in the truck,” Bob says, taking off his gloves. “You can carry it yourself, I hope. If not, I’ll be in my office.”

Before you can answer, he’s already gone. Let’s hope the robot isn’t three meters tall.

You approach the truck and see the robot in the corner. Unfortunately, it is tall. Dirty rags on its body resemble circus clothing — only scraps remain. It has a glove on just one hand; the other reveals rusty metal claws. You wonder why anyone would design a robot with such sharp claws. Moving your gaze upward, you notice one of its shoulders is stretched, as if someone tried to tear its arm off but failed. Looking higher, you realize the head is missing. Scanning the dark interior of the truck, you spot it lying in the opposite corner.

As you step inside, a foul stench hits you. Covering your nose, you still force yourself to examine the robot. Bob wasn’t lying — it really was recently pulled from the landfill. Lifting the robot’s head, you’re surprised by how realistic it looks, almost human. Though the right side is damaged. Brushing aside the white hair, smeared with filth, you notice an inscription on the back.

“T… Twinkle?” you say out loud, reading the small text engraved there. Something else was written too, but it was scratched beyond recognition.

“Never heard of such a model… A custom build? Unlikely…” you murmur, examining it again. “Well then… let’s hope you’re not some kind of killer robot.”

You leave the truck with the robot’s head in your hands. You don’t have the strength to carry the body — you’ll call Bob later. You enter the small building that serves as the workers’ office. In its most secluded corner lies your workshop.

The place where you intend to fix the robot…

I love this character sooooooooo much!