Chapter 2: Welcome to the Laughtrack Labyrinth
1087 Words
The ruins of the Grinland Carnival looked like a corpse painted with leftover clown makeup.
Half-rotted rollercoasters loomed over cracked pavement. The Ferris wheel groaned as if haunted by old laughter. Tattered ticket booths leaned at awkward angles like teeth knocked out of a crooked grin. Wind chimes made from broken puppet limbs clattered in the breeze.
And Hybrid had just kicked through the front gate.
"Showtime," she muttered.
She stepped into the main walkway, her boots crunching broken popcorn boxes and doll heads. Her eyes scanned the area—sensors active, blood pressure stable. She’d injected herself earlier with mongoose reflex genes to give her quicker reactions. It was already paying off.
The ground squeaked beneath her feet.
She glanced down.
“...A whoopee cushion floor?”
PFFFFT.
The entire path let out a massive farting sound. Dozens of rubber pads deflated as she walked across them, like a parade of clown backsides.
Her eye twitched.
From somewhere unseen, a recording played:
🎵 “Farts are the heart’s laughter, let them speak!” 🎵
“I’m going to rip his throat out,” she hissed, vaulting over a cotton candy machine rigged to explode with feathers.
Behind her, the machine blew a storm of pink fluff and squeaky duck whistles. Confetti burst from a nearby dumpster. One of the animatronic mascots half-jumped to life and screamed:
“YOU'VE BEEN FLUFFED!”
Hybrid snarled and slammed it back into its trash pile.
She turned down the Funhouse Hall. Mirrors warped her reflection—some making her look buff, others like a bobblehead. She almost ignored them.
Almost.
Then one made her look like Professor Deathjoke, with googly eyes and spinning bowtie.
“That’s it.”
She punched the mirror. It shattered. Behind it was a corridor—and her sensors picked up heat traces.
Found it.
She advanced into a long winding hall beneath the funhouse, stepping over tripwire bananas and sidestepping pie cannons that fired on motion detection. She narrowly dodged a bouncy boxing glove that screamed “SURPRISE HUG!” on impact. A floor tile gave way and dropped a bucket of jellybeans.
“WHY IS EVERYTHING SUGAR?!”
From deeper in the tunnel, a speaker crackled to life.
“Oh come now, Hybrid,” Deathjoke's voice echoed like a carnival barker on helium. “Can’t a genius villain cover his floors with joy?”
She ignored the voice and advanced.
In the command chamber below, Professor Deathjoke leaned back in his squeaky desk chair, watching the monitors with his gloved hands folded. He wore his usual ensemble: a dark maroon suit, sharp against his pale lab coat. His violet tie flickered in the lab light, a pulse of madness beating at his throat.
Across the room, Smiley tightened the casing on a containment device. His face blank. Focused.
“She’s close,” he said, his voice cold, even.
Deathjoke didn’t look at him.
“You know what we agreed on.”
Smiley paused.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not meant to be in the blast radius.”
“And you’re not meant to be a martyr,” Smiley replied.
Deathjoke chuckled, spinning a yo-yo with a laughing skull at the end.
“Smiley, I gave you a name. Now take it and walk. Like we always planned.”
Smiley’s eyes shifted—almost sad. He glanced once more at the monitor, watching Hybrid vault over a trap door that tried to tickle her feet with robot feathers.
“She's stronger now. More... dangerous.”
“Yes,” said Deathjoke, tapping his temple. “Which means she’s finally fun.”
Smiley hesitated.
Then he turned, walking toward the back tunnel. The one they’d always kept clear.
“Goodbye, Professor.”
“No goodbyes, Smiley. Only punchlines.”
Hybrid blasted open the final vault door with a burst of reinforced muscle fiber in her legs. She landed in the control chamber like a missile in motion.
Professor Deathjoke stood alone. Backlit by swirling pink gas vents and neon circuitry, his cane rested in both hands. His goggles shimmered in the dark.
“Welcome,” he said with a bow. “I do hope the Ride of Laughter met your satisfaction.”
Hybrid didn’t answer.
She sprinted straight at him.
The floor triggered—but this time, it wasn’t sugar or glitter.
A panel opened beneath her and launched a decoy balloon—a human-sized one, painted like her. The real Hybrid had side-jumped it in time and slid under his cane sweep, launching a punch straight into his midsection.
But he twisted like a dancer.
His cane spun and released a smoke burst shaped like a smiley face. She choked once, rolled, then shoulder-slammed him into a control panel.
He groaned as sparks flew.
“You’re more aggressive than I recall.”
“You’re more annoying than anyone deserves to be,” she hissed. “Where’s your assistant? The one who calls himself Smiley?”
“Gone,” Deathjoke said, leaning forward. “The boy had potential. Which is why he needed to escape.”
“And you stayed?”
“Of course.”
He tapped his chest.
“This is the final act. The curtain falls. And the crowd—”
Hybrid grabbed his throat.
“No more jokes.”
His goggles finally lifted.
Underneath, his eyes weren’t wild anymore.
They were tired.
But smiling.
“Tell me, Hybrid. When they made you stronger… did they ever ask if it was what you wanted?”
She froze for a second.
“Shut up.”
“I made a monster out of laughter. But they made one out of you... with needles and promises. Tell me, is your power yours... or theirs?”
She slammed him against the wall.
“I said shut up!”
“Then go ahead,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “End the act.”
She raised her hand, powered and pulsing with bio-engineered strength.
But…
She didn’t strike.
Instead, she stared at him. At the lab. At the busted consoles. At the screens showing silly prank traps and banana guns.
At a cane with a hidden blade tucked inside.
And at a note.
Sitting under a mug. Written in elegant script.
“To Smiley — If she spares me, we win. If not… keep laughing. Love, your teacher.”
Hybrid stepped back, slowly.
“You don’t deserve to die laughing,” she muttered.
She turned and walked away.
Deathjoke slid to the floor, watching her vanish down the hall.
- Writer
