“If I die here…make sure you finish this damn case…”
The radio crackles loudly as it loses connection. She tries radioing in for Sercas, but nothing happens. Serena’s right hand trembles holding onto the radio. She knows Sercas wants her to stay put, but she cannot hold herself back after hearing his weak voice. She looks through the van for some weapon she can use.
After scrounging around she finds another flashlight and…a twelve inch frying pan. She sighs at Sercas for forgetting to bring that into their apartment. Nonetheless, she decides to take it since it is the only thing she can use. She also grabs the first-aid kit and stuffs it in her vest.
She exits the van, making sure that it is locked. She feels her heart beating faster the closer she approaches the doors of the facility. She knows that she lacks any field experience, let alone any combat experience, but she cannot lie idly by anymore.
“Sercas…Flint…please be safe.” She pleads with a shakiness in her voice.
She enters the facility, gripping the frying pan tightly in her hands.
Flint slowly rises from the floor of the Self-Building Man’s workshop. He struggles to keep himself up, still feeling ill from the black sludge flowing through his veins. He uses a nearby work table as a support as his whole body trembles. He falls to his knees as a tsunami of black sludge exits out of his mouth. A sticky pile forms at the site, bombarding Flint’s nostrils with his abhorrent stench.
Despite the stench and his sudden puke, he feels somewhat better. He uses the table to stand up again and gathers all of his belongings from the room. He reloads his revolver, just in case. He slowly walks out of the workshop.
Flint limps back to the kitchen, despite his current ill state. He peers in and finds Sercas leaning against the countertop while lying on the ground. He slowly shambles closer to him, leaning down to check his pulse.
“Heh…you came back…” Sercas mutters weakly.
Flint checks his wounds and finds that Sercas has covered them with a healing ointment. It will take some time given the severity of his wounds, but it will allow him to heal at the very least.
“Sercas, I can’t leave just yet. I…I have made promises to some people that I plan to fulfill.” He tells Sercas.
Sercas lies there, nodding in understanding.
“Don’t worry…I’ll be fine here,” Sercas tells Flint. “I still have some fight in me. Admittedly before I would be against you pursuing this case to the end. But after what I’ve seen, I’ll let you do what must be done.”
“Please Sercas, no more talk. Just rest.” Flint tells him.
Sercas nods, slowly drifting away for a nap. Flint limps out of the room, feeling his body tremble again as the black sludge flows through his veins. He feels the veins compressing his nerves, making him wince.
He leans against the wall outside of the workshop to give him some respite. He takes out the camera from his pocket and looks through the photos in his storage. He finds a new photo added that he hasn’t taken. It is a photo of Toby Matthew’s soul standing next to his corrupted version of himself, The Self-Building Man. Flint grips the camera tightly and puts it away in his inner pocket.
He bears the pain of the black sludge flowing through his veins as he limps back to the workshop. He knows that there is more to be done.
Flint stands in front of the stairwell at the farthest end corner of the Self-Building Man’s workshop area. He checks the floor plans again and finds only five floors according to them. Regardless, he does not let that sway him from going deeper into the facility. He takes a deep breath and slowly shambles down the stairs.
He grips his revolver tightly during his descent down the stairwell. His light illuminates little areas in this dark abyss—nothing abnormal, besides the black sludge on the walls.
He feels the black sludge flowing in his veins faster after descending the first two flights of stairs. Like the main stairwells before, they have countless talismans all over the walls. His hands shiver as he feels his veins tightening and constricting his nerves. He groans in agony, trying to massage himself to ease the pain.
While being distracted by the pain, he almost slips on something wet. He stumbles down the rest of the stairwell, landing on something that creates an audible fleshy crunch at the bottom of the steps. Thankfully he does not fall to the ground.
The light shines upon the countless corrupted corpses lying on the base. Their limbs are torn off and crushed. Their black sludge stains the entire area. Flint slowly looks up at the set of doors in front of him. He finds the light shining upon some stains on the wall above the two doors. His light shines upon a text written in black sludge.
“To all ye lost souls, welcome back to your true home.”
Flint shouts in agony as he feels several of his veins burst. His entire body trembles as he feels the black sludge slowly corroding the inner flesh walls and coating his bones. He is paralyzed by the sensation of the black sludge sloshing and coating his insides.
He reaches for the gun and points it at his arm. He pulls the trigger.
*BANG*
A bright burst of green flame erupts from the gun’s nose. The bullet pierces straight through his right arm.
“AGHHHHHHHHH!” Flint screams.
The bullet-shaped hole on his clothes and wound bleed out a thick mixture of blood and black sludge. He feels a sense of relief as his wound continues to bleed, staining his clothes. He limps toward the two doors, squeezing his wound so more of the mixture bleeds out. He kicks the doors open.
Flint shambles into the grandiose lobby of a theater. Flint’s blood and black sludge mixture stains the velvet-patterned carpeting of the lobby. He passes by the box office, which is ordained with ornate statues of birds of all kinds. Two spiral staircases lead to the upper seating floors of the theater. Flint shambles past the spiral staircases, noticing the pristine finishes on the wooden handrails and the marble guard railing. He arrives at sets of large wooden doors. Each of them has a decorated design of a variety of theater plays, some of which Flint knows from his daughter.
He places his hands on the handles of the door, which is an ouroboros adorned in precious metals. He slowly opens the hefty doors wide open. The doors greet him to rows, upon rows of velvet seats facing a magnificent theater stage. The theater’s violet velvet curtains are embroidered with elegant images of graceful fantasy creatures in golden silk.
Flint’s breaths grow heavier and heavier as he approaches the stage. He stumbles around and his vision causes the sights around him to blur. He stumbles over to one of the seats and sloppily sits down. He at his wound and notices blood with fragments of black sludge is bleeding out.
Flint removes his coat and rips off his remaining sleeve on his left arm. He is surprised to find his left arm still shadowy black as the sludge flows through. He groans, realizing he should have shot his left arm as well to drain his body from the black sludge. He wraps the gunshot wound. The once-white sleeve now becomes a dark crimson.
Flint feels his eyes growing heavier and heavier. He cannot keep them open for any longer and he slowly falls unconscious.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please stay in your seats. The show will resume in 15 minutes.” A graceful woman’s voice crackles from the radio.
Flint abruptly awakes from his unconscious state to the loud boisterous roars of tubas and trumpets. The stage curtain is slowly pulled aside and the lights in the room dim. The stage light shines upon a tall figure on the stage.
The figure stands in the spotlight, adorned in her magenta puffy pants and velvet gloves with lines of golden thread and her suit coat whose sequins and gems dazzle the stage under the stage light. The figure wears a smiling theater mask, whose mouth and eye holes are shaded in with a mixture of red and violet hues. The figure adjusts her wide-brim hat, which has a fresh bouquet of roses pinned on on. They all juxtapose her corrupted and atrophied shadowy black skin, which drips and oozes black sludge all over the stage.
Flint hears the radio crackling loudly. Soft orchestral music starts playing from its speakers. He then hears a graceful feminine voice starting to sing.
There was once a man on that beach
He was the love of my life
He never swore, never hurt
He was there when no others would
Yes, there was once a man on that beach
His eyes shined in the moonlight
His voice was like the gentle breeze on that night
But then came out another woman
She stood on the shore, kicking the sand
I see his once radiant look turn at her
His look became dead like that of a wilted rose
The screaming lass crashed on the sand like the waves upon the shore
He was lifeless like the scarlet lady on the scarlet-spreading sand
He too became one of the scarlet people
Nobody would know who that scarlet lady was
Nobody would know about the scarlet man lying in front of her
Because no man was standing on the beach that night
There was only the scarlet serrated knife
The music abruptly stops playing on the radio. Flint takes a photo of the performance as it ends.
“Damn it…my singing wasn’t good enough. I didn’t put my all into it!” a graceful female voice shouts from the radio.
Flint notices the figure staring intently at him.
“It seems that I would need participation from the audience to execute this piece flawlessly.” A graceful female voice comments from the radio. “After all, with your help, I will be able to perfect my performance!”
The figure flips off the stage and lands softly in front of Flint. Still weak from his bleed out, Flint cannot stop the figure from picking him up. Flint struggles in the figure’s grasp, flailing his body against hers. The figure stabs its sharp glossy fingers into Flint’s chest.
He screams in agony as his body bleeds out at a fast pace. His vision becomes blurry and he struggles to keep conscious. The figure slowly shambles away, tapping along with an unconscious Flint in her grasp.
Flint slowly awakes on a folding chair. He massages his aching head as he stumbles out of the chair. He notices his wounds from the figure have quickly recovered. However the same cannot be said for his clothes. They are just as worn and stained as his surroundings in the small dressing room. He shambles out of the dressing room.
His arms and legs tremble as the black sludge rushes through his veins while traversing down the halls behind the stage. He cannot hear his inner thoughts as the feeling of thick black sludge flows through his body, slowly corroding his insides away.
“Damn it…make it stop! Make it stop!” he screams down the hall.
He weakly falls to the floor, unable to maintain his balance. He looks over to his trembling left arm. He takes it out of his coat sleeve and finds it corroding away, becoming a scrawny and bony structure oozing out black sludge.
Noticing his decaying state, he feels the black sludge and blood flowing through him at a faster rate. He quickly stands up, breathing quick sporadic breaths. He runs through the halls and enters a random room. It is another dressing room full of grandiose costumes hanging on racks.
He quickly sits down in the chair and inspects the rest of his body. Thankfully none of them have corroded away, but the black sludge flowing through his veins darkens his fair skin like the color of a shadowy void.
He grabs his revolver using his trembling hands. He takes deep breaths to quell his sporadic breath.
“AGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!” he screams.
*BANG*
*BANG*
*BANG*
*BANG*
After the fourth flash from a bright green flame, Flint sits down on the chair with gunshot wounds on his right shoulder, abdomen, and thighs. They all bleed out a thick mixture of black sludge and blood. Despite the pain he is in, he feels a wave of relief as the black sludge bleeds out from his body.
“Mister, why are you hurting yourself?” a young voice asks over the radio.
Flint finds the figure of the young boy standing by the door.
“Kid…you would never understand the pain I’m going through right now,” Flint tells him, weakly breathing.
The figure of the young boy slowly approaches him. His spectral hand pokes the bullet holes in Flint’s body.
“Mister. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” The young voice murmurs over the radio. “I don’t want you to die…”
“Why? Because if I die you won’t be saved?” he asks.
“No. Because then someone won’t have a dad.” The young voice murmurs over the radio.
Flint’s eyes widen after hearing the young boy’s statement.
“How…did you know?” he asks.
“I…I didn’t know. But, I have a feeling that you’re a dad. You have that aura.” The young voice murmurs over the radio. “Mister, I’ve been dead for a long time. I never got to see my mom and dad ever again. If you’re hurting yourself over saving me and the others…please leave mister. I don’t want anyone to feel the loneliness and pain I feel after losing my dad…”
Flint sits in the chair, with an almost lifeless expression on his visage. His eyes gaze upon his wounds. Despite his wounds bleeding out the black sludge, did he really feel relief because it exits his veins? Sure he does, that corrosive sludge is no longer inside him. But as more and more of it bleeds out, he can see the dark void slowly surrounding him, waiting for him to bite the dust.
He can see more and more of the dark void form around him the more he bleeds out. He can finally feel the cold and numbing relief his alcohol brings. But this time, it will be permanent.
The dark void slowly engulfs him whole. He can see the shadows of all the macabre sights he has witnessed over his cases form around him. Their presence will serve as his company and the constant reminder of his weaknesses and failures as a detective.
But he does not succumb to his injuries. Not after all the pain he has suffered. His pain will not be worse than the pain his beloved Ronlo, his sweet daughter Lily, and his dearest friends Sercas and Serena would feel if he were gone. He will not let them be afflicted with that pain, even if it means he has to bear with the black sludge flowing through his veins and the darkness he has experienced.
But it isn’t only about living for them. No, he has made a promise to the boy, Argus, and Toby. Even at his lowest moments, he keeps his oath near and dear to him. He knows the shadowy figure is right. His oath will guide him and he will never break his oath.
“I…will free you…” he mutters.
He stands from the chair and takes several plain costumes off the racks. He tears scraps off from them to bandage his wounds. He groans in agony, feeling the black sludge flowing through his veins and corroding his insides away, but it does not matter to him.
His eyes are set on his goal and duty. He shambles out of the room, bearing the pains of the black sludge flowing inside his body.
“Mister…be safe…” the young voice murmurs over the radio.
Flint wanders around the backstage halls, hearing music and the soft singing of the figure’s voice from the radio. He peers into the doors of each room, finding storage rooms for stage props and various lounge areas. Most of them are stained and ruined with black sludge but are mostly intact.
It is not until he reaches the hall furthest away from the stage which catches his interest. He notices a set of two large doors that are locked with thick chains and a giant padlock in the middle of the hallway. At the end of the hall, he finds a door with glamorous light surrounding it. As he approaches the door, he finds a glamorous plaque with the moon on it. There is a name etched on the plaque: Madame Broadway.
He takes out the camera from his pockets. He manages to take a clear photo of the camera, despite his trembling hands. He puts the camera away.
He slowly opens the door and is greeted with a large mirror with many large round light bulbs illuminating the room. He slowly enters the room, his feet sinking into the soft velvet carpeting. He finds several dress racks with many costumes and clothes hanging and many large plush chairs. He notices a large table beneath the mirror, with various brushes and makeup kits scattered around.
He notices a script in the middle of all the clutter. It has the cover page title: “Advent Moon.” He reaches out for the script.
“Another botched performance…This is not good.” A graceful female voice mutters from his radio.
Flint hears the tapping steps of Madame Broadway approaching the room. Thinking quickly he hides himself in the corner of the room, covering himself with the clothing racks and chairs. He crouches to the ground, lowering the volume of the radio.
Madame Broadway slowly enters the room, too preoccupied in her thoughts to realize that her door is wide open. She pulls aside the chair for her makeup table and sits down. Flint sees her rubbing her head and looking down at her script.
“My performance needs to be perfect…It has to be!” her graceful voice mutters over the radio.
Flint sees her looking around for the source of the noise. He sees her slowly shambling closer to his area.
“It seems there may be an unwanted visitor in my presence…” the graceful feminine voice mutters from the radio.
He feels his fear and adrenaline kicking in. The fast rate the black sludge flows in his body sends a strong stinging sensation. He lowers the volume and holds his breath, bearing the pain.
She stops approaching when she no longer hears the noise.
“Must be the wind…” she mutters.
She sits back on her chair and reviews the script.
“I have to nail this performance…no matter what it takes. I will not ruin my chances!” the graceful female voice mutters over the radio.
She exits the room with the script in her grasp. Flint slowly exits from his hiding place, trembling from the pain of the black sludge flowing through his body. He sits down on a nearby plush chair, taking deep breaths to slow blood flow and black sludge.
He can see the dark void slowly forming around him, but he will not succumb to the pain. During his state of pain, he thinks of happier, calmer memories. He envisions himself at the pier at sunset. He can see the sunset being cast upon Ronlo’s beautiful visage. He can see Ronlo’s shocked face when he kneels and proposes to him on that very pier. He sees the joy and love emanating from his beloved husband.
Flint smiles at the fond and beautiful memory. He feels relief as the stinging pain eases and his blood flow slows. He takes some more deep breaths, feeling himself calm down.
“Ronlo…I miss you…I still love you…I’m sorry…” he mutters to himself.
Flint slowly rises from the plush chair. Before he leaves the room, he notices a photograph on her makeup table. After approaching the table with sloppy steps, he picks up the photo for closer inspection.
It is a photo of a man with dark skin, smiling at the camera with a charismatic smile. The image highlights his short black hair and the blue tuxedo he wears.
Feeling the importance of the photo, he puts it in his pocket and shambles out of the room. He leans against the wall near Madame Broadway’s dressing room to stabilize himself. He hears the movement of the door knob latch bolt slowly open. He falls as the wall opens wide like a door. He groans in pain as he slowly rises from the floor, using the chair in front of him as support.
He finds himself in a small dark room with a lamp illuminating a small portion of the large desk in the room. He pushes the chair aside and notices several documents in a neat pile.
He finds a document of a lady with long, flowing auburn hair and fair skin. Most of the text has been redacted with black ink. However, one portion of the uncovered text catches his eye.
Subject Name: Madame Broadway (CAG)
Notes: “Alaya…I will soon be with you again. Just one more trial. But this time, things will be different.”
Flint finds a newspaper article beneath the documents. The title on the front page, “FAMED ACTRESS CRISTIE ASTAS GOES MISSING!” stands out in bold black ink.
Flint recognizes the familiar name as it echoes throughout his mind. During his time at the academy, his professors and lecturers have gone on and on about how her disappearance is an impossible mystery. He remembers them lecturing on how the only piece of evidence they can use is security camera footage of her going out on a walk. What complicates the case is that the suspects have verifiable alibis and lack of motivation to cause her disappearance.
Standing in the room, he lets the harsh realization kick in. He now knows the truth of this infamous impossible crime. But more importantly, he can finally confirm his suspicions that it is indeed Romander who is behind the fate of all these victims. And he can now confidently know that Romander is indeed the machine up above. Despite the pain he feels as the black sludge rushes through his veins, he reminds himself of his oath. He will not die here. He will save them.
He brings out his camera from his inner pocket and takes a clear photo of the documents, despite his shivering hands. As the camera’s light flashes onto the documents, his camera screen starts flickering as a new photo is being formed on the screen. It shows Christie in the same elaborate costume as Madame Broadway. She is on stage performing a technical and flashy move, with translucent purple chains linked to her. Flint can only imagine how horrid this experiment was on her. He puts the camera back into his pocket.
He pushes aside the newspaper and digs through the rest of the documents. Most of them have their contents redacted in black ink, rendering them useless. He gains little information from the portions that are not redacted as they are paragraphs full of technical jargon.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
After pushing aside the many documents onto the sides of the desk, he finds a copy of the Advent Moon script that has been in Madame Broadway’s dressing room.
He quickly skims through the plot, understanding the general concept that the musical is an apocalyptic tragedy. What is most notable to him is the ending of the musical. The finale number is about an intense fight between the female protagonist and her husband. The fight ends in the death of the protagonist at the hands of her husband, lying on the stage riddled with bullet wounds.
He knows what he must do, but something deep down tells him that there is more to this finale than meets the eye. He looks through the script again back at the ending.
He notices various letters in bold ink throughout that portion of the script. He finds a pen on the desk and writes down the message on a separate paper.
“Let her know about the one who she left behind.”
Flint stands there for a moment to ponder. He takes out the photo of the man from his pocket and looks at the text again. While he does not know the exact significance of the man, he must be the one the text refers to. He puts away the photo back into his pocket and grabs the script.
He breathes heavily, noticing his body intensely trembling. He feels the black sludge expanding and constricting his nerves. He sits down on the chair, groaning in agony. His arms and legs feel like an overinflated balloon ready to burst.
He reaches for his revolver, his trembling hand struggling to grip the handle. He looks around him and notices the dark void slowly forming around him. This time, he feels its cold presence creeping up his spine. He feels it choking him as he struggles to breathe.
Yet, despite his pain, he will not let himself succumb. He takes out his revolver, which he struggles to hold in his trembling hands. He slowly takes out the box of ammunition and reloads each bullet one by one. Each time he does this, he almost drops the bullet to the ground, but he manages to successfully reload his revolver. He puts it away in his coat pockets.
His arms tremble violently as he uses them to help himself off the chair. His trembling legs cause him to stumble around as the dark void slowly surrounds him. He takes a few, uneasy steps as he traverses through the increasingly dark void.
With each step he takes, he feels its chilling presence intensify. With each step, he feels his entire body tremble even more violently. With each step, he feels the dark void swallow him whole.
But with each step, he persists and powers through the pain. He will not let himself succumb and the darkness swallows him whole. Yet, all it takes for him to fall into the void is one small step.
His legs give up on him and he begins his slow descent into the deep dark abyss. But, he feels someone catch him before he falls. He looks up and finds the tall humanoid figure slowly lifting him.
“It is not your time yet, detective.” A voice whispers into his ear. “I will guide you to your destination.”
Flint slowly balancing himself, despite his trembling legs. He sees the humanoid leading the way. He powers through the pain, following after him. Flint faintly hears the sounds of boisterous trumpets from his radio. The longer he follows the figure, the more instruments join in the music. The music reaches its crescendo as he sees the gradual build-up of the stage lights, which overpower the darkness of the void.
“We have arrived detective.” The humanoid figure whispers into his ears.
Flint stumbles onto the stage, noticing Madame Broadway staring at him from the other side. He tries to stand up straight, trying to hide away his trembling body. The music from the radio reaches its decrescendo. Madame Broadway lets out a low harmonious growl.
“You have come just in time, my dear.” Her graceful voice mutters from the radio. “I will no longer tolerate any of your control! I will live the life I want to!”
Flint is initially confused by her sudden proclamation, but the realization hits him. He is on the stage, and she is fulfilling her role. Flint looks through the script in his hands and notices her lines mark the beginning of the musical’s tragic ending. He takes a deep breath.
“My control? What I’m doing is for our benefit! After all this time, you think freedom is what you need?” Flint reads from the script, trying his best to evoke the emotions.
“I do not care if the entire world is crumbling down right before our very lives! Never once in my life have I ever felt so alive than being free from your control!” the graceful female voice proclaims as the figure growls with her usual harmonious voice.
It takes a moment for Flint to find the right line in the script. As he looks over the line, he feels his heart grow heavy.
“So our love is meaningless? You’d pursue this goal and dream and let all our years of love die?” he asks her, holding back his tears.
Madame Broadway senses the emotions that she has provoked from Flint. She smiles behind her mask, realizing what she can achieve with his performance. She leans forward and shouts at Flint with harmonious, sludgy growls.
“I’d throw that all away in a heartbeat if it means I can finally live. I will fight for my freedom. Even if it means killing you.” Her graceful voice proclaims from the radio.
Madame Broadway changes her stance, ready to attack Flint. Flint reaches for his revolver from his coat pocket. He aims it at Madame Broadway.
“You aren’t the one who I fell in love with. Goodbye, stranger.” Flint mutters.
Flint hears soft piano music juxtaposed with the intense strumming of violins and boisterous trumpets and tubas coming from the radio.
Flint is caught off guard when Madame Broadway gracefully skates on the stage like that of a renowned figure skater. Flint is unable to aim his gun properly at her as she skates circles around him. He hears her rhythmically tapping as she glides around the stage.
He rests his finger on the trigger, still trying to aim at her while she gracefully glides around the stage.
*BANG*
A trail of green flame zooms at Madame Broadway. However, she gracefully somersaults into the air, dodging the bullet. Flint stumbles back from the revolver’s recoil, his body trembling violently.
Flint feels the sharp pain of a sharp shoe kicking his back. The boisterous trumpets have a sudden spike in volume after the hit. He flies forward and crashes to the ground. His revolver flies out of his hands, landing an arm’s reach away from him. His radio lands on the other side of the stage as it continues to play intense and dramatic music. He can hear the rhythmic tapping from Madame Broadway as she glides and flips on stage.
He reaches out for his revolver but he stops as he feels his back cracking loudly as Madame Broadway lands on his back.
This is no time to back down!
I shall fight until the night!
No more running, no more crying!
I won’t let you trap me in your grasp!
I shall earn my freedom!
Now it’s time for you to pay!
Flint screams in more agony as Madame Broadway starts tap dancing on his back as the music falls silent. Each tap feels like a concentrated hit by a hammer all over his back. He screams in more agony as his bones breaking serve as a complement to Madame Broadway’s tapping.
Flint groans in more agony as he bleeds internally and feels the black sludge corroding all his insides away. Despite all the pain and agony Flint is undergoing, he pushes himself off the ground with all his might. Madame Broadway is shaken off Flint’s back but gracefully regains her balance after performing an ala seconde turn.
During her turn, Flint crawls over to his revolver and reaches for it. However just before he grabs onto it, Madame Broadway slides over and kicks it away from him. She stomps on his right hand, making him wince as he feels his bones crack.
I feel real joy and relief!
You’re no one’s hope and joy!
You’re just a useless fragment from a vile pile of trash!
So no one will miss you when you’re gone!
So rest in peace and let me press on!
Let me see my final reward!
And finally, I’ll be free!
*BANG*
A stream of green flame flies at her face. Madame Broadway jerks back as the bullet pierces through her mask, causing several fragments to fall to the ground. The music falls silent.
She looks at Flint, who has inched further away during her lyric. He holds the revolver in his left hand as he lies there, breathing heavily. His injured right hand holds the script as he reads through it. Soft piano music plays on the radio.
“No! Why don’t you get it through your mind? I only wanted you to be safe!” Flint shouts at her, his tone following the music.
Flint slowly rises from the ground, despite his injured and trembling body. He throws the script out of his hands and off the stage. He takes out the photo of the man from his pocket. He feels all the heavy emotions and pains coming from the photo. He looks up and stares at Madame Broadway. He takes a deep breath, letting the emotions of the photo guide him into what he has to say.
“Now I see the error in my ways. For trusting someone, who never loved you. I’m just a stepping stone, nothing more.” Flint tells her in an exhausted tone, following along to the somber music.
Madame Broadway’s eyes widen when she hears those lines. They aren’t part of the script, yet they are just perfect for the scene. Perfect, yet so familiar.
I hold this facade to hide my own pains.
I let so many die, and for what gains?
But I cannot turn back any longer.
I will fight until you are no more.
Flint hears her now genuine somber tone. His words cloud Madame Broadway’s mind as she elegantly performs slow, but graceful ala seconde twirls and leaps on the stage.
He throws the photo of the man at her like a throwing star. She catches it in her hands. She takes a closer look at the photo.
“I…it’s you…” the graceful female voice mutters over the radio. “I’m so sorry…for everything.”
Despite her somber state, Flint can sense the fight left within her to finish this all. Madame Broadway hides the photo in her costume, positioning it near her heart. He hears the music gradually become more intense and louder. Flint rests his finger on the trigger and aims at her.
*BANG*
*BANG*
*BANG*
Three consecutive streams of green flames burst from the revolver. Each bullet pierces her body, but she does not falter. She gracefully twirls and glides closer to Flint despite her injuries. Madame Broadway leaps into the air, performing many graceful flips and twirls in the air.
Flint aims his revolver at her. His finger rests on the trigger.
“Goodbye,” Flint mutters.
*BANG*
A stream of green flame flies towards Madame Broadway. The bullet pierces through her head as she is posed midair. Her mask shatters, and its fragments fall to the ground. Great light slowly erupts out of her bullet wounds.
“Finally…I have achieved my greatest performance.” Her graceful voice mutters from the radio.
The room is enveloped with the same bright light as Madame Broadway’s body fades away. Flint covers his eyes from the blinding light as his surroundings slowly change.
Flint’s eyes open as the light slowly dissipates. He is seated in a plush folding chair at a small theater. The stage lights shine upon the stage. The backgrounds appear to have been made by amateur, but passionate stage designers. In the center of the stage is a young lady with fair skin. The stage lights shine on medium, flowing auburn hair and her simple dress suit.
She tap dances on the stage with the elegance of a baby first learning how to walk. Despite her initial sloppy first taps, she slowly gains her rhythm. She performs many technical and flashy moves on the stage. He is reminded of his daughter’s passion in acting. He only wishes that after all of this is over, he and Ronlo would see Lily perform on stage, dazzling the audience with her performance. He smiles and cheers along with the audience after her stellar performance.
Flint notices his surroundings change, hearing the audience’s applause and cheers gradually become more silent. He finds himself standing outside the door of a dressing room. The plaque on the door has the name: Christie Astas.
Flint slowly opens the door and quietly enters the room. He finds Christie cleaning the makeup off her beautiful visage. She doesn’t turn around to face Flint, as if he isn’t even there.
“Well, Christie, the audience loved your performance. But, that beginning…agh it’s so embarrassing...” she mutters.
Flint blushes when he sees her slowly undress from her costume. He turns around as she changes into her clothes.
“But you’ll nail it down one day. Just keep focused. I know I got this down!” she exclaims, now dressed in her casual red dress.
Flint and Christie hear someone knocking on her door. Flint moves aside as Christie approaches the door. Christie opens the door and finds a man with white hair wearing a black formal suit.
“You are Christie, yes?” the man asks her.
She nods and lets the man into her room.
“I have seen your performance on stage and you have the makings of a wonderful actress.” He comments.
“Oh thank you, sir.” She replies.
The man reaches into his inner suit pocket and hands her a business card. Christie reaches her shivering hand out to his and takes the card.
“Here, if you are interested in an opportunity to further your career, give us a call.” The man tells her.
He nods before leaving the room. Christie lets the man walk further down the hallway before bursting out in excitement. She is overwhelmed by her intense feelings of elation and cannot believe that she is given such a grand offer.
“I can’t believe it…I’m one step closer to my dream…”
Christie imagines herself on the grandest stage of the world. She fulfills her role with such passion and finesse, engaging the audience and cheering her on. And after her performance is completed, she faces the cheering audience. She feels great joy and pride seeing that her performance has given something for her audience to enjoy and evoke the deep emotions within them.
Flint notices his surroundings change again as Christie leaves the room. He finds himself standing on the side of a stage, akin to the one where he has fought Madame Broadway, but in pristine condition.
He sees Christie Astas practicing her tap dancing and twirls on the stage. She is not satisfied with her current skills as she occasionally trips and stumbles. Despite her frustrations, she still keeps practicing and performing her moves.
Flint is again reminded of his dear daughter. Flint is reminded of when Lily showed her simple dances and acting to him back in those days. He cannot wait for her to become a skillful actress and performer like Christie.
Flint looks behind him as he hears steps approaching him. He finds the very man coming to the stage. Unlike in the photo, he wears a simple white long-sleeved polo and a plain light blue vest. The man adjusts his appearance as he approaches Christie.
“You’re quite talented.” He comments.
Christie jolts from his sudden appearance and falls to the floor mid-twirl. His eyes widen and he rushes over and helps her up. Christie feels a warmth as her skin brushes along his toned body.
“You alright?” he asks.
Christie shakes out of her current state and uses his support to stand up.
“Yep, I’m fine.” She tells him, now standing up properly.
“I never seen your face around here before. Did you recently get hired?” he asks.
Christie nods.
“Yes, just some days ago.” She replies.
Christie goes back to practicing her skills. Despite her lack of finesse, the man sees great potential in her abilities.
“You know, I think I know some ways to help your performance.” The man tells her.
Flint sees the man show her some new techniques to help her performance seem more graceful. He sees Christie stumble and fall as she tries to recreate them. Despite her fails and fumbles, the man does not laugh at her mistakes. He helps her up after every fall.
Christie and the man sit down at the edge of the stage after practicing for several more moments. The man looks over at Christie, seeing her tired, yet still determined expression on her visage. Flint slowly approaches them.
“Damn, I never met anyone just as passionate as you.” The man tells her. “But, I do wonder why.”
Christie looks over to the man, wiping the sweat off her forehead.
“You see all these empty seats? These are seats waiting to be filled by people who wish to get themselves immersed and lost in the world of the stage. I would serve an utter disservice if I didn’t put my passion and soul into my performance.” She tells the man, looking at all the empty seats.
Christie looks over and notices the man smiling as he looks among the rows of empty seats.
“A true patron of the arts, eh?” he asks, chuckling to himself. “I’ve never really thought about it like that.”
Christie looks back to the empty rows of seats. She smiles seeing the emotions of the audience watching the performance on stage. Their joys, fears, sadness, and elation drive her to perfect her performance.
“One day, I’ll perform on the grand stage. I’ll give them all a performance they will never forget.” Christie says to herself.
The man cannot help, but smile, seeing the passion emanating from her.
“You know, you don’t have to take the road alone. It’s better to have some company along the way.” The man tells her.
She is caught by surprise after hearing his sudden comment. He reaches out his hand to her.
“Thomas.” He tells her.
Christie reaches out and shakes his hand firmly.
“Christie.” She tells him.
Flint sees his surroundings change around him. He finds himself sitting down on one of the seats in the theater. He looks up at the stage and finds both Thomas and Christie performing on the stage in simple costumes. With each step and movement in their performance, he can see them both aging and their performance becoming more refined and even more passionate. He notices their appearances become like the ones from the photos he has seen of them.
He cheers along with the audience at their performance, as if he were watching his dearest daughter grow up. His surroundings change from his seating place to a dressing room behind the stage. He notices Thomas and Christie intimately waltzing together in their casual clothes.
He hears a knocking coming from the door. Thomas and Christie stop. Thomas approaches the door and finds a young man in a suit entering the room. He firmly shakes Thomas’s hand.
“My you had such a wonderful performance on that stage.” The young man tells him.
The young man keeps praising Thomas’s performance, making Thomas overwhelmed and blushing at his words. Christie stands in the background in silence with a dejected expression on her visage.
After the young man’s long-winded praises, he hands Thomas a business card.
“If you want an opportunity to audition for Ardent Dusk, please give me a call. We would love to have you” The young man tells him.
Thomas takes the card. He looks back at Christie, feeling a depressing aura emanating from her.
“May she audition as well?” Thomas asks him.
“Uh…well…I only came back here for you sir. I don’t think…”
Christie approaches him.
“Give me a chance. Please.” She tells him.
Thomas rests his hand on Christie’s shoulder.
“Besides, she and I are a duo. I don’t work without her.” He tells him.
The young man sighs and allows her to audition as well. He exits the room, leaving Christie and Thomas there. Christie hugs Thomas tightly, thanking him for backing her up. Thomas hugs her back. Flint watches on, feeling the warmth of the scene.
He finds himself seated in a seat, this time in a larger theater than the previous one. He looks up at the stage and notices Christie and Thomas’s masterful performance of the flashy and technical dance moves for the finale, now in more well-made costumes. Their performance creates a fantastical spectacle, making the audience roar in applause. Their applause pushes Christie in her performance, pushing her to her upper limits.
Flint finds himself again backstage after the end of their performance. He notices Christie wandering through the halls backstage to her and Thomas’s dressing room. He follows her and notices Thomas talking to another agent offering him a role. Christie hides in the corner of the hallway and overhears their conversation Despite the agent’s offer, Thomas will not accept unless Christie could audition as well.
After the agent agrees to his offers, the agent leaves the other way. Christie approaches Thomas in their room. She runs up to Thomas and hugs him tightly. Thomas returns the hug.
Flint finds his surroundings change around him again. He finds himself in another grand theater, watching another performance by Thomas and Christie. After their performance, he will find himself again somewhere backstage, where an agent offers Thomas an audition for another musical on an even grander and larger stage. Unlike before, Christie wanders backstage, asking her fellow actors for any people of influence they know. Flint sees her meeting up with these agents
Flint finds himself in this cycle, seeing them perform with such finesse and passion on larger stages, in even grander costumes than before, with larger cheering audiences filling all the seats. He then finds himself backstage where Thomas is offered audition roles and again refuses unless Christie can audition as well.
Unlike before though, Christie wanders backstage, asking her fellow actors for any people of influence they know. Flint sees her meeting up with these agents in secret and performing in various other plays as a one-time stunt, impressing audiences of various sizes.
During all of this, he can see Christie still investing all her best efforts in her performances, to the point of her exhaustion. After each performance, he senses love blooming between Thomas and Christie. Yet he also sees Christie slowly distancing away from him as she abruptly leaves to meet with other agents. It becomes painful for him to watch after each performance seeing their love for each other wilting like a rose.
This cycle ends after one of their performances. He finds himself in Christie’s dressing room. As Christie fixes her hair in her plain dress, looking at herself in the mirror. Flint sees the tired and miserable expression on her face. She wishes that the joy from her and Thomas’s performance on stage will carry over, but she knows that will not get her to her destination.
Memories flash in her mind of all the sleaze bag agents she had to please with more than just her stage performances to get their ‘approval’. But she will do anything to secure her dream, even it means she has to force herself to delve to such depravity. She wipes the tears off her face, trying to accept what is done, is done.
She hears someone knocking on the door.
“Come in!” she shouts over, trying to hide the unease in her voice.
An older woman, dressed in grandiose formal dress enters the room. Christie turns around and she jolts in surprise. She recognizes the woman as one of the most prestigious theater owners and producers in the industry. The woman closes the door behind her.
“You are Christie, yes?” she asks her.
Christie nods, adjusting herself from her shocked state.
“Yes miss.” She replies.
“Never in my life have I seen such passion and drive in someone’s performance. You have talent, and I wish to use it.” She tells Christie.
“You…you want me?” Christie stutters.
“Yes, I do. I have one of my greatest works, Advent Moon, currently having a run on the Mangarella-Arcos Theater. The main lead wishes to resign from the role, and I want you to replace her.”
Christie is star-struck by her offer. She knows how prestigious and grand the Mangarella-Arcos Theater is. She cannot wait to perform on that stage in front of the largest theater in the world and touch the hearts of the thousands of audiences in each performance.
“I…Yes, I will!” she exclaims.
The older lady nods and smiles at her enthusiasm.
“There is one thing I must mention. I will need you to move to an area near the theater. Will this be acceptable?” she asks Christie.
Flint suddenly finds himself in an entirely different location. He looks around and finds himself in a dark one-story home. He notices a light emanating from the show on the TV. He approaches the couch and finds Christie sitting on there, with countless eye bags and a frown on her visage. She is drinking from a bottle of whiskey on her table.
It has been quite a while since she moved to a house near the Mangarella-Arcos theater. She has never talked to Thomas since then. She never even let him know about her role since that day. She feels so lost and empty without him during her practice sessions. Her practice partners never have the guts to tell her what else she can do better, unlike him. After all he has done for her, she cannot help but wallow in her sorrows. She drowns them away with alcohol.
She stands up from her couch and exits her home. Flint follows closely behind. He finds her walking down the side of the road of her isolated home. She basks in nature, gazing upon the trees on the side of the road and basking in the night.
Flint notices Romander sitting on the same side of the road that Christie is walking down. Romander notices her and slowly stands up. Christie steps back as the man approaches her. Flint notes that Romander is much older in appearance. His hair still has its red color, but most of his clothes are riddled with holes and black sludge stains.
“Don’t run away…I am only here to help…” Romander mutters.
“Help? Get away from me!” Christie screams at him as she backs away.
“Please young lady, listen to this poor old man for a few moments…” he pleads.
Not even wanting to risk her safety, she runs away.
“Do you not wish to have a performance of a lifetime?” the man asks her.
Christie finds herself stopping in place. She turns around with a befuddled expression.
“What do you mean?” she asks him.
The man slowly approaches her with slow steps.
“Don’t you wish to perform in front of the very man you have left? Don’t you wish to see him proud of you? Don’t you want to love him again?” he asks her.
“How…how do you know…”
Before Christie can finish, Roomander injects her with a tranquilizer serum. Christie falls limp to the ground. He bends down and drags her away. Flint chases after them, trying to stop him even though he cannot.
“Oh, young lady you don’t have to say a word. I know you want to do this. And you will allow me to see her again.” Romander mutters in his insane ramblings.
Flint is engulfed in darkness. A large bright light suddenly illuminates a portion of a stage. He finds Christie lying down on the stage, now dressed in the same clothing as Madame Broadway.
Christie slowly rises from the ground of the stage, feeling an intense migraine. She looks around and notices she is on a stage.
“Why am I here? And how did I get here?” she asks out loud.
Both Flint and Christie hear the crackling of a loudspeaker.
“Christie Astas, the famed Broadway star,” Romander speaks over the radio. “If you fail to complete your performance, you will never get to see Thomas ever again.”
Christie’s eyes widen. Despite her tired and miserable state, she composes herself. She will free herself from this deranged man’s game.
“Experiment #240 The Performance.” The man mutters.
Orchestra music plays on the loudspeaker. She finds a script on the ground, detailing some intricate dance moves she must perform. The first of them is performing seven ala seconde turns while tapping rapidly with her pivot foot.
She takes a deep breath and starts to twirl around. However as she tries to tap with her pivot foot, she stumbles onto the ground. She grunts in agony as she feels her migraine worsen.
She stands back up and starts to twirl again. She again fails to perform the move and falls to the ground. She groans in agony as she can feel her insides slowly corroding away. She screams in more agony as translucent purple chains stab all over her body.
Despite the horrors, Flint forces himself to stomach the pain. He has to know what has happened to her.
She stands up again and starts to twirl around. With each twirl, she is able to rapidly tap her pivot food, thus completing the move. Despite the successful completion of the move, she feels her arms stretch out and corrode away. She screams in horror and agony as her hands corrode into petrified black sludge.
She picks up the script again and turns to the final move. The next move requires her to glide around to the opposite ends of the while tapping along in an ellipse path. After performing this move five times she will perform the same move for the first one at the center of the stage.
She bears the pain and rushes to one end of the stage. She immediately stumbles as she attempts to glide with the shoes, unable to maintain her balance. She screams in more agony as her arms continue to corrode and drip black sludge.
“Stand up! You can do this!” Flint cheers her on, despite knowing it is all for naught.
Christie stands up again, despite her trembling corroded arms. She again rushes to the other end of the stage and glides around. After two successful laps of gliding and tapping along, she slips on the black sludge that oozes off her arm.
She crashes onto the floor of the stage, wincing due to the impact. She screams in greater agony as she feels her torso slowly corrode away and deform underneath her stained costume.
“STAND UP CHRISTIE! DON’T LET YOURSELF DIE HERE!” Flint again cheers on at her.
Christie pushes herself off the ground and rushes to the other side of the stage. She takes a deep breath and focuses everything on this one move. She glides around the stage, tapping with such finesse and passion as she puts everything into her performance.
She screams in agony mid-performance as her legs start to corrode away, but she does not let it stop her. She completes all five laps, despite her now corroded shadowy black body oozing out black sludge. She glides to the middle of the stage and performs the seven ala seconde turns while tapping rapidly. During each spin, her face corrodes away and her body stretches. Her screams are now harmonic high-pitch screeches riddled with the bubbling of black sludge.
She finishes the last turn, her entire body now corroded and lifeless. The orchestra music ceases.
“No…” Flint mutters.
The translucent purple chains pull out Christie's soul. The chains rip apart Christie's soul. The figure screams in agony as her soul is being ripped apart. The figure stops screaming, standing there deathly silent.
Christie's mauled soul is forcefully stuffed into the figure. She stays there, still standing.
“Let this be the trial…” Romander mutters over the loudspeaker. “Please…I only wish to see Alaya again!”
The figure jaggedly jitters in place. The figure stands up, full of life.
“Experiment #240…The Performance: Success!” Romander exclaims.
The entire room becomes surrounded by darkness, which engulfs Flint. In the darkness, he sees a white transparent distorted cloud. He sees the cloud slowly refigure itself into a humanoid shape. Flint sees the cloud form into Christie’s figure. Her body is covered in bruises from all her falls from the experiment.
“So you’re the man who helped me finish that performance.” She notes.
Flint nods. He continues staring at Christie, understanding her guilt and loneliness.
“I never had anyone near and dear to me in my life. My parents put me up for adoption when I was a baby. I never made any friends because I could never find it in myself to reach out to others. It was only me and my performance. I would spend all the free time I had perfecting and practicing my art. No matter how many times I’ve fallen or how many times I doubted myself, I still got back up and performed throughout the night. I never worked this hard just to gain the fame or fortune. It was never about that at all. All I cared about was leaving a lasting impression on my audience. Through my performances, I can evoke something within my audience. Whether they laugh, cry, are experience great joy, I know I have completed the true goal of my art. I was able to make my audience reflect and explore themselves and leave them with a lasting and impactful memory for the rest of their life. And for me to reach my dream of impacting everyone’s lives, I needed to get myself on the grandest and largest stage in the world. But to do that, I needed to get connections and prove my worth. Some scum of the earth agents wanted more than just my performance. I never enjoyed a single moment of that, but I did what I had to do to reach that stage. Thomas…he was my closest connection. He never deserved to be my stepping stone. He shared the exact same passion as me, and I threw him away so I could be at the top. I achieved my dream, but I am not happy without him around. It’s, so, so cold and lonely being at the top. Sir, I hope that you do not fall under the same fate as me. Hold your loved ones closely.”
Flint knows her story all too well. In his pursuit of becoming a detective, he has forsaken his loved ones. But, he will not let that happen. He firmly nods.
Flint sees Christie Astas slowly walk away. Flint sees a humanoid figure walking beside Christie, placing its shadowy hand on Christie’s shoulder.
“Christie, your performances have brought lasting memories to those who have seen you. Now it is time for you to create lasting memories for the one who you truly loved. But I cannot guide you just yet.” The figure whispers into her ear. “Trust in this detective. He will free you from this hell.”
Christie turns around, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Detective, I can see you know the very pain I feel. I know this is asking for much, but please save me. Let me see him again!” she pleads.
“I will. I will save you.” Flint promises her.
The shadowy figure slowly approaches Flint and places its hands on his shoulders.
“You have the same corruption as these poor souls flowing within you. It will worsen by the hour.” The figure whispers into Flint’s ear.
The shadowy figure notices Flint is barely able to keep his balance, unlike their previous encounters. The figure places its hand on Flint’s shoulder.
“Do not falter detective. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. There are still more you must save.” The shadowy figure whispers into his ear.
The shadowy figure returns to Christie and guides her away.
Flint stumbles around, feeling his body and eyelids become heavier. He falls to the ground, passing out.