Prologue (Scene 2)

--- Joshua ---

He collapsed onto dark velvet as he hacked the black ichor out of his lungs before gasping for air.

“What the fuck was that?!” He demanded, spitting out the last of the black.

“Well?” He turned to face the man, only to find he was no longer in the warehouse he’d awoken in. Instead he was in the blackest of voids, the black carpet beneath him the only thing visible all around. “Where…?”

A loud click echoed out from behind him, where he found an ornate set of doors sculpted into the entrance to an old theater house that hadn’t been there moments before.

“How…?” He began, before remembering what the man had told him.

(‘Though it is admittedly far more likely that it’ll merely send you on a… trippy dream and leave you with a bad hangover afterwards.’)

“Right… just a trippy dream.” He reminded himself. (After all, the actor must embrace their role!)

“Damn it.” He cursed, feeling a sudden spike of pain through his skull. “Seriously? Even in a dream I can feel this thing?! Fuck!”

Once the pain had faded enough to be considered a dull ache rather than a sharp knife, he took another look at the theater. Particularly taking note of the unlit letters spelling out, “The Cartoon Cabaret?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Wonder if this is supposed to be like the House of Mouse or something?”

The show was a bit before his time, but he’d always been a fan of the classics and he could appreciate a show about showing them to a younger generation.

Shaking his head he made his way towards the door before trying to open it.

Only before he could even touch the handle something grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him through a blurring darkness and into a chair.

(“Ah, ah, ah. No trespassing.”) A voice scolded him mockingly.

“Who?” He glared, only to blink as he once more found himself sitting at a table across from a man. Though this one was notably more… eccentric.

(“Thank you.”) A man in a tattered black suit told him, a smile audible in his voice even if it was covered by a mask.

“Okay, so we’re doing this again.” He groaned, realizing his head must have moved on to a fever dream version of his meeting from a few moments prior.

(“Well, more like an eldritch dream if we’re trying to be accurate.”) The man in a mask informed him pouring a glass of tea (“It’s coffee actually.”)

“What?”

(“I said it’s coffee. Far more caffeine”) The man in the mask explained before looking at him. (“Want some?”)

“I guess…” (This is going to be a weird dream I can just tell.)

(“Technically we’re between dream and reality right now.”) The man in a mask told him, sliding a cup of tea towards him. An impressive feat when one realized said cup had to take four separate turns to avoid impacting one of the numerous other cups on the table.

“Between dream and reality, mind and matter… I’ve been playing too much persona.” He sighed. “Next is where you tell me about a contract, right Igor?”

(“No, next is where I ask why you were trying to break into one of the Wonderlands.”) Despite the man in the mask never losing the cheer in his voice, Joshua couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine as the ache in his skull worsened. (“Yes that would be because you somehow annoyed the eldritch horror who loves humanity. Good job on that.”)

(That does not sound good.) He admitted to himself, suddenly concerned about how much he could feel inside this ‘dream’. (I feel we may not be getting an encore.)

(“Don’t worry, I was being serious. I really do love being surprised by you lot.”) The thing across from him laughed. (“Hence why I’m actually hearing you out instead of, you know, switching your concepts of reality and fantasy so your dreams are unsatisfying and your existence incomprehensible.”)

(And that is a very not subtle threat.)

(“Wasn’t meant to be.”) The man in the mask shrugged, before giving him a look he could feel. (“Which is why you better make yourself interesting enough that I don’t break your mind for touching what’s not yours.”)

“I… I don’t know how to do that.” He said to his own horror, given how he very much did not intend to say that.

(“Oh, that’s because I removed your ability to lie for the time being.”) The man in the mask casually supplied.

“Oh… that sucks.”

(“Depends on your perspective I suppose.”) The man in the mask chuckled, before somehow sipping at his cup through his mask. (“Still, I’ll ask once more, why did you try and break into one of the Wonderlands?”)

“I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. I just, I just woke up there…” He admitted.

(“After…”) The man in the mask prodded.

“After being kidnapped and made to drink a vial of, of… I don’t know what.” He probably should’ve been a little more concerned about drinking that… malice, but he’d been out of it and they’d already drugged him so he didn’t know what was happening there, not really at least.

(“Ah, so that’s what you are.”) The man in the mask nodded, as if he understood perfectly what happened. (“I do, and honestly the fact that you used Malice to break into one of the Wonderlands is part of why I was so annoyed. That stuff has a bad habit of eating whatever it gets ahold of to make more of itself.”)

“That… that doesn’t sound good.” He swallowed, immensely regretting putting something like that in his body.

(“Again, depends on your perspective.”) The man in the mask shrugged. (“If something is rotten, then Malice is a great way to get rid of it. Though the whole ‘murder god’ thing does get annoying at times… Still that does leave another question…”)

“Um, sorry, did you mean ‘murder god’ as in ‘to murder god’ or as in ‘god of murder’?” He felt the need to ask given how that seemed like a pretty big red flag.

(“Meh, that problem sorts itself out so it’s unimportant.”) The man in the mask dismissed his concerns. (“What is important is why you connected to that Wonderland in particular.”)

“The… the Cartoon Cabaret?” He asked, remembering the name of the building he’d landed in front of. “What’s so important about that place?”

(“Nothing, everything. It depends on your perspective really.”)

“You… you enjoy saying that a lot don’t you?” He grimaced at the non-answer.

(“Yes. Yes, I do.”) The man in the mask nodded. (“But the fact that you connected to it does mean a few important things for the both of us, and before I decide what to do with you I need to know what motivates you.)

“Motivates me?” He blinked.

(“Malice and Madness respond to intent and desire, so your motivation is what drew you to the cabaret.”) The man in the mask explained, rising from his seat. (“Now the question is what is your motivation Joshua Durand?”)

At the mention of his ungiven name he found himself unable to look away from the entity before him’s gaze.

(“What is it you desire? What dream gets you up in the morning? You don’t even have to say it out loud, just a thought, a feeling, just tell me...”) The man in the mask pressed, moving closer and closer until his face was mere inches from Joshua’s, and he could see the mad man’s bloodshot eyes. (“What is it you are willing to do the impossible to achieve?”)

There was only one answer, and he knew even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself the entity in front of him would know he-

(“Got it.”)

A jangling on the table drew his attention to a set of golden keys.

(“The place is yours.”) The man in the mask told him straightening out his faded and tattered suit. (“Now I expect big things from you, so don’t disappoint me.”)

“That’s… that’s it?” He asked picking the keys up, noting how most were a short rod with a panel at the end, much like what people would see in old cartoons.

(“That’s it. Got exactly what I was looking for.”) The man in the mask admitted, before giving him a look. (“Though don’t think that doesn’t mean I won’t be checking in with you from time to time, after all you’ve got my interest now.”)

(The interest of what claims to be an eldritch horror.) “That’s… That’s not a good thing is it?”

(“Depends on your perspective.”) The man in the mask shrugged once more, before slinging an arm around Joshua’s shoulders. (“But hey, I know how much existential dread I tend to cause, so I’ll go ahead and do you a solid by wiping this little meeting from your memory.”)

If anything the idea that the being before him could do that just terrified him even worse.

(“Oh, please I do this to everyone at one point or another.”) The man in the mask told him with a roll of his eyes. (“After all everyone is interesting when you crack their skulls open right and proper.”)

He couldn’t help but grimace at that. “You’re really not helping.”

(“I’m not trying to.”) The man in the mask nodded solemnly. (“Still I’ve kept you long enough, so I’ll be letting you go just so long as you remember something in your subconscious if not your conscious mind.”)

“W-what should I remember?”

(“That you’ve got a… silent producer who, even if those other guys pull their support, will still back you up.”) The man in the mask promised. (“Well just so long as you put on one hell of a show anyway.”)

“And if I don’t?” He asked, sure he wasn’t going to like the answer.

(“Oh, you won’t.”) The man in the mask laughed, once more reading his mind before grabbing him by the back of his head and slamming him face first through the table.