Dance of the Clowns

The man in the gray suit looked at his pocket watch. It did not work. It was meant to be a reminder. He stood on the top of the tower. A storm was brewing somewhere to the East. He was joined on the tower by the white rabbit. The rabbit had a bionic eye, bright red like a ruby, and was wearing a black waistcoat.

It spoke with a curiously deep voice, “The time has come. Agent Lenko has gone rogue. He slaughtered a grab team on the Sphinx. Embalmed it in blood. He must be stopped.” Mayer was an analyst. He worked on the countless realms of possibilities that branched out every time an agent made the leap. The Agent Lenko mentioned here, was one of the best agents the Ministry ever had.

“Who is available?” asked Mayer.

“Tatarov is in 1898, overseeing the London tube construction. J.D. is lost in transition. Bae Park retired. Anderson is down with a virus. Murfy was enticed by the Lotus Eaters. Jane has gone DOE. You get Duff.”

None of these are real names. Everyone goes under a fake one. It is essential to preserve a sense of identity. Also, no one ever reveals their real ones. It is a job risk. Except for Duff.

Duff is a chain smoking, arrogant, wise ass who loves to circumvent authority.
Duff went to the edge of reason and looked down into the ravine. He saw nothing interesting so he came back.
Lenko went to the edge of reason and looked down into the ravine. He saw nothing interesting so he decided to go deeper. He ended up the way he is now.

“I do not like Duff. But I follow orders. I do not expect a repeat of the Moscow incident.”
The Rabbit looked pained. It was an obvious thorn in his bureaucratic paw.
However, he managed to say, “Auf wiedersehen”.

The Rabbit took out a pocket watch and turned a few dials. A wormhole opened right next to him, on the grass carpeted tower.

“Dan will set co-ordinates. I will talk to George.”
The Rabbit jumped in, vanished; probably heading to China.
…

Oleg Lenko stared at the Zeppelin, as it rose towards the heavens. He smiled, as a cruel child would, looking up at it from the balcony. He was holding a fellow agent at gunpoint.
“On a large enough scale, each one of us is an ant. My grandpa loved those little critters. Ants, walking a straight line. So full of purpose. They know it, you know? They know what they are on Earth for. Not like us. Not like people. Look at those specks down there. Walking, ambling, crawling. With no sense, purpose, no honour. What are we without these things? Worse than dead. Thank me later.”, he said to the scarred and beaten agent.

“Oleg, you don’t have to do this. You can be better than this.”

Oleg turned to face him. He pressed the red button. Golden flames erupted on the ship. Behind Lenko, the Hindenburg disaster unfolded. He raised the Glock and pointed it at the agent.

“All of you are like hydrogen atoms to me. I can play God. Who wants to be better?”

He squeezed the trigger. The bullet smashed into the agent’s face.

Lenko walked up to the balcony. He looked up at the flaming wreck and said quietly, “Oh! the Humanity, Oh! The Humanity.”

A twisted smile made its way around his face, as he stepped on to the rails and jumped down, into the awning wormhole, humming Dance of the Clowns.

[a sort of prologue to my nanowrimo attempt]