The Leaning Tower of Idiots

It was half a mile in that the surroundings started to shift

dramatically. The cave's trail led forward into a large cavern. Roughly the size of a sports stadium, the ceiling expanded significantly and was congested with more luminous moss. In addition to the moss, a fluffy leaf-colored ball rained from the roof and gathered on the ground to make it look like it had snowed.

The source of the cottony downpour and the light came from the roof; Above them was an enormous glowing plant the size of an oak tree that grew upside down.

The overhead vegetation hung like a chandelier and was sufficiently bright, illuminating that area with a muted green. Bulky vines slumped from the ceiling onto the ground forcing the boys to move around them like a jungle excursion.

It was a surreal effect of that dungeon's nature. But, they suppressed their wonder and continued toward the opposite end of the cavern, where they spotted three archways dozens of yards apart. Each was the same shape as the entrance the boys came from and, assumedly tunnels that led further into the dungeon.

A five-pointed star symbol was engraved over each tunnel; otherwise, there was no distinction between the paths. Instead of overthinking which way to go, they aimed leftward under the impression that would give them a 1/3 chance of escaping.

Even if the pursuers split up, Crush noticed only one had a gun. They'd be screwed if she found them, but the other two soldiers would just straight up have to throw hands in an ol fashioned brawl.

If it'd actually come to that.

Sprite was faster on a straight and led ahead of Crush. There was a bit of distance between them, to the degree that he almost didn't hear the moment his brother belly-flopped onto the rocky ground. A harsh, scratchy skid emitted as Crush collapsed into a speechless respite.

The cloth wrapping was a temporary solution to his injuries, which proved useless when the subject was constantly flying around like a hyperactive child. Sprite glid to his side and anchored his head off the ground, so listen to his breathing. He confirmed Crush was alive; however, his heart was strained, and blood had begun to seep through their wool barricade.

Crush had ran his last run, at least for the time being. The most Sprite could do was apply pressure to the wound while keeping his guard up for the soldiers that undoubtedly gave chase to them.

Ten minutes had elapsed before a ruckus found them in that green den of stone and rocks. They were near the center of that land, which gave Sprite a suitable amount of time to prepare for his assailant.

The bastards.

Those four ruthless, hippy hat-wearing, slow walking- Photographers?

Like a unit of summer break vacationers, several people popped out of the tunnel with awed eyes while snapping pictures with their smartphones. Sprite's right brow rose with confusion as a few turned to dozens, then hundreds.

He indulged the possibility that... Maybe they were just apprehensive because of their past life. The aggressors may not have been as persistent as they thought, at least not as annoying as August, who'd once chased them for an entire hour.

It became more likely that their offenders had found that zone before them and were just returning to the pack to inform them it was safe. Whatever the case, Sprite was more concerned with Crush and yelled a group over to help.

Among the first settlers of that new land was Krusty the fucking clown, or just some girl whose profession was an actual circus performer. She popped, locked, and slid to Crush's incapacitated body and timely squeaked the red ball on her nose.

Sprite was .5 seconds away from telling the clown to "fuck off," but she pulled an orange Class Prism from her baggy, glittery pants and began babbling. "Ok, ok, we got this, Squeaks. You've trained your whole life for this."

As she prepared to use her entire lifes training, a real individual saw Crush and shouted, "there's a young man bleeding! Are there any doctors!"

A gathering was formed faster than a peg-legged pirate putting on a single boot. They hustled over to the downed youth to assist with at least one being medically inclined. Still, no one could shoo away the young clown in white make-up and orange speckled wig who was hyping themselves up.

She slapped her hands together while taking rapid sports-like exhales, then squeezed her nose for good measure. The clown dropped their gem onto Crush to free her hands, then withdrew deflated balloons from her oversized top before blowing them up and tying them together while singing. "Balloon! Cure! Turn that frown upside down, and let's prance around this funky town! Squeaks the clown has the cure; gather round, let's sing and swing!"

The crystal lit up with her song, and as she continued, what looked like sparks of a match materialized from her mouth and wafted toward Crush.

Very colorful combustions came into existence momentarily in the shape of a musical note, then quickly faded away like a flame. Sprite had never seen a real clown, but he could tell she was adept by how proficiently she was blowing and tying the balloons.

By the time she finished twisting the balloons into an elephant, Crush's eyes were open. Sprite was a usually composed individual with a high threshold for nonsense. Still, at that moment, he'd stared in unadulterated stupefaction at the girl.

The spectators, including one doctor of 30 years, were at a loss for words. Squeaks, the goddamn clown, had healed a boy with her singing and balloon animal.

Sprite's eyes had gone dry with how intensely he eyed the stranger. Flabbergasted that he, a self-scholar, had just watched a clown sing a man to health. The moment was extinguished when Crush zoomed upright and hollered for the compact assemblage to back off.

He'd become animated and no longer leaked onto the floor, so the onlookers complied and dispersed. Either to explore more of the new zone or have a mental breakdown.

Crush was heated, snapping his head back and forth while trying to update his brain to the sudden mass of people. He only remembered that they were being chased by a group of gun-wielding madmen before he fainted. Or something like that; the details were hazy.

His mental software had just about patched, but the VERY last thing he wanted to see appeared before him. A pitched, overly enthusiastic voice exclaimed behind him, "Hi!"

Startled, he whirlwinded around to see a delighted American girl not much older dressed as a clown. She jutted out her average chest, extended a hand, and smiled with oversaturated red lips.

"Sandra Squeaks the Clown, at your service!" She said in a jubilant introduction. Crush's mouth dropped, his eyes widened, and perplexity paralyzed his body.

He'd never met an entertainer like that; however, one night, as kids, he and Sprite snuck into the orphanage director's office to watch cable TV. It was on that date he discovered horror movies, and the first happened to be about a killer clown. Sprite was evidently interested in the film, and since Crush didn't want to look like a wimp, he watched the entire thing.

Crush had nightmares about clowns the same night and woke up in a kiddy pool of his own sweat. Grossed out, he scarily roamed to the bathroom located at the end of a dark hall. It was on the way that he saw terror personified. A pale-faced clown in a white wig and iconic baggy clothing.

His scream woke the entire dorm, then he fled the opposite way before rallying Sprite to his aid. To that day, he still didn't know that what he saw was just one of the caregivers who'd put on a face mask and wrapped their wet hair in a towel.

Anywho, Sprite knew of his fear of clowns and casually lifted him at the waist. He briefly regarded the girl to thank her, but his own awe overtook him. So, he overlooked her and carried the petrified Crush away like a large mannequin.

Because of the position Crush was picked up in, his petrified body faced toward the clown as he was hauled off.

"Today is not your day, huh," uttered Sprite. He wasn't embarrassed by their roles at all; he just nonchalantly proceeded from the grouping of people while trying to talk Crush out of a daze.

"I guess this is sort of my fault," he said plainly. "It's because I've used the same cheap clown mask to scare you every year. When you stopped punching me on reflex, I assumed you were cured of your coulrophobia."

Sprite felt Crush sliding down, so he readjusted his grip, then sighed. "I should have purchased the wig, too," he said in an oddly sober tone.

He slapped his package's bottom twice to wake them, but they remained a statue. "Still? I told you that they aren't scary if you just remember that there's a person underneath the costume."

"For someone so feisty, you sure have simple fears," he said. His mouth closed, then, right on time, a monstrosity appeared.

Something ten times more frightening than clowns. A plague upon societies.

An individual in a suit and tie was squatting down in expensive DRESS SHOES! There was a spine-chilling stab in Sprite's nerves when he saw the lamentable crease at the head of the man's footwear where his toes bent. And that's not all. Oh, no, there was more.

The man had missed the first button of his shirt, so it started from the second notch and was offset by one the whole way down. Sprite wished it ended there, but an accidental glance at his briefcase delivered the finishing blow. The case was shut, but unclipped papers were sticking out of the edges like they were trying to escape the penitentiary. He could only imagine the unfiled horrors that awaited inside. There was zero chance it was sorted in alpha order OR by date! (Depending on the man's needs.)

Sprite's grip tightened around Crush, but he, too, was lost. Frozen with eyed fixed on his materialized hellscape.

...

This lasted for a moment before a familiar voice drove from behind them. "The scam artist?" Observed August.

A strap hugged his chest, hanging a plain gray metal shield and sword from his back. The overhead lighting made his reproduced Korean boy band hairstyle look more green than chestnut. And yes, if anyone said they liked his short brown hair, he'd correct them and clarify it was "chestnut."

Being an ex-model, he still maintained his appearance. His eyebrows were dark and shaped, and he kept his light skin clear of blemishes. Crush believed he was unfairly gorgeous for someone so gullible and annoying.

August observed both of the boy's inactive states and waved his hand to their faces to gain their attention. "What... Is this some new criminal technique?"

He pondered the idea of leaving them, but the surrounding eyes made it hard. If we wanted to become a notable tank/officer in that world, he'd need to set a good example. Consequently, he bent down behind Sprite, straightened his back, and put his muscles to work lifting both boys.

"Allow me to help you," he said; he spoke much louder than necessary and suppressed his strained grunts while displaying his power. August, the hero, carried them precisely two steps before there he was, in a predicament from his nightmares.

August would scream himself awake some mornings because of this thing. In those imaginations, he'd train for days and ultimately graduate top of the academy and receive his badge, a gun, and an epic partner. Then, after everything, he'd be assigned his first assignment as an officer, stopping a bank robbery or something. Gasp would sound when he arrived on the scene of the crime, flowers would be thrown, pictures taken, the works.

Just when it couldn't get any better, a woman would appear to deliver gratitude. And boy, did she have a set of cannons on her. He, the new officer, would have no choice but to heed her chest against his own will. Because he's so great, there are, of course, cameras on the scene recording him, and the entire world sees him as he ogles a woman.

True misery and something that actualized before him.

As he flexed, lifting Sprite and Crush in the air, he looked ahead and saw Melanie. The pale-skinned fairy of a woman with two crimes against humanity strapped to her chest. She'd spotted Crush from afar and jogged toward them without restraint. Her dress cried for help with each step she made as it tried to contain her upper half.

Melanie halted in tears in front of August, who'd already mentally clocked out. Only his eyes were active and stapled to the pleasant distraction below her collar.

"Not like this!" She cried, mourning the loss of her savior.

Seth caught up with her a moment later. Sometime after they returned from the trap, she found him again, and he'd been her bodyguard since then.

"Why'd you run off?" He asked. The Jenga tower of three stacked males evidently wasn't enough motive.

Melanie sniffled while pointing to the top of the tower at Crush, who'd luckily been raised high enough to glimpse more of the clown off in the distance. Thus, renewing his state of petrification.

Truth be told, it was less the clown and creased shoes that traumatized the boys and more that it came after a stressful day. Regardless, they were immobile for a while.

When Seth saw Crush, he nodded, then zoomed out of the whole picture to get an accurate analysis of what had happened. "Ah," he said, cracking the code.

Seth unhurriedly roamed behind August, squatted down, then wrapped his arms around the guard's waist. "It's a strength training game," he confidently explained.

The man went to lift the layers of people, straining and grunting in his endeavor. Veins protruded from his neck, and his face turned red as he pushed his upper limits. He raised August's feet from the floor, which was impressive in itself, but in his tension, also dismissed a foul puff of flatulence from his rear. The toxins wafted upward and penetrated the sense of those above, immediately extracting them from their hazes.

Crush came down first, slamming onto the ground and waking with a vengeance. He covered his nose while cursing and observing another new location yet. "Where the fuck do all these people keep coming from!"

Sprite had some recollection of what triggered him, so he covered his own eyes, not to mind the disheveled adult. Crush broke into a dash while roaring, so Sprite used his hearing to follow, leaving the complicated mess behind.

Melanie tried to follow, but the two sprinters were lost in the crowd within seconds. As for August, he searched for a corner to die in. Better than to face the millions of people that saw him stare a woman down. Frankly, every other male in the area was also mesmerized by the woman, but whatever, he needed to repent for being a lecher.