End Cirquis
When the End Cirquis performs, the show is a masterpiece. Jugglers, fire breathers, dancers, acrobats, and expert actors transform a stretch of Vegasian street into something genuinely beautiful. The crowds gather, the spectacle unfolds, and somewhere else in the city, someone is being killed.
The End Cirquis is a tribe of Lascarian assassins and rangers, unparalleled in Vegasia, who claim descent from some of the most athletic performers of pre-fall Vegas City. They are incredibly nimble, extremely fit, and undoubtedly deadly. The Vegasian Politicalis hired them to protect the Freemont Canopy and surrounding streets, and the End Cirquis took the contract with the same flamboyance they bring to everything. Their established turf is not merely defended. It is haunted. Figures can be glimpsed moving through rusted canopies, suspended from building tops, scaling terrain at speeds that should not be possible. Threats are yanked through doorways or shattered windows before they understand what is happening.
Their impromptu performances serve a dual purpose: entertainment for the citizens and macabre artistic expressions of the brutal liquidation happening elsewhere in the city. When a show takes place unannounced, Vegasians know to watch and enjoy, because the alternative is asking questions about what the performance is covering up. Missus Tonia Peppin, their top assassin, leads the tribe with a showman's flair and a killer's precision. In Vegas, there has never been much distance between entertainment and violence. The End Cirquis has erased what little remained.
The End Cirquis is a tribe of Lascarian assassins and rangers, unparalleled in Vegasia, who claim descent from some of the most athletic performers of pre-fall Vegas City. They are incredibly nimble, extremely fit, and undoubtedly deadly. The Vegasian Politicalis hired them to protect the Freemont Canopy and surrounding streets, and the End Cirquis took the contract with the same flamboyance they bring to everything. Their established turf is not merely defended. It is haunted. Figures can be glimpsed moving through rusted canopies, suspended from building tops, scaling terrain at speeds that should not be possible. Threats are yanked through doorways or shattered windows before they understand what is happening.
Their impromptu performances serve a dual purpose: entertainment for the citizens and macabre artistic expressions of the brutal liquidation happening elsewhere in the city. When a show takes place unannounced, Vegasians know to watch and enjoy, because the alternative is asking questions about what the performance is covering up. Missus Tonia Peppin, their top assassin, leads the tribe with a showman's flair and a killer's precision. In Vegas, there has never been much distance between entertainment and violence. The End Cirquis has erased what little remained.
