[ WP ] You have 24 hours to fake your death in the most spectacular way possible . You have $ 1 million in cash and 40 circus workers dedicated to you .

The acrobats are eyeing me with a deep kind of distrust. I get it. A stranger walks into a circus and offers you and your friends a million in cash to help him fake his death. It ’ s not exactly the start of a comforting story. Although judging by their faces, they seemed to be treating the situation as if it were a bad joke. I smile to put them at ease, but these circus people are far too aware of the strain around my eyes and the tension in my shoulders. They see I ’ m desperate. They probably get bucket-loads of sad bastards coming their way, asking them to spice up their lives and introduce a kind of magic only the circus can offer. I can tell they want me to fuck off. But I can also tell they want the money. Money I spent all night spreading out like a pretty display for their eyes only. 
 
 They ’ re not too rich, it seems. Some of the younger ones of the group are looking at me like I ’ m mad. While the rest are gazing at my face as if I ’ m God. Poor kids don ’ t see crooks and tricksters. They see the world as it is. They don ’ t kill the magic of it until they ’ re older and have marinated in the bitter years of adulthood for a while. Kids are easy. It ’ s the adults that are making sweat prickle at the back of my neck. These are strong men and women. Their muscles round their shoulders and their faces tell me they ’ re used to a fight. They ’ re not looking for a fight, but they ’ re not opposed to starting one either. 
 
 “ You ’ re the magician Max hired? ” The leader asks, a deep frown pulling his face south. 
 
 “ Yes, well, ” I tap my top hat with my cane, “ I don ’ t dress like this for nothing. ” 
 
 “ Hmmm. ” The man strokes his pointed beard. He looks like if Charles Dance and Terry Gilliam had a child. He ’ s tall and intimidating, but he also looks a little mad. He looks like a character. 
 
 “ The money is real. ” I pick up a note; throw it in the air, snap my fingers and light a small firework. Some of the acrobats gasp as the fire engulfs the money. They see the orange flame. “ It ’ s not burning blue, ” I claim with a grin, “ no need to fret. ” 
 
 “ I can see why Max hired you. ” Their leader says in a weary voice. 
 
 “ Thanks very much! ” I feel better after performing magic. Like exercising through stress. The wide-eyed glee in the children ’ s eyes also helps calm my nerves and get my grip on the moment. 
 
 Mr. Dance-Gilliam lets loose a breath and says, “ Alright. What ’ s the job? ” 
 
 I have a grin on my face that grows wide, “ You lot are going to help me fake my death. ” 
 
 “ How will we do that? ” A tall, bored-looking woman asks from the left of me. 
 
 “ I ’ ll give you all the instructions. ” I take out the flyers from the pocket inside my jacket, “ All the details of the trick can be found on this piece of paper. It ’ s very simple. But it takes a lot of you. And a lot of time and effort. ” 
 
 They ’ re looking at me like a stranger again. I scramble to relate to them. “ But a million dollars spread among the lot of you will make that time and effort all worthwhile, right? ” I try to be enthusiastic. It ’ s tough being an entertainer with an inferiority complex. 
 
 “ Why do you want to do this? ” A little boy asks. 
 
 I look to him and see myself when I was a child. I give out a tender smile. The wheels are turning. I hear the pieces settle into motion like gears rotating on the machine of time. I tell them the truth, “ The greatest trick a man can pull is bringing himself back from the dead. But all the greatest tricks of all, of course, aren ’ t tricks or smokes or mirrors. They ’ re truths hidden behind dressed up lies. ” 
 
 Magic costs. Whether it ’ s money or a life. For the greatest trick ever made it ’ ll be a bit of both to pull it off. The acrobats slowly start to smile at my smile. The play has been set. All that ’ s left is for the characters to get in position and begin. 

