The Fairground
The fairground lights shimmered against the icy blue of Lake Geneva, their neon reflections dancing on the dark water like fallen stars. The air was thick with the mingling scents of freshly spun cotton candy, sizzling hot dogs, and caramelized almonds—a stark contrast to the usual tension-filled confines of Squid Squad’s world of covert ops and high-stakes missions.
For once, there were no encrypted briefings, no stakeouts, no threats lurking in the shadows. Just Cindy and Ava, lost in the sights, sounds, and sugar-fueled energy of Luna Park Lausanne in Bellerive. The last time Ava had been here, she’d been with friends, watching the 2022 World Cup match between Switzerland and Brazil. The Swiss had been on the brink of a historic upset, only for Casemiro to crush their hopes with a late winner, sealing Brazil’s 1-0 victory and sending them through to the knockout stages. She had imagined General Perl’s ecstatic celebration as if he’d personally scored the goal. Tonight, though, football was the furthest thing from her mind.
Ava spun in a slow circle, taking in the crowd of weekend thrill-seekers, their laughter rising over the pulsating bass of electronic dance music thumping from the rides. She turned to Cindy, grinning like a child let loose in a toy store.
“Tell me again why we don’t do this more often?” she asked, her dark eyes twinkling.
Cindy smirked, already working on her stick of cotton candy, pink wisps dissolving on her tongue. “Because usually we’re dodging bullets instead of bumper cars?”
Ava laughed, looping her arm through Cindy’s as they strolled past the twinkling carousel and the towering Ferris wheel. The snow-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps loomed in the distance, a silent but ever-present reminder of the world beyond this neon-lit sanctuary.
They had barely taken five steps before Ava’s attention was hijacked by a row of carnival game booths, their prizes dangling enticingly—oversized teddy bears, neon plushies, and cheap knockoff designer bags. Her eyes locked onto the BB gun target-shooting stand.
“Oh, I have to do this.”
Cindy sighed. “Ava, you’ve literally trained with snipers—”
“Exactly. This should be fun.”
Ava stepped up to the counter, tossing a few francs onto the worn wooden surface. The carny, a stocky man with a thick Swiss accent, smirked as he slid the small air rifle toward her.
“Atteignez les cinq cibles et vous gagnez le gros prix, mademoiselle.”
Ava cocked the BB gun, testing its weight with an almost insulting level of expertise. Cindy crossed her arms, watching with a bemused expression. “If you don’t win, we’re never speaking of this again.”
Ava smirked, then squeezed the trigger—five times, five shots, five perfect hits.
The carny blinked. “Uh... okay then.” He handed over a giant stuffed octopus, its goofy eyes staring at Cindy like it knew she was going to be carrying it all night.
Ava patted its head proudly. “I shall name him Inky.”
Cindy rolled her eyes. “Great. Now win me some chocolate.”
Next up was the ring toss. Ava grabbed the plastic rings, narrowed her eyes at the impossibly slim bottle necks, and gave Cindy a confident look.
“This one’s all skill.”
Cindy snorted. “This one’s all rigged.”
Ava tossed—the first ring bounced off, the second landed perfectly, the third slid neatly onto the bottle neck.
The carny sighed and handed her a box of fine Swiss chocolates.
Cindy took it immediately. “I won that.”
Ava turned. “Excuse me?”
“Moral support counts. Let’s go before you start hustling people for real money.”
Strolling past rows of carnival games, Ava suddenly veered toward a dusty old fortune-teller machine wedged between a ring toss booth and a popcorn stand. Encased in scratched plexiglass, the automaton wore a gaudy velvet robe and an oversized turban, its glass eyes blank and unblinking. A plaque read:
MYSTIC MARCO KNOWS YOUR FUTURE—1 FRANC
With a clunk, the machine whirred to life. Mystic Marco’s stiff hands shuffled invisible cards, his head tilting as his speaker crackled:
“You have an unusual path ahead… Two lives, one choice.”
Ava arched a brow. “Okay, that’s not ominous at all.”
Cindy smirked. “Could just be dinner plans.”
With a final clunk, a yellowed card slid out. Ava grabbed it, reading aloud:
“THE ROAD AHEAD IS TWISTED. CHOOSE WISELY.”
She shook her head, tucking it into her pocket. “I swear, these things always sound like warnings.”
Cindy snorted. “Probably why you love them.”
As they walked off, the machine whirred softly once more, its eyes flickering—just for a second.
With a few francs lighter and no clearer insight into the future, they made a beeline for the roller coaster. As the safety bar snapped into place, Ava felt her pulse quicken. The European club mix pulsed through the ride’s speakers, smoke machines belching artificial fog around them as the cars clanked up the steep ascent.
“I swear if you scream before the drop, I’m disowning you,” Cindy teased.
Ava shot her a sideways glance. “You’d miss me too much.”
The coaster lurched over the peak, gravity surrendering them to freefall. They plunged through loops, corkscrews, and stomach-flipping drops, their laughter mixing with the shrieks of fellow passengers.
As they stumbled off, Ava’s legs felt like jelly. Back on solid ground, the duo sat on a bench, the night settling in around them. The twinkling carnival lights blurred into a warm haze, and the biting Swiss air did little to stop them from devouring their chocolate-drenched ice creams.
Ava exhaled, leaning back against the bench. “This was a good idea.”
Cindy nodded, letting the moment linger. “We should do it again. Before Crowder tries to blow something up again.”
Ava smirked. “Deal.”
With their sugar rush fading into exhaustion, they walked back home along the pristine waterfront, passing the Château d’Ouchy and the Olympic Museum, saving their last ounce of energy for the diabolical hill on Chemin de Champittet—the final challenge before collapsing into the comfort of their beds..
