High-Jinks/Escapades

The alley was dark and damp, steam from a vent in the pavement clinging to the ground like a low fog. The air is wet with sound; the barking of dogs, the honking of distant traffic, and the slow, heavy thud of a beating. Two thugs, built like tanks and as scarred as alley tomcats, loom over a man who lies battered on the ground.

"De Boss says you ain't been too punctual with your insurance, Mr. Lee," one of the thugs growls deep from within his chest.

"He says we should take yo' kneecaps as interest," the other says, obviously looking forward to the idea.

"No, please!" the man whimpers "I'll have the money, I just need another few days, I swear it! "I don't think so."

"De boss wouldn't be too pleased with us if we did that, see?"

"And we love to keep the boss happy..."

The man tries to get up to leave, but he's easily overpowered by one of the heavies. His pleads for mercy fall on deaf ears as the other muscle-bound mook raises a baseball bat over his head... Which clatters to the ground as the thug lets out a shriek of pain, clutching at a suddenly bleeding hand.

"What happened?" the other man shouts, letting go of the struggling shopkeeper as he looks around the darkened alley. He yelps as a cut seems to spontaeously appear across his cheek, leaking blood down his face.

"Hehehehehe..." the chuckle comes from all around, it seems.

"Christ, no, it can't be him!" one of the mooks, clutching his wounded cheek, stammers, as he raises his gun "I hate clowns!"

"Shut up!" his companion barks, reaching down to retrieve his fallen weapon. There's a flurry of movement, and a tall, gaunt figure seems to materialise, leaping from the shadows, his long cape flapping behind him. The figure slams a foot into the thug's stomach as he bends. He grunted as he crumpled to the ground. The gunman freezes in horror as the figure vaults backwards onto a dumpster and raises his head.

There is a blank face mask, perfectly porcelain white, save for a wide, blood-red grin.

"Good evening Ladies and Germs!" the figure laughs, "Are we having FUN yet or what?!"

His hand flashes out, tiny, colored balls flicking outwards and exploding in puffs of green smoke. The thug tries waving the gas away, but he pauses, bemused. He begins to laugh, first chuckling, then guffawing, then bellowing in confused hilarity. The figure moves in a streak of red, white-gloved fists pounding into the thug's stomach with incredible force, literally raising the man a few inches into the air, before the masked vigilante grabs the thug and slams him into the unyielding asphalt.

By this time, the other enforcer has recovered. He stands shakily, eyeing the masked clown as he pulled an oversized revolver from his utility belt. The thug winces and shields himself before the clown fires, a "BANG!" flag unfurling from the novelty pistol as the clown cackles madly. The thug breathes a sigh of relief before he's pistol-whipped and knocked to the ground.

"Now THAT'S comedy!" He laughs loudly.

The figure stands tall now, over the fallen bodies of the criminals, cracking his knucles and stretching his neck. The shopkeeper, motionless through all of this, finally manages to stammer three words.

"W-who are y-y-you?!"

The figure turns his head towards the man, extending his hand... before, with a subtle flick of the wrist, he produces a round object from his sleeve and tosses it to the man. Another ball, this one as white as his mask and branded with a matching smiley-face insignia.

A moment later, the figure and both the thugs are gone, and the stunned shopkeeper sat there, the ball held between his shaking fingers. He looks down at it before it explodes, expelling multicolored confetti.