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I zipped past the flight of stairs to the floor where the commotion had come from. As soon as I reache the third floor, I was met with a large, dark room, with trashed items and a barrage of broken objects. Tables were thrown about, as well as papers scattered across teh floor. The lights had been killed. Everything was dark. I crept slowly through the shadowy mess. The only light that shown was that from the moon through the windows.
I crept slowly, to a small, opened doorway that led to a small office, where a great bustle was heard. Using my skilled stealth and quiet footing, I skulked and peered inside the room.
I saw not before me, any masked criminal, but in fact, what looked to be a costumed mime or clown. His face resembled either of the two, but of whom, I wasn't sure. He had on some sort of dark, french beret upon his head, and under it ruffled his orange, scattered hair. His face was painted white, and he had a long nose, and around his mouth was a change of paint to red. There were black dots near the corner of his eyes, and he wore dark green overalls, with a black and white striped, long sleeved shirt beneath. He wore white gloves and dark green shoes as well.
"What in blazes?" I thought to myself, watching him jump upon the office table and throw down some unfinished scripts.
"Thought I wasn't good enough, eh?! Tried to kick me out, eh? Thought that I was too rough for the audience, eh!? Well they'll get a kick out of this!! HahahahaAHAHA!" he cried maniacally, as if in some type of crazed trance.
"Hold it right there!" I said, entering the room, my hands down to my side, hidden in pockets just in case, as my trenchcoat waved forward with my movement. The area was dark, so he couldn't see my face, or distinguish any familiar figure that he thought he may have seen.
"Eh?! Who are you!? You dare meddle in my affairs!?" He said, acrobatically leaping from his spider-like kneeling stance from the table, and onto the floor once again. I could see now that he held a large pouch from his shoulder which strapped down to his waist.
"You must be the one who made the children ill with E. coli." I deduced.
The maniacal villain chuckled in amusement. "HA! So you have found out the truth... ah I bet it was a surprise. All too good, all too good! Pranking is my life. And soon I will deliver a prank these no-good backstabbers will never forget!"
"What's your deal, clownface?"
He seemed offended by the remark, as his eyes drooped in disgustedness and he threw a book at me. I dodged.
"You have confused me with another villain. I am not Clownface, but I am the great Punchinello Pierrot! Remember the name, for you are next on the list of my prankees!"
He reached into his pouch, drawing what looked to be small gray, spherical balls. Was he going to entertain? What was his deal anyway? Why did he want this place shut down?
He did exactly as I thought he would... he began to juggle. Juggle with precise skill as I might add, as he held the three spheres in a circular motion from his left hand to the right, and even at times, to his feet.
"I think you need a timeout."
"You just made a costly error..."
"What?"
"Misjudging my disillusioned harmlessness..."
He was right, as he pointed his white-gloved hands down to the spherical balls that seemed to have released a fuming gas that was rising towards my faceless mask. Smoke Bombs.
He convulsed in psychotic, freakish laughter, as if he had delivered a great feat to an invisible audience, pranking me as he had done the children. The gas rose to my mask, and unfortunately, it wasn't a filter. I began outbreaking in cough, as the fumes began to fill my lungs with congesting discomfort. I knelt to the ground, desperately trying to breathe, and attempting to prevent him from getting away. I heard a window crash, but no retreating feet. He had one more prank in store for me.
5
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