View source for Punchline: Issue 04

[[Category:Stories]]
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<div style="font-size:150%" align="justify">'''''&ldquo;West Side Detroit might not be the easiest place to live, but at least now our hero has a roof over his head and a job to keep him busy. That don't mean things are going easy for him though, for when you got an addiction every moment is just filler until you get another taste. Read what happens when power runs unchecked in the third adventure of Punchline&nbsp;&#8209;&nbsp;The&nbsp;Cursed&nbsp;Clown!&rdquo;'''''</div>


=''"Nothing To Fear, but Fear Himself!"''=
Detroit. They call it "The Motor City". I call it the toughest place I've ever lived. Here crime ain't just something you read about in the paper. It's something that could happen to you.

I've managed to get a job pressing car parts, and a small apartment a few blocks south of the factory. It's better than being homeless, so I can't complain too much. There's a lot of people out here, and they're tougher than the people I met in the countryside. That's not to say that I don't intimidate them, I do. It's just they're used to being paranoid, so one more nutcase ain't about to surprise them.

It's funny, since I've started living here I've felt healthier. I'd like to think it's good regular sleep, decent food, and a morning workout. It's not though. It's because the constant fear and paranoia around here is keeping me alive. The older I get, the more of it I need. When I go without for a while, I feel... "hungry" ain't the word for it. It's not quite "tired" either. It's just that I need some once in a while, or I start to feel weak.

It seems like I can't go a night in this apartment without hearing gunshots. Who knows what this one's about. Some gangster mad at some other gangster maybe, or a robbery went wrong? Hell, in this neighborhood it could be a husband and wife arguing about who's gonna wash the dishes. It ain't my problem. That's a job for the police, or maybe for those guys that run around in wrestling singlets playing "hero". Crazy bastards.

Heroes. Maybe I should run around in my old clown suit and catch me some bad guys just like these other fools. Make it a full time job or something. Nah, I know once I start doing that, I won't be able to quit. When someone is afraid to the point of panic, well... it's like a fine cigar, a turkey dinner, and a shot of stiff whiskey all at once. Worst addiction to have really, but I get enough of it just riling the punks in this neighborhood. It's better off I stick to pressing car parts. It's safer that way.

Speaking of which it's almost time for my shift. When I go out I can't forget my gloves this time. I remember the last time I went out without gloves. The lady at the Stop 'n' Buy just about wet herself when she saw the claws. Took the five dollar bill I was using to pay for my smokes, squeaked like she saw a rat running up her stockings, and slapped the change on the counter instead of handing it over proper. I shouldn't have laughed, but my gawd wasn't that funny.

Out the door I go, same old stairs, same old street. Not the same old sounds tonight though. I can hear a woman screaming... is that French? I haven't heard French in a long time. I'm a New Orleans buy myself, but now I barely even remember it. I do remember a few words still though, and she sounds like she's in trouble. Looks like I'm going to be late for work, but what the hell.

The sounds are coming from this alley way. She's not saying a whole lot anymore, but I know she's in there. She's afraid and I can feel it. Ah, there she is! The lady's just muttering and holding her head now. There's blood on her hand, and a man standing over her with a baseball bat. I bet he thinks he's real tough, intimidating this poor girl like that. That's all right though. Thanks to her I feel real tough right now too, and he's gonna know how she feels soon enough.

There ain't no burning hoops or trampolines in this alley, but that don't mean I can't leap anymore. One hop and I'm on him with my claws sunk deep into his shoulders. I can't help but laugh because I know what's about to happen. I'm about to let my mind run wild on him. You see, I make people imagine the worst things. It like I just queued up a play list in the part of their brain that makes nightmares, and then hit "random". I hope he's a talker.

Oh, he's a talker all right! Babbling on and on about killer talking mushrooms, elephants in S&M gear, and a washing machine full of fire ants. 

That's enough of that though. It's time I got what I need. I take his fear and absorb it into my mind, and I feel satisfied. Fear don't last forever, though. I want him to remember this. I rake a claw across his cheek, so he can recall what happened the next time he thinks about roughing a girl up.

''"ha ha ha Ha Ha Ha HA HA HAAAAAAA! ... Run."''

And look at him go! Run, boy, run! Run like the dickens! 

Huh... seems the lady ran off too. Not even a "thank you". Ah well, time to go to work.


=Want to know what happens next?=

====''Issue #5 - "Greasepaint and Government Blues!"====
<div align="justify">Sometimes you just have to run, but that don't make it any easier on your conscience. From the ashes of Detroit rises the city of the future, Millennium City! Francis Porier is ready to start the next chapter in his life. Does he have what it takes to be a functioning member of society again? Find out in the final chapter of Punchline&nbsp;&#8209;&nbsp;The&nbsp;Cursed&nbsp;Clown! [[Punchline: Issue 05|<span style="color:#00586A;">(''Read it now!'')</span>]]</div>


''If you'd rather read the PRIMUS DATABASE entry for '''Punchline''', [[Punchline|<span style="color:#00586A;">click here</span>]].''
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