Ivisa South District.
A dirty rat with matted fur scurried out from a dark alley, seemingly wanting to reach the trash pile across the street.
But halfway there, it was startled by a man running down the road and turned back to crawl into the alley.
The running man panted heavily; even as his lungs felt like they were splitting, he didn't stop. The poor drainage and construction in the Ivisa South District left the streets full of puddles of varying depths, and almost every four or five steps, his worn-out boots splashed into the sewage.
The scattered figures on the street didn't cast even a glance at this running figure.
A fleeing thief wasn't enough to become big news in the Ivisa South District.
Only this man... there were no police chasing him at all? No victim who had lost their wallet, not even a rat.
Probably a madman?
Whether he was a madman was hard to say, but the fleeing man knew himself that he might truly be going mad.
"Ha... huff..." Feeling the tearing pain in his lungs, the man finally stopped in an alley, one hand supporting himself against the wall and the other feeling an item in his pocket.
It was a wallet.
Inside was at least over one thousand currency in cash.
He couldn't let go; even if he died of exhaustion, he couldn't let go!
Holding onto this belief, the man had run all the way from Kos District to here.
He had almost crossed a quarter of Suramar.
"Did... did I lose her?" The man stared nervously at the entrance of the alley, waiting for a long time until his breathing slowly returned to normal and his heartbeat stabilized before he finally felt completely at ease.
The owner of this wallet... was definitely the most terrifying person he had ever seen in his life.
No matter how secluded a place he ran to, as long as he looked back, he could see a figure in a dark red suit not far behind him, either watching a circus performance or reading a newspaper... but no matter how he ran, he couldn't shake her.
In his most desperate moment, the man even thought he was mad and hallucinating that figure, but that tall green-haired lady would always smile at him just when he was about to give up.
That expression seemed to be encouraging him: Why aren't you running anymore?
This forced the man to continue fleeing; finally, the temptation of 1,000 currency allowed him to persevere, and he successfully escaped from that person.
Because when the man looked back, he didn't see her again.
The man leaned against the wall and sat on the ground, somewhat exhausted, completely ignoring the dirty oil on the ground as he cursed weakly, "Damn bitch... next time I see you, I'll kill you... just like those other bastards..."
Then, he excitedly took out the wallet and opened it; when he saw it was packed with stacks of 50 currency bills, his breathing almost stopped.
"One thousand... over one thousand five hundred currency..." His voice was already trembling.
But before his voice could turn from shock to joy, a slightly raspy female voice came from deep within the alley.
"It's 1650 currency," the voice said, "plus 12 shillings and 3 pence. Count it again carefully."
Hearing this voice, the man's body completely froze; he stiffly turned his head and looked toward where the voice had come from.
A tall lady in a dark red suit was walking leisurely in his direction, occasionally taking a small step to the side to avoid puddles on the road, seemingly unwilling to get her new shoes too dirty.
The man wanted to run away, but his body had reached its limit; he could only watch despairingly as his hands trembled incessantly while she approached him.
"I am Clown, 21 years old, an artist—performance art, acting art." The lady calling herself Clown placed her white-gloved right hand over her chest, gave him a gentleman's bow, and introduced herself.
"If you don't mind, would you care to appreciate my performance?" Clown looked at him with a smile. "I want to use a wonderful show to exchange for that wallet in your hand."
"Please... please let me go, I'll give the wallet back to you..." The man held up the wallet with trembling hands, only feeling that the woman before him was terrifying and absurd.
"Oh no no no," Clown shook her head and took a handkerchief from her bosom. "That is your wallet; I must, of course, rely on a performance to exchange it with you, sir."
"No... no... please..." The man's lips were pale; he had already begun to regret why he had gone to steal her wallet today.
But the lady calling herself Clown ignored his pleas and simply began performing a magic trick on her own.
"You see, this is an ordinary handkerchief..." Clown held a clean white handkerchief, waved it in the air, and then covered her clenched right fist with it. "Now..."
"Ta-da!" Clown suddenly lifted the handkerchief, making an exaggerated sound effect. As the handkerchief was pulled away, a bouquet of flowers appeared in Clown's hand out of thin air.
If this scene were on a street corner or in a circus, the man would definitely stop to watch and cheer. But this scene before him couldn't make him feel any surprise or joy; there was only fright and terror.
"Please... I can follow the rules and sever two of my own fingers, no, a whole hand, just please let me go..."
"Uh... looking at your expression, this little trick doesn't seem enough to exchange for that wallet, does it?" Clown said to herself, her left hand reaching directly into the bouquet to pull out a box.
"Ple—" An indescribable despair spread across the man's face, and he began to cry uncontrollably.
"Then how about looking at my specialty joke? I'm quite good at telling jokes." Saying this, Clown threw the flowers aside and held the box in front of the man. "You see, now it's just a box, and now..."
Clown opened the box: "Ta-da-da! It's turned into six bayonets! Hahahaha!"
Six bayonets slid out of the box onto the ground, making a crisp "Clang—" sound of metal hitting stone, seemingly cheering for Clown's tasteless dry joke.
The sound of those bayonets hitting the ground seemed to stimulate the man; as if grasping at a life-saving straw, he frantically picked up a bayonet and slashed it toward Clown's neck.
But this outburst was blocked by her hand; the bayonet only struck the back of Clown's hand, and blood began to gush from the deep wound that exposed the bone, dripping onto the stone floor.
"Hee hee hee..." The bayonet attack seemed to make Clown even happier. The man's original hope was completely shattered.
Right then, the side effect of the Fear Bayonet reached the man.
His eyes suddenly widened as he stared at Clown, his face contorting as if he were seeing some indescribable object of terror. He scrambled to retreat with his hands and feet, but there was only a wall behind him; his heart suddenly stopped just as its beating reached its peak.
His expression was also forever frozen in its most terrified moment.
Clown's expression suddenly turned serious; she pulled that bayonet from the man's hand, picked up the remaining bayonets from the ground, and tossed them into the air one by one, completely disregarding the wound on her hand.
As the bayonets fell back down, Clown slightly clenched her fists and used the gaps between the index and middle fingers of her left hand to catch one bayonet, while steadily catching the remaining five with the other gaps in her fingers, making her hands look as if they each had three claws.
With her legs crossed and arms lightly extended, surrounded by moonlight, garbage, and rats, she stretched her body to her heart's content as if performing some grotesque and twisted dance.
And the only audience member present also wore an expression that perfectly suited the atmosphere.
"Elegant terrifying clown"
"Fusion Progress: 99%"
Acquired Clown Promotion Quest [Infamous]
System Professional Evaluation: Although everyone's method of acting is different, I still suggest you go see a doctor.