Motham, a city of a thousand stories. Hardly any of em have happy endings. The ones that do though, always end with the protagonist riding off into the sunset. Leaving this sinkhole of humanity in the dust. the stories of Motham city usually end with the protagonist disappearing into the grimy urban decay of the city, losing oneself to the amoral meat grinder it's streets. As for myself, let's just say that there ain't no happy ending comin my way. For you see, like many of the poor saps that call this putrid cesspit home, I'm stuck here. Nobody goes to Motham city on their own accord. Make enough bad decisions in life and you'll just plumb wash up here, like an unwanted piece of flotsam. Crime and drugs run rampant in this city, and we've seen more than out fair share of wannabe super villains tryin to make a name for themselves. But who can blame em, what else is there to do in a city like this? Work? Be an honest hard working citizen? Yeah, that'll be the day. 

The Lie-Down Larvae Inn and Tavern was as ugly and as uncharismatic as the name suggested. Whenever you got a room at this rundown joint, you always had to share it with some slimy and unwanted guests. I ain't talkin about the various drug dealers and meth addicted hookers that frequented the establishment but those of the insect variety. But who gave a damn anyway? People only stayed here to get high on meth. It was basically a crack den. No money to be had in the upkeep of the place if it was gonna be trashed anyway. Truly it was a reflection of heart and soul or Motham city. But truth be told, I've slept in worse places.

The tavern wasn't much better but not somthin to write home about neither. Just a typical dive bar in a rough part of town. Cheesy neon lights and country music blared over loud random shouts of vulgarity usually coupled with the smashing of a bottle followed by dull thuds and shouts of pain. It was exactly how you would imagine a dive bar to be. Such a charming ambiance for the truly discerning of people. But it was here that I, The Scrowler, awaited a private investigator to give me the info I payed good money for. The info on the douchebag who was out to steal my identity. 

Who the fuck was the Scrowl-Man guy anyway? Only I was allowed to have the word scrowl be a part of my vigilante identity. If this motherfucker is gonna act the fool and mess with my rep then imma go mess with his teeth. But first things first, this apple margarita ain't gonna finish itself.

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Setting; On board the international space station.

Genre; Slapstick comedy