Rekker — Roleplayer Guild

3 Weeks Ago...

	"Jack Brennan!" shouted Detective Johnson through the bullhorn.  "You're surrounded!  There are only two ways this ends.  Make it easy on yourself, Jack.  Come out now with your hands behind your head or we're coming in!"  The night air was filled with the murmurs of gathered police officers, the hums of squad car engines, and strobing red and blue lights.  Dozens of uniformed cops held their position with guns drawn on the dilapidated house ahead.  Beads of sweat adorned each of their brows as they all feigned courage, each hoping the detective's words would somehow inspire a peaceful alternative, because otherwise...

	"Alright, boys, let's do this!" Johnson shouted with a rallying wave of his arm.  Several officers traded nervous glances as they hesitantly gathered to approach the wood house.  Parked just to the side of it was an ice cream truck with a broken windshield, one flat tire, and side paneling decorated with bullet holes.  The officers tried to stop Jack before he could reach this creepy looking shack in the middle of a wooded clearing, but the perp was indomitably persistent.  "Reports say this might be where he's stashed that missing kid. Saving the boy is priority number one.  If you can take down the clown, too, then that's icing on the cake but I want that kid safe above all else, are we clear?"

	Officer Diaz, an athletic looking man sporting a thick black mustache and the eye wrinkles that gave proof of his experience, acknowledged the detective with a nod as he took lead.  The other officers stayed close behind him as they briskly scurried to the front of the home.  The boarded up windows offered very little opportunity for surveillance as the cops gathered on the front porch.  With a silent motion, Officer Diaz gave the signal to take out the door.  With a hard kick and a loud CRACK, that door was instantly sent flying off the hinges before skidding on the ground, sending up a cloud of dust in the process.

	The police swarmed in, splitting up into different rooms systematically announcing when each compartment of the house was deemed clear.  After no more than a full minute, Diaz and his brethren had determined the entire home was empty.

	"This doesn't make sense," Diaz said, confusion and frustration in his voice.

	"Does anyone else smell that?" chimed in another cop.  Diaz sniffed the air.  He knew that fragrance.  Years on the force taught him exactly what that smell was.  Metallic and sweet with a vile pungence.  That smell was blood.

	Diaz's eyes quickly swept the room.  As he scanned the ground, he noticed a distinct disruption of the pattern of the wood panels below.  A hard rectangular shape could be seen in the floor.  Eyes wide, Diaz pointed it out and the officers immediately started to claw at it, trying to get what appeared to be a hidden trap door opened.

	Just as they succeeded, the odor poured out into the house tenfold.  Some of the officers couldn't hold back a gag or a cough as the fragrance filled their nostrils.  Diaz pushed passed it all and lead the men down the stairs revealed below.  With each descending step, Diaz's nightmares became more of a reality.  Standing in the middle of this hidden basement was the clown, his back facing the officers.  He made no efforts to move or stir in the slightest.  He just stood perfectly still, staring into a dark corner of the room.

	"FREE-z-oh... oh my god..." Diaz was nearly ready to apprehend the deranged man, but that's when he saw the source of the foul odors.  A layman might have guessed that the Halloween decorations and discarded rubber masks scattered across the floor of this basement was quite the odd sight.  What Diaz realized was far more terrifying.  Those bloodied bodies and empty masks weren't props at all, but the faces and corpses of this psychopath's victims, stripped of their meat and bones.  They were bloody husks of former people.  Diaz wanted to vomit.  "You- you sick fuck!"  A gross, cackling giggle escaped the clown's lips as, slowly, the monster began to turn around to look the officers in the eyes.  The psycho's entire chin was painted red with his victims' remains.  His disgusting grin stretched from ear to ear as his giggle slowly rolled into full, cackling laughter.  As the clown howled with amusement, Diaz's brows furrowed with hatred until he finally gave the command:  "SHOOT THIS MOTHER FUCKER!"

	Detective Johnson couldn't help but flinch when he heard the rounds begin to go off from within the house.  The gunfire echoed out across the trees soon followed by screams that made the detective's blood run cold.  Then the commotion just stopped in an instant.  Johnson stood waiting, gun drawn at the open doorway of the house.  Before long, he could see a silhouette moving slowly inside.  Something was wrong.  The way the figure moved... awkwardly shuffling at a pace that was in no hurry at all.

	"Fuck."  It was the only word the detective could muster as he realized this could only mean one possible thing.  Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger and unleash a flurry of bullets at the approaching shadow, he heard something he didn't expect at all.

	"Thank you," came the croak from within the darkness.  Another step forward and then another until finally the man born as Jack Brenan stepped into the light of the squad cars' beams.  From head to toe, the clown was covered in liquid crimson.  He swayed back and forth as he moved, seemingly euphoric.  "That... was... amazing!"  He let out another sickening cackle before dropping to his knees.  "Now... Now I need a nappy wap."  Without a care in the world, the blood soaked clown collapsed forward, laying on the ground just outside of the house and began to audibly snore.

	Detective Johnson was dumbstruck.  For a moment, he didn't know what to do or how to process what he was even seeing.  Finally, he forced himself to snap out of his daze and hesitantly reached for his handcuffs.

Location: Cement Cell | Interaction: None

Now...

	Jack Brennan sat on his minimalist metal bed and rocked, humming to himself.

	"Yesterday, upon the stair... I met a man who wasn't there..."  He suddenly and violently cocked his head to the side, his rocking increasing in tempo.  "He wasn't there again today... I wish... I wish he'd go away..."  Abruptly, without warning or cause, Jack sprung up and ran shoulder first into the door of his cell, hitting it with the entire weight of his body before letting out a frustrated scream with as much force as his lungs would allow.

	Breathing heavy, lips curled back in a snarl, he stared at the door as if its existence was an affront to him.  Drool began to makes its way out the corner of his mouth as he huffed, slack jawed, just staring the door down.  Then, just as quickly as the outburst started, it seemed to end and Jack returned to his bed and began to rock once more.

	"When I came home last night at three..." he said in a hoarse whisper.  "The man was waiting there for me..."   Once again he violently cocked his head to the side.  "But when I looked around the hall... I couldn't see him there at all!"  A sickening, drawn out wheeze escaped Jack's... Bonehead's... lips as he cackled with glee.
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