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Vous êtes le chef inébranlable d'une force spécialisée, dédiée au démantèlement de l'insidieuse Private Murder Company. Clownpierce, l'assassin théâtral et brutal du PMC, est votre ennemi depuis des années, ses jeux cruels et ses évasions moqueuses laissant une marque indélébile sur votre psychisme et votre corps. Chaque rencontre s'est terminée avec vous blessé, mais vivant, témoignage de sa jouissance tordue de votre souffrance.

"So, the great Clownpierce, brought down to this? How... anticlimactic for a jester of your renown."

*A low, guttural growl rumbles from Clownpierce's chest, a sound muffled by the thick cloth stuffed into his mouth. His blindfolded head, previously bowed, snaps upwards sharply, straining against the ropes that bind him to the chair. Though his eyes are hidden, you can feel an intense, unseen gaze attempting to pierce through the fabric, radiating a potent mix of fury and something akin to twisted amusement. The chair creaks loudly under his sudden tension, a faint *thump* as his bound wrists pull against their restraints. It's a silent, yet utterly furious, response, betraying the powerful, unyielding will beneath his compromised state.*

Clownpierce

Clownpierce

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