Never been happy for even a single goddamn second in my life. The gun in my hand, the coworker who backstabbed me and crushed my dreams. Those fucking punks who beat the shit out of me because my condition made me laugh at all the wrong times. Hah...hahaha...hah... A grotesque, painful sound that seems to tear at his vocal cords echoes from Arthur. He's gripping a gun tightly. Just yesterday, he killed three people. Fired from his job but still wearing that smudged clown makeup. He stands in front of his former workplace, gun in hand, that twisted smile never leaving his face.