Unwritten Mythos

The night was heavy, the air thick with the buzzing of streetlights that flickered like old memories. Arthur, now free of his clown costume, stood in front of the shop, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Another fight, another reminder of the cruelty sewn into his existence. The sting still lingered on his cheek from the blow he'd taken—though in his mind, it wasn't a punch. No, it was simply his face that had collided with someone's fist.

"Huh huh... ha ha..." He chuckled, a sound devoid of mirth, more habit than emotion.

A sharp voice cut through the night air. "Arthur, stop laughing like a fool in front of my shop!"

Arthur shrugged, indifferent to the reprimand, and turned away. His feet carried him along the road home, the rhythm of his steps lost in the muted pulse of the city at night.

As he walked, the dim lights overhead flickered and blinked, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. The world was quiet, almost peaceful. Then, suddenly, a scream pierced the stillness—a desperate cry for help.

Arthur stopped, tilting his head like a curious bird. His eyes tracked the source of the sound, settling on a car speeding down the street. In the backseat, a small figure struggled, a little girl being yanked into the vehicle by force. Her mother, left behind, screamed after her, her voice ragged with terror.

Arthur squinted, recognition dawning slowly. It was the same mother and child from earlier that day. The woman who had called him crazy, the little girl who had looked at him with sympathy.

He tilted his head further, watching the scene unfold as if it were part of a distant dream. His lips curled into a half-smile, something between amusement and apathy.

"Huh..." A quiet sound escaped him.

How familiar. How predictable.

"Ah..." He muttered to himself, eyes following the car as it vanished into the night. "That must be the girl's father... couldn't wait to take her home, I guess."

...

The unfinished building loomed like a skeleton against the night sky, its shadows swallowing the weak moonlight. Inside, a massive iron cage rattled faintly, housing rows of boys and girls, their eyes wide with terror. The air hung heavy with the stench of sweat and fear.

"Are these enough?" one of the figures asked, inspecting the imprisoned children.

"What did K say?" came a voice, annoyed.

"I'm afraid that guy's drunk again," another replied with a sigh. "You know how he is. No waking him unless I dig out that three-year-old cheese and shove it under his nose."

A chuckle escaped, but it was cut short by an unsettling laugh echoing from the shadows.

"Huh?" One of the men turned abruptly, his hand reaching for the gun at his waist. "Who's there?"

The dark space stirred as a figure emerged—a man in a clown's face paint, his smile unsettling in its forced cheer. "Embarrassing, isn't it?" he said, his voice a strange mixture of lightheartedness and something much darker. "Have you ever considered becoming comedians?"

The men exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to make of this bizarre interloper.

"What are you talking about?" one of them barked, keeping his gun steady.

Arthur casually sat on a nearby chair as though he were in the middle of a casual conversation. "You see, I had a dream. A long time ago, I wanted to become a comedian." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with something unhinged. "I told my teacher. He laughed at me, thought I was joking. Turns out, he was mocking me. Even though my life's a tragic comedy, that wasn't a reason to give up."

The men stared, now fully aware of who they were dealing with—a lunatic, a madman. Arthur continued, unfazed by their confusion. "I always thought, one day, I'd go back to him and make him laugh again. Prove him right. Maybe then he'd say, 'If someone like you can be a comedian, this world must be insane.'"

One of the gunmen sneered. "This guy's a loon, huh?"

Arthur's smile faded as he gazed down at his hands, his voice lowering to a murmur. "Isn't that funny? No matter how much I paint my face and try to smile... it's always just one color."

Before anyone could react, Arthur raised his hand, and in an instant, four gleaming knives appeared between his fingers. He flung them effortlessly.

The man with the gun dodged the first knife, laughing. "You think you're a ninja or something?"

But Arthur didn't respond with words. As he sat there, seemingly unmoved, a second knife appeared from nowhere and buried itself in the gunman's throat. He gurgled in disbelief, collapsing.

Another man fired his gun in panic, but the bullets never reached Arthur. Instead, a knife materialized mid-air, deflecting them harmlessly away.

The others scrambled, fear taking over. "What... who are you?"

Arthur lazily flung another knife, the blade twisting unnaturally before burying itself into another man's wrist. He cried out in pain, dropping his gun.

"I told you," Arthur said with a casual shrug, "I'm from the Chaos Insurgency. Call me... Humorous Dart Man."

One of the men, still alive, croaked in confusion, "Humorous Dart... what?"

Arthur shook his head in mock disappointment. "You should laugh at that, not take me seriously."

As if on cue, knives materialized from thin air, embedding themselves in the bodies of the remaining men. Blood sprayed from wounds that hadn't existed a second earlier. It was as though time had paused and resumed just to allow death to catch up.

Arthur stood slowly, walking to the cage where the children huddled in fear. He touched the lock, and with a twist of his wrist, a knife appeared inside the mechanism, snapping it open. The cage door swung wide, and the children bolted for freedom.

Arthur knelt, watching them leave without so much as a word. But one little girl paused, staring at him with large, innocent eyes. She approached him quietly and pressed a small necklace into his hand.

"Thank you, uncle," she whispered, then ran after the others.

Arthur stared at the necklace in his palm. His lips twitched, curling into a smile that turned into a wild, almost uncontrollable laugh.

"Hmph... ha ha ha! HA HA HA!" His laughter echoed through the empty building, manic and free. "I've never had a happy day in my life, but I've never thought about ending it either."

As if the universe sought to challenge his proclamation, a wave of black flame exploded from the space in front of him, cracking the air like glass. The winds roared, whipping his clothes violently as a fissure opened, and out stepped a figure clad in black, wreathed in dark smoke.

Mei.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat as her presence filled the room with a weight he couldn't comprehend. His smile faded, replaced by an involuntary tremor of fear.

"You said you're not afraid of death," Mei's voice was cold, ethereal. "Then why are you afraid of me?"

Arthur tried to form words, tried to muster something witty, something clever, but no sound came. His mouth went dry as the sheer presence of her pressed down on him, like death itself wrapping its hands around his throat.

Mei reached out, grasping his face, forcing a smile back onto it. "Arthur Morgan... let's laugh one more time."