Under the night sky of the basketball court, the clown's hoarse, eerie laughter grated against the eardrums like dry sandpaper.
“Hahaha...” He chuckled oddly, tilting his head slightly as he appraised Bruce standing on the other side of the barbed wire fence: “Aren't you afraid?”
Bruce ran his fingers over the stone in his hand, his expression calm as if chatting with a neighbor: I'm a law-abiding federal citizen. If I see a murder scene and don't report it, my conscience would ache."
The clown slowly dragged the blood-stained sledgehammer in his hand along the fence, following Bruce's footsteps. He lowered his voice, his tone tinged with eerie excitement: “What do you want?”
Bruce raised an eyebrow, weighing the stone with a half-smile: “You want to buy my conscience? Buddy, that's a
