Thundarr City’s nightlife was vibrant, but beneath the flashing neon lights and pounding music, a darker underworld thrived. At the heart of it all stood Mr. Clown, the enigmatic and ruthless businessman who controlled an empire of illegal strip clubs scattered across the city. Officially, these establishments did not exist—they were hidden behind fronts, shifting locations, and constantly evading law enforcement. Yet, despite their blatant illegality, the Defense Enforcement Centre (D.E.C.) turned a blind eye, their silence bought with regular bribes funneled through shadowy channels.
Among those who worked in the depths of this empire was Flint Faros, a man who had abandoned any pretense of legitimacy long ago. He wasn’t just a middleman; he was one of Mr. Clown’s most trusted hands, handling the distribution of explicit videos captured from the numerous apartments secretly bugged by Mr. Clown’s surveillance network. These recordings—private, intimate moments stolen from unsuspecting tenants—were sold in the underground market, raking in a fortune. It was a business of exploitation, and Flint ensured it ran smoothly.
But Flint’s role extended beyond distribution. He was also responsible for recruiting workers for Mr. Clown’s strip joints, known as ‘space girls’—a term that made them sound exotic, but in reality, many of them were desperate women caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape. Some were lured with promises of wealth, others forced into it by circumstances beyond their control. Flint knew the laws of Thundarr Court were stacked against him, but he didn’t care. He had connections, and most importantly, he had Mr. Clown’s protection.
The strip clubs, despite their hidden status, occasionally found themselves under the scrutiny of Thundarr Court. Every so often, a raid would happen, an officer looking to make a name for himself would barge in, or a prosecutor would attempt to bring charges. But Mr. Clown always had a solution—money. With a well-placed bribe, charges vanished, witnesses forgot what they had seen, and cases collapsed before they ever saw the inside of a courtroom. D.E.C. officers who dared to step out of line were either bought or silenced.
However, Flint’s arrogance often put him at risk. One night, during a high-profile deal exchanging fresh tapes for payment at a hidden backroom club, things went south. An undercover investigator, tipped off by an anonymous source, infiltrated the meeting. Within minutes, the place was swarmed by plainclothes officers. Flint, along with a handful of Mr. Clown’s men, was arrested on charges of illegal distribution, trafficking, and violation of multiple Thundarr Court laws.
For most criminals, this would have been the end of the road. But Flint knew better. Sitting in the dimly lit interrogation room, he was barely fazed. The officer questioning him was relentless, throwing accusations and evidence in his face. But Flint simply smirked, waiting. Hours later, as expected, the door swung open. A high-ranking D.E.C. official walked in, whispered a few words to the arresting officer, and just like that, the charges disappeared. Mr. Clown had paid their way out once again.
As Flint walked free that night, he knew he was untouchable—so long as he remained useful to Mr. Clown. But he also knew that no empire lasted forever. Sooner or later, someone would come for them. And when that day came, he’d have to decide: would he fight for the empire he helped build, or would he betray it to save himself?
The neon lights of Thundarr City flickered in the distance as he disappeared into the night, already thinking of his next move.
