K is for Komedy

'K is for Komǝdy'
Abbreviation:	K or ʞ
Group Numbers:	There were 3 once, but Manbagz killed one of them for wearing a fake white beard and thereby breaking dress code, and then broke open the skull of the other for laughing. It's a Punch and Judy show gone very bad.
Leadership:	Manbagz[1]
Goals:	Murder. Demolition. The smoking of fine Havana cigars.
Recruitment Policy:	You need a clown or puppet mask. Black suit, white shirt, black leather shoes. Guns, knives, fuel cans, flares, lengths of metal piping and baseballs bats are the weapons of choice. After that tendencies towards anarchy (the bad kind, not mutualism or anything politically effective) and not being squeamish when it comes to killing random people (and robots, and talking animals that hang about the zoo) for absolutely no discernible reason are Komedian pre-requisites. Grudge matches are always fun, as are duels and competitive killfests with other PKers. A police radio whining before it dies is music to the ears... You get the idea. A Komedian does bad stuff to sheep and clones[2]. There's no punchline.
Contact:	Manbagz[3], or drop into The Havill Motel, East Boundwood and ask about.

K is for ʞomǝdy

...currently operates as an experimental death unit for Aesthetic Judgment.

So what's with the clown mask?
In the beginning it was a clone-killing thing. Non-descripts all look the same: vacant spaces, evacuated identities.[4]
So the mask symbolised a mirror: laughter in the face of empty terror. Later it became the face of terror itself— 'Whoever battles monsters should take care not to become a monster too, for if you stare long enough into the Abyss, the Abyss stares also into you...' etc, etc. It's true what they say: your first kill is the hardest— you unload the lead and then run and hide in a junkyard for a day waiting for someone to come after you. When they don't, you do it again. And again. Before he knew it, Manbagz was trigger-happy, dropping clones like flies, walking into police stations in broad daylight and gunning down as many of the faceless as he could. He began to set himself challenges— 'Use only a fuel can and a flare gun— Use only a knife— Punch this one to death.'
Somewhere around the 50th kill he went completely mad. He is the mask. What lies beneath is a machine that hunts and laughs and smokes Havana cigars.