There was a loud 'bang' from the police officer's pistol, and the right side of my head exploded in pure agony. I howled as I saw the officer who shot the pistol saunter closer; as if to check his handy work at ruining the only thing that made me money besides my voice and body. My beautiful, porcelain face was now soaked with blood and shards of bone fragments. I shrieked in rage, but the pain of my wound was too excruciating for me to do much more. I crumpled to the ground and cried for help, but every passerby was deaf to my pleas, except for one. He called himself Joker, and he offered me a place to stay until my wound healed. He had a shock of brilliant orange hair, a skeletal hand, and amethyst eyes. He also said that if I had any rare or unusual talents, he would find a place for me in his traveling circus troupe, the Noah's Ark Circus.