Somewhere in New York in a small No Name Bar—yeah, that was the bar's name—at an open mic evening. A few dozen patrons were chilling and drinking while one young man went to the stage and tapped the microphone to catch everyone's attention. 

"Hey guys, what's up?" the youth said brightly. "I don't want to interrupt you lot, but the manager promised to return me my porn collection if I performed for you, so here I am. I think that blackmail isn't the nicest way to ask for a favor, but it's just me. You can ignore me if you want. I just want my hot babies back." 

Someone in the audience gave a laugh, but most still were absorbed in their own conversations or drinking. The young man on the scene seemed to be either in his late teens or early twenties. He was wearing a tight-fitting blue tuxedo that complimented his azure eyes and a bowler hat of the same color. 

"I'm Jim Murphy, and I hope this will be an evening to remember," the man introduced himself with a smile despite the lackluster reception so far. One of the regulars was already familiar with Jim and cheered him up, but barely anyone paid attention to him. 

“I used to work at McDonald’s making minimum wage." Jim continued with his comedy routine in his flamboyant voice. "You know what that means when someone pays you minimum wage? You know what your boss is trying to say? ‘Sorry, pal. If I could pay you less, I would, but it’s against the law.'" 

As Jim's performance continued, more and more people started to listen to him. Each new joke resulted in more laughs, and most conversations quieted down before long. It wasn't just the content of his comedy that attracted people's attention, but also Jim's charm. His voice was pleasing to the ear, his facial expressions were vibrant and animated. While on the scene, Jim didn't show any signs of social pressure or anxiety, being completely in his element. 

"Why do you think we haven't heard an astronaut bragging about being the first-ever human to fap in space?" Jim asked the audience with a straight face. "Just think about it. As impressive a feat as it is, they'd also be admitting to masturbating at work. That's something that can get you fired even at McDonald's, you know? Believe me, I speak from experience." 

After a bit more than an hour that felt surprisingly short to the audience, Jim concluded his stand-up. "Thank you for listening to my rant and half-assed jokes. I hope we won't see each other again, at least not in here, as it would mean I'm blackmailed again. What would Mr. Manager take from me the next time? I shudder just from thinking about it."

Under applause and cheering, Jim left the scene with a self-satisfied grin. His heart was pounding, and he felt truly alive. The feeling of making people just the tiniest bit happier and being acknowledged by them never got old to James Murphy. 

"It's nice to see you in good spirit, Jim, but perhaps you should stop spreading rumors about me," the so-called blackmailing manager—a pudgy man in his late forties—said to Jim, who was relaxing in the backstage. 

"It brings back memories, doesn't it?" Jim said with a tinge of nostalgia. "Just a bit more than two years ago, on my eighteenth birthday, I was standing on this same stage, trembling from anxiety despite being drunk. With the knowledge that my parents are ready to kick me out from their house, I made lousy attempts at comedy and got laughed at for completely wrong reasons..." 

"Heh, look at you now, young man!" the manager patted Jim on his shoulder. "No one would believe that this confident man on the stage once was a shy nerdy boy. As I watched your performance today, I totally understood why you have been invited to perform at one of the largest elite clubs in New York. Don't forget about No Name Bar and me when you make it big, Jim!" 

The comedian gave a wry smile. "Don't underestimate how unforgettable you and your establishment are, Uncle Ross." 

"Should I call you a cab, Jim?" Ross asked with consideration. "Tomorrow is a big day, knowing you you'll want to get up as early as possible."

"Thanks, but I'd rather take a walk and enjoy some fresh air." Jim shook his head. "My apartment is only fifteen minutes away, anyway."

"It's not a safe neighborhood around here..." Ross frowned.

"If worst comes to worst, I have my fast legs alongside my lucky charm and my trump card!" Jim made his way to the back exit as he waved goodbye to his much older friend. "See you later, Uncle Ross."

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"Good luck, Jim." Ross sighed before going back to supervising the bar. 

As Jim made his way through the dark backstreets of New York, he played around with his prized item—an ancient-looking golden coin around two inches in size. He was leisurely flipping his "lucky charm", trying to guess if it was heads or tails when someone blocked his way. 

"Give me your money, punk!" a black guy in his late teens yelled as he waved his switchblade just a couple of feet away from the comedian's face. There was no one else to interfere with what could be called a shameless robbery. Alas, this was a case of picking the wrong target...

"What a cool knife you have here, huh." Jim looked genuinely impressed. "Are you, perhaps, trying to sell it to me?" 

"W-what the fuck, dude?!" the black guy exclaimed, his spit almost reaching Jim. "Do I look like a salesperson to ya?!"

Jim scrutinized the person opposite of him and shrugged. "No, you look like a rapper. Can you beatbox?" 

"Of course I can beatbox—" the guy stopped, recalling his purpose "—wait a fucking minute... I'm robbing ya, stupid! Give me your money if ya value your life!"

"Are you looking for a job?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "I'd hire you, but I'm broke myself. Don't worry, though. I believe that I'll get rich soon enough." 

The black guy frowned. "Don't fuck with me, punk! I'm serious here!" 

"Okay, how about we make a deal?" Jim tossed the coin and then covered it when it landed in his palm. "Heads or tails? If you get it right, I'll give you a hundred bucks. Otherwise, we'll just go our separate ways. Sounds good?" 

The robber hesitated for a moment before murmuring, "Tails." 

"Too bad, but it's heads!" Jim said, completely confident without even looking. And he proved to be unmistakenly right when he revealed the coin. 

"Y-ya cheated!" the black guy accused Jim, despite the fact that he was the one who assumed wrong. "Ya knew the answer beforehand!" 

"Of course I did," Jim acknowledged with a grin. "I knew that whatever your choice would be, it'd be wrong. After all, this coin is my lucky charm. There's no way it'll ever betray me." 

"Do ya think I'm joking with ya, punk?!"

"No, it's me who's comedian here, you know. But I acknowledge that you're a funny guy in your own way."

"I swear to fucking god, if you don't give me everything in your pockets this fucking minute, I'll stab you in the gut..." the black guy flipped his knife threateningly. 

"Okay, I get it." Jim sighed. "You want things from my pockets, right?" 

The comedian unfastened his jacket and then took something from his inner pocket. "Here, take it. My girlfriend ditched me a couple of months ago, so I won't be needing it for a while. I'm not sure if the size fits as I'm rather well endowed down there, but a black man like you should have no problem. Oops, it was a bit racist, wasn't it? Sorry." 

The robber carefully took the small item Jim handed to him. Upon closer inspection, this was an XXL-sized condom, thankfully an unused one. Otherwise, the black guy would definitely stab the poor comedian, consequences be damned. 

Before the robber could explode in anger and frustration, Jim reached into his inner pocket yet again. 

"You know, Mr. Robber," the comedian said lightly as he took yet another item from his jacket, "there's something I want to ask you."

It took the black guy a couple of seconds to realize what exactly his would-be victim was pointing at him. It was the good old Glock 19. 

"Why have you brought a knife to a gunfight?" Jim asked with sincere bewilderment. "I mean, we are in America... who the heck trying to rob people with a friggin knife nowadays? Even a random granny can be carrying a gun in her handbag." 

The failure of a robber took a few steps back, visibly intimidated. He looked scared shitless. It was fairly obvious that the guy wasn't very experienced at what he tried to do. Perhaps it was his first time threatening someone, so being threatened back instead was a shock for him. At least this was what Jim had assumed, but in reality, it wasn't his gun that made the black guy frightened. 

"W-what the heck is this thing?!" the robber screamed as he backed away from Jim, almost falling on his ass. "G-get away from me!"

"C'mon, dude,"—Jim scratched the back of his head, bewildered by the exaggerated reaction—"this is just a gun, not a bazooka or monster..." 

The robber didn't pay attention to what the comedian mumbled. He was running away as if his life depended on it. 

This was when Jim had a disturbing thought. Perhaps the black guy hadn't been scared of him and his gun. Perhaps there was something else at play. And at this realization, a shiver ran down his spine. 

The backstreet was eerily dark as if all lights around Jim suddenly went off. There was something behind him. Something that made the robber terrified. Jim couldn't hear it, but he could sense a gaze at his back. 

Don't look back. Jim's sixth sense was screaming at him. No matter what, don't look back. 

Even at the point of a knife, Jim managed to stay calm. But now, his heart was pounding hard, and droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead. Even the most courageous of us were afraid of the unknown. But Jim also had a hunch that this was a time when knowing would spell his doom. 

Slowly and carefully, Jim made a step forward. Then another one. With each step, irrational terror gripped his heart tighter and tighter. But he didn't stop. He shouldn't. He couldn't.

Jim felt that he would be safe as long as he made it to the end of the street where the escaping robber had disappeared. It wasn't something logical, just a feeling. But he would never know if there was any truth to it. 

"Don't resist it, child," a whisper, as chilling as it was beautiful, sounded right at his ear. It wasn't a voice that belonged to a male or female. It wasn't a voice that belonged to a human. If anything, it was a voice of something as divine as it was sinister.

And then, everything went black.