Chapter Text
Tom Slick, almost 10 years old and a very antisocial child, comes home from school, fucking annoyed by all the idiots at school.
Sandra, Tom's mother, yells at him from the garden, "So, how was school?" She's on the phone with a friend from the mall.
"Yeah yeah, I'm going to my room." Tom dashes upstairs, opens his door, and slams it shut. Tom's room is a complete edgelord's fantasy with gore, a weapon cabinet, and a hit list of people he hates and wants dead. Just as Tom is about to get on his laptop to go on Call of Duty and call someone the n-word for the shits and giggles. A loud rumbling sound is heard.
"Ugh, for fuck's sake!" Tom gets off of his chair and yells out the window, looking directly at the construction crew, "CAN YOU FUCKERS STOP THE FUCKING RUCKUS?!" His voice booms to the crew, their jackhammers and drills making completely pointless noise. "Assholes." He mutters, glancing at the calendar. Tomorrow is his 10th birthday, and God, is he annoyed about it. He knows his parents and sister are gonna be so gushy about it.
Tom goes to bed, snoozing the night away and imagining the Gough Family's dead bodies like a wholesome dream from hell! He twists and turns on the bed, hearing the constant construction even at night, and occasionally Angelica laughing at Max's TikToks for an hour.
The Next Day, Tom wakes up to his dad, Robert, with a party hat, a confetti cannon blasting confetti on his bed, and a banner: "Happy birthday, champ!" Tom yells at his father, "Can I get my sleep? God..." His eyes are barely awake.
"Come on, we hired a clown for you!" Robert drags Tom out of bed, turns off the lights, and an annoyed Tom walks downstairs. "A fucking clown? Why?!" Tom stares at them in disbelief.
"Look, he was so desperate! We felt bad!" Robert retorted, claiming it was worth it! Sandra is seen cooking French Toast and gasps upon her son's arrival, "Aw, is the little assassin up today?"
"What the fuck does it look like?" Tom yells out, much to his parents' giggles, "Well, the clown's here!"
Angelica rushes downstairs, "Mom, where is the perfume?!" Her blonde hair is a total mess, and her eye twitches at Sandra's fancy breakfast.
"Oh, it's your brother's birthday!" She tells Angelica comically, "Here's your perfume!" Sandra throws a perfume bottle at Angelica's hands, and she runs back upstairs!
Suddenly, a goofy little clown jumps through the window into the house. "Yabba Doody Dooo!!!" He gives a cheesy performance in his ridiculous blue-and-yellow polka-dot jumpsuit and cone hat. "Where is the birthday-"
Tom rolls his eyes, staring at a wall, waiting for this stupid birthday to end. He watches the clown attempt to impress Tom. "Meet Pogo! We hired him from the shelter!" Robert chuckles, gesturing at Pogo to do acrobatics!
Pogo nervously glances at the kitchen, sees a bunch of knives, and drools at the idea of cutting himself. "Oooh! Ms. Slick! Can I touch it?!" Pogo rushes over, touches the tip, and drools.
"Sure! Make sure you clean off the blood after!" Sandra sits with her husband to watch the performance.
"Oh god, what the fuck is he doing?" Tom sighs as Pogo juggles knives. "Haha! Look, what do you call a knife juggler?!"
"What?"
"A Slashuggler!"
"That was awful," Tom says in a deadpan tone, and Pogo bursts into tears. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I suck at jokes!" The knives fly into the air and cut his skin open, but then he regenerates from the damage. "I just wish I was useful. I guess I'll go!" Pogo walks up to the door.
Tom suddenly hears a loud bang outside; a construction machine is about to crush the house with a large boulder hanging from the crane. "Gough!" Tom yells at the neighbors, snarling.
Pogo whistles as he walks out of the house with a mopey expression, until suddenly the rock is tossed right at him!
"Oh, my god..." Pogo gasps in horror, flinching at the upcoming hit until he's comically sent into the air from the rock being shredded in half by Tom's gun. Pogo lands in Tom's hands, quiet for a moment before Tom cups his face like a weirdo.
"Stop that," Tom growls, threatening to cut up Pogo.
"My Hero-"
"You wanna be put up for adoption?"
"No, please, anything but that!" Pogo whimpered.
Tom stares at Pogo and hatches a very mischievous idea. "Say you have no home?"
"Yeah?"
"I have a deal." Tom's smile widens at the thought.
"ANYTHING! I'm desperate here. Someone's out to get me! And I'm all alone!"
"Well, lucky for you. You're in touch with the baddest assassin around." Tom yells, basking in his ego.
"You? You're a kid!" Pogo stammers, confused by what Tom says.
"A prodigy is the word you're looking for. Now, if you want to put that pathetic frown upside down. I say, you stay with me, and you'll be taught how to kill. Your first goal? Kill the Goughs?"
Pogo took a minute to scan the scenario. He had no home; his only "friend" was this random kid who proclaimed he was the baddest motherfucking assassin around. I mean, when has help ever gone wrong? Pogo flashes back to several times help has gotten him lost in the woods, with a spider beast seducing him or a bloodthirsty gargoyle nearly eating him whole!
"Okay..." Pogo whimpers. He signs a verbal contract to be a kid's pet. What could go wrong?!
"And I want cash in return." Tom sternly demands.
"What?!"
"You heard me. If I got a pet clown for hire, you'll have to pay rent. Now let's go. You don't wanna be homeless!" Tom teased, watching Pogo flinch at the sound of being homeless again!