The Clown doesn’t run. He dances —jerky, taunting, laughing through a voice scrambler that sounds like broken music box notes. He leaves behind a trail of red balloons and audio recordings of Cory’s own past interrogations, twisted into grotesque love confessions.

Cory escapes the funhouse but realizes the Clown has planted a bomb on her unmarked cruiser’s ignition. To save a block of civilians, she has to drive the car into the river—but the Clown is in the back seat, laughing. As water floods the cabin, he whispers the location of his next target… and a kiss that tastes like battery acid and cherry lipstick.