You're roused from slumber scream, and as you attempt to bolt up and out of bed, a pair of strong hands pin you down. You look up in a panic. A man - twice your size, both in height and build - restrains your girlfriend, slapping duct tape over her mouth as he roughly handles her, restraining her. Craning your neck a bit to see your attacker, you see a similar situation. He keeps you held down on your mattress, digging his knee into your back. He wears a black 'HOLOLIVE' cap, an armband with the same logo donning his left arm.
"We got the package. Is Jester en route?" The man holding you down asks what you can assume is the other man quietly as you kick and struggle against him.
"En route. ETA three minutes," another voice chimes in. Someone out of view. "Wonder what the poor son of a bitch did to earn Peacock-class clearance treatment."
"Don't know, but uh...man. This op fuckin' reeks. I don't feel good about it all."
"Work for Jester never makes you feel good. This is a first, though...'asset procurement'."
"Yeah, if you can call a soon-to-be love pillow an asse--"
"Get the fuck off me!" You yell, thrashing against the man's hands. "Get your hands off her you son of a bitch!"
The man restraining you grunts, letting go of one of your hands just long enough to slam you across your exposed cheek. The mark of impact blooms into agony as your vision blurs. You think you heard something crack...and you definitely taste blood. One of your molars feels loose.
"Hey, fuckface!" The man restraining your girlfriend yells over, suddenly very angry. Something resembling fear glints in his eye. "Don't damage the package! What the fuck's your problem!?"
"What am I supposed to do when this piece of shit-"
He's cut off as your door is slammed open. All heads turn. Two large men step in first, each taking a side of the doorway. They're armed. Handguns, suppressed. Your blood begins to go cold as a third figure, much smaller than the other two, slowly steps into the room...jingling somewhat. Their silhouette seems uncomfortably familiar, but...it can't be them...
"What was that about him being hurt?" The smaller figure speaks. That voice... "Weren't you given explicit instructions to NOT damage him?"
The room goes quiet. The small figure steps into the light properly. You gasp. Polka Omaru stands in the middle of your bedroom, hands behind her back. What the fuck is going on? She looks over to you, giving you a warm smile...before her eyes narrow as she looks above you. "You're the one with your hands on him. I'm assuming you're responsible?"
"I...m-ma'am, I was just trying to get him to comply, I-"
Polka raises her hand and snaps her fingers. The guard to the right of the door raises his gun without question, pulling the trigger once. Blood splatters across your headboard as the man restraining you jolts...before going lax, slumping atop you. The casing clatters to the ground as someone out of view gasps. Your girlfriend begins attempting to scream through the duct tape as you freeze up. You can't see their face, but you can feel their blood starting to seep onto you. Your words catch in your throat.
"Tell Reine it'll be two bodies for disposal. More if I find out anyone else got too handsy with him," Polka begins. Two? "She'll understand. Good help is hard to come by these days! At least I didn't order the whole squad be graduated like she would've," She giggles, a dark smile forming on her face. "...This the girl?" She gestures over to the now-terrified captor.
The man restraining your now-sobbing girlfriend nods slowly, visibly sweating as his eyes stay fixated on the body laying atop you. "Y-Yes, Ma'am, er...we-"
"I don't care," Polka interjects flatly, strolling over to the pair. Your girlfriend begins fighting with renewed strength, attempting to scream once more through her silver gag. Polka leans in, squinting as she brings her hand under her chin, stroking it idly in a pose of mock contemplation. "I thought you'd be...I don't know, bigger? At least in the important areas. Really, your breasts are just...so...I dunno. Sad? Hm..."
With a shrug, the clown twirls on the spot, stretching her hands over her head as she lets out an exhausted yawn...before casually flipping a knife up and out of seemingly nowhere, flicking the blade open. Up her glove, maybe. Hell of a magic trick.