Copy of a Copy
We watched chaos reign, murders, and fraud all over a piece of art. An etching of sad clown from the eighteen hundreds.
A first print in the twentieth century could fetch a pretty penny, and because of that it was also a powerful status symbol.
Rumor had it that a man possessed just that particular etching perished in a fire, and the etching thought to have been lost in the blaze soon resurfaced in the hands of a wealthy business man.
However, that man too met a similar fate in a similar fire, talk began that the etching itself was cursed as it reappeared again this time locked in a safe that was hidden in child’s Toy Box.
This time it was turned over to a museum and when it was appraised it was found to be a late run. People had killed and been killed for this only to find out that it was just a copy, of a copy, of a copy.
Now in O.S.W. we have our own cursed Make Believe reprint that can be found locked away in its own Toy Box.
Most that enter the orbit of this Madcap duplication also finds themselves if dead.
A good doctor who lost his mind when he ventured into the toy box.
A conspiracy theorist who smelled something fishy that found himself the victim of the replication.
Then an explorer escapes this sarcophagus repeatedly, and Cackling replica finds other replicas tasking them to end this voyager.
However, their failure to end this adventure’s journey into the Toy Chest he commits what amounts to multiple Fratricides.
Disco Dave, now a disco ball the true head of the part and proven fact that disco truly is dead.
SeeHulk, bodied rendered nothing more than a streak upon the wall.
All of these men sharing one thing in common, they were replicas, the more replicated the D.N.A., and the more deranged they became.
An obsession with Disco, if that is not deranged, I do not know what is.
A monster so jacked that he must have been mainline steroids since birth, or maybe gamma radiation.
But now it leaves you all alone SeeSaw a copy of a facsimile of Albert Fish.
Not it is time to put an end to this constantly copycatting cadaver carnival caused by a cretinously clever clown.
You may stand alone as the final remaining clone of Albert Fish, the one who has ended all the others, the superior copy above all other.
But the fact is we are the chlorine for your gene pool, the end to your savagely replicated and twisted linage of Albert Fish.
Because we are Legion, for we are many, and we shall end the SeeSaw bloodline and turn his Toy Box into his tomb.