Michael D. Pegmen had been casually strolling down the street, wearing a red shirt that was said to have been blessed by Ash Williams, died red in the blood of Candarian Demons that were brutally an awesomely slaughtered by both chainsaw and boomstick, their sweet screams of pain and agony that would have happily lulled the murderer of those kids in '87 to sleep. He was carrying bags that had various other shirts, in different colours and such.

Because this chapter needs development somewhere, the author employed this use of 'so-coincidental-it's-bullshit' and allowed (i.e, forced against his will in a playing god-like way) him to go down an alleyway that was quite clearly dangerous, dark and smoky.

"I love buying me some shirts stained in the blood of demons!" Michael randomly said as he walked through. Very. VERY. Loudly.

Because the author said so.

He was then stopped as he though he heard some running.

"Hello? Who's there?" the man shouted as he looked behind him, because this just became a horror movie cliché. Shouting out when you think you're being followed never does any good, you walking cadaver.

"Huh. Guess it was just my imagination," Michael shrugged and turned around, only to yell out in alarm as he looked at the figure in front of him.

It was just so… Stick limbed! And that face… What the fuck was with those purple lines coming down its face? Were they meant to be tears?

"Do you know who I am?" the inhuman figured questioned, purposely using a gruff voice.

"Those purple lines… Are you…?" Michael gulped and looked the puppet-like being in the eyes. "Are you a grape that's been cruelly stuffed into a costume meant for a bunch off sticks, and those purple lines are your blood that seeped out and symbolically look like tears?"

"What? No! I…"

He raised his arms out, and for the first time since seeing this thing, Michael saw many shirts hanging off his arms. All strung on his arms in such a way that they looked like very ugly looking wing.

"I, am the Marionette! Now…" the Marionette continued on in a more demonic-like tone. "Give me your shirts!"

The Marionette walked down the streets, as all of shirts he stole from men randomly in the streets hung over one arm. The hand of said arm was also clutching a bottle of body glitter. The sun was shining, and birds were singing. And soon the Marionette would be with Lizzy to get down and get 'jiggy' with it.

That was what people referred to it as, right? Ah, who cares?

"Now, all I have to do is find my darling Lizbeth's home," he said rather cheerfully to himself, only to stop his walk. Despite his 'observation from afar' on Lizzy, he had no clue where the hell she actually lived.

Curses! His plan was foiled! Unless…

He looked around and spotted a taxi.

"I see you~." The Marionette giggled and ran to the taxi, throwing the back door open and letting himself inside. He had to hunch his back since the taxi wasn't designed to accommodate living puppets of his height. He ignored the freaked out expression of the taxi driver as said man looked at him through the rear-view mirror.

"Go, taxi slave! My destiny awaits!" The Marionette cackled to himself.

"Wh-where to?" the taxi driver asked nervously. The Marionette stopped immediately, realising her forgot to give the address.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Lizzy Parker's apartment, please," the Marionette requested politely this time, knees pressed together and hands clasped on top of them. But the taxi driver could only stare back through the mirror.

"Um… Okay, but I meant the actual address. Like, a street or house number."

"I told you. She lives in an apartment."

"There's more than one apartment building in this town, sir."

"We'll have to go to all of them then, won't we?" huffed the Marionette, folding his arms.

"Do you have the money to pay the fare?" asked the taxi man, raising a brow.

"Money?! They don't pay me at the pizzeria! Apparently since I live there and don't need the same things you humans do, I don't need money! Greedy little-."

"Then you'll have to get out of the car, sir."

"No, you're taking me to my Lizbeth's apartment!"

"If you don't have the money, get out!"

"Bitch, I will stab-kick you if you don't do what I say," the Marionette said in a deadly coldness. Taxi man just scoffed.

"Yeah, right."

"That's it!"

With no remorse or regard for morality, the Marionette kicked one of his legs through the taxi man's seat. The poor man yelled out in pain and slumped over the wheel.

"Oh god, my back."

"Serves you right."

"I think you stab-kicked my spine!"

"As I intended."

"You paralysed me! I may never walk again! I can't dance at my wedding next week!"

"It's karma, bitch. For not taking me to my sweet doll," sneered the Marionette as he got out and slammed the door shut, and ignored the man's cries of pain. He hummed to himself and tapped his chin.

"I should probably start looking into every apartment until I find Lizbeth."

So the Marionette went on, to break into many an apartment. All in search of his 'love'. And he would do this by scaling buildings and just letting himself in. It wasn't breaking and entering. It was just entering without asking first.

Apartment number one…

"Hmm… I somehow don't think she lives here," the Marionette mused as he looked at the floral wallpaper that belonged to the seventies. There were also many cats walking about. "Maybe if I-."

"Who are you?!" Marionette looked to the door that led to this apartment's kitchen and saw a squinty eyed old lady holding a cane. "Is that you Wilfred?"

"Er…"

"Do you remember when we got married, Wilfred?" the old woman sighed. "Such a fun day we had. The wedding was beautiful, the reception was wonderful. I still remembered when we found that children's playground and set it on fire that night before we left for our honeymoon."

"What?!"

"And then we roasted the marshmallows over it, laughing as we imagined how much the children would be crying when they saw their precious playground in ashes and melted metal." The old lady chuckled, and the Marionette stepped back. "Then, there was our pre-honeymoon… 'exercise'~." The old woman wiggled her eyebrows towards the slightly grossed out Marionette. "Right in front of the playground as it burned sky high. You really enjoyed licking all of those melted marshmallows off of my clam, didn't you, Wilfred~. I remember when we woke up and heard those children crying."

The old woman chuckled, unaware of how ill the Marionette was. First that guy who stripped himself naked at the pizzeria, now this? Why did he have to continuously have to feel molested today?

"'Mommy, what happened?' 'Will I be able to swing again soon, daddy?' 'Mommy, why are those two people naked?'" the old lady mimicked the children whose minds she had scarred sixty years ago, looking quite happy as she did so.

"Oh, Sweeney…" the Marionette mumbled, looking quite ill despite his mask before he shouted, "I'm not Wilfred!"

"Oh? You're not?"

"No!" he exasperated. The old lady chuckled and threw her cane to the ground.

"Oh~. So you're finally here~."

"What? What are you on about?" asked the Marionette as he quickly backed away once more.

"My four pm gigolo of course~."

"No, not this crap again!"

But it was too late. With one tug of her blouse, the old lady's blouse, skirt, stockings and shoes flew off on either side of her, leaving her in bright yellow lingerie that was hardly left anything to the imagination.

"Remember, Stephanno. Wilfred will be back at eight, so I need you to do the North-South Bumper-Pumpkin before then~."

The Marionette gagged and backed away. He knew it wouldn't be easy to find Lizzy's apartment, but surely he shouldn't have to go through such horrors such as seeing old people in lingerie.

"I think I'll just take my leave."

Not wasting another second, the Marionette swan dived out the window. For the rest of his search, he would just knock on the door.

Apartment number thirty-three…

The Marionette knocked on the last door of the third apartment building he checked, and was hopeful that this was the one. The door opened with a creak and behind it was a man with a thick neck and equally thick black hair who was a wearing a simple white mask that had a mouth and eyes drawn on that both looked like they were on a frog. It looked like he was trying to cosplay Zacharie from the game 'OFF', except if Zacharie wore a white wife beater and loose pale jeans.

"Hello there~," said the man. His voice highly southern. The cliché sort type of southern you normally see in horror movies where they're portrayed as stupid but murderous psychopathic hillbillies who want to harm the poor, innocent city folk.

"My name's Emil~. What's yours~?"

"Um… I'm the Marionette…" he answered, his feeling of discomfort rising once more. "And I think I'll just be-."

"Are you a puppet~?"

"Well… Technically I suppose so. Honestly I'm not entirely sure what I am at times." He was only now starting to notice the breathing noises from the man. Was he breathing with his mouth open?

"This. Is the greatest day. EVER!" Emil said, before letting out a satisfied groan. "I've been waiting for my order for ages, and now a living puppet is here… Fuck, I'm lucky."

"I can't say I feel the same."

"Come inside, stranger~." Emil grabbed the Marionette's arms and dragged him inside the apartment. The Marionette was mentally cringing at having to be touched by the man, but once he saw the apartment itself…

He felt a good percentage of himself die.

There were puppets everywhere. Not just as the decorations stacked on shelves and strung up so they hung from the ceiling. Oh no. Emil took to level extreme.

All of his furniture was made out of puppets. And if not made from them, the puppets would be tapped so tightly around something that it would look like the object was made of puppets. The couch and armchair were puppets, the coffee table were puppets. The bookshelf was puppets as were the lampshades. Puppets were tied around the TV, as well as the fridge and counters, but all other bits of furniture were puppets.

Puppets. Everywhere. No escape from them. Not even in some of the provocative artwork of puppets, in the sexual kind.

"Welcome to my puppet-topia," Emil said, sounding rather proud of himself. "I've dedicated my entire life to puppets, ever since I was two."

"That's…" The Marionette couldn't even bring himself to lie. That wasn't nice. None of this was. It was horrifying!

"My entire life! Toys, arts, music, food, you name it! Anything to do with puppets, I studied and played with. If not, I brought puppets into it, damn it!" Emil grabbed an apple from a puppet head on the table that had the top of its head cut off. The apple itself was actually carved into the shape of a puppet-like face. After eating the apple in front of a disturbed Marionette, Emil went on.

"I've studied everything about puppets in college. I actually have two Masters and a P. H. D in regards to all my puppet studies. I've also tried to bring puppets into the media! Kids programmes, news, movies and all that kind of stuff. That and porn~."

The Marionette slowly backed away from Emil as he locked the door behind him.

"Now why don't you follow me, puppet~."

Emil grabbed the puppet's arm and dragged him down a hallway (just as puppet decorated as the rest of the apartment) and opened the door into his bedroom.

His entire bed was made from puppets, and the bed sheets were made from the hair normally used for puppets. The entire ceiling was covered in puppet head. All of them just staring down. The part of the actual ceiling itself could be seen among the many, many heads.

"Why does this keep happening to me today?" the Marionette wondered aloud. Why was he being constantly meeting these creepy people today? All he wanted to do was go find his love's apartment, woo her with everything he's found from 'Twilight' and 'Fifty Shades' and finally have sex with her. Why did he have to see a man strip himself in the pizzeria, an old lady lingerie and now a man into puppet-philia! Why, just… WHY?!

Stupid life. Being an asshole like always.

"Now, why don't you make yourself comfortable while I make us some drinks~? This is a dream come true, and I can't waste it~."

The Marionette was pushed onto the bed and made to wait as Emil left to get them drinks. As soon as he was certain the deranged man was no in hearing distance, Marionette shot to his pointy legs and ran to the window.

Perhaps scaling up buildings again and knocking on windows would be best.

Apartment number fifty-seven…

The Marionette scaled up the building of his next apartment and seeing that people were home on his next window, he knocked on it first. It was answered a few seconds later by a man who styled his hair into two big bobs on either side of his hair, trying to go for a Micky Mouse-esque look. The weirdness would have ended there if he didn't have blood splattered over his face, or held a bloody knife in hand.

It probably didn't help that inside the song 'Stuck in the Middle with You' was playing, and in front of a white canvas inside that had blood smeared on it and pieces of fingers and actually paint splattered here and there, a man was tied up a gagged. One hand missing as well as an ear.

"Hey, how's it going?" Mr. crazy asked in a very casual manner. The man inside was trying to call for help.

"Oh, I'm looking for a beautiful woman whose angelic gutter mouth could put any sailor and Gordon Ramsey to shame, and make the sun want to cause a supernova already to eradicate all life. Her name's Lizbeth Parker."

"Sorry. Never heard of her."

The tied up man's eyes widened and he tried harder to speak.

"Just ignore him," Mr. crazy said, waving his knife around dismissively. "He's just being an ass who won't help me with my art."

"I don't know," Marionette said. "Maybe if you could ungag him for a moment, he might tell me where to find her. You can put it back then and go back and go back to your art."

"I guess. Okay, tell the living sentient puppet, that we're being so calm and not worried about what he wants to know, Sam." Mr. crazy ripped the gag out of Sam's mouth. He gasped for breath before crying out,

"I don't know the number, but she lives at the 'You-wish-this-was-like-Friends' apartment building!"

"I see," Marionette nodded. "Thank you, hapless victim of murder. For directing me, I shall aid you!"

The Marionette reached in and casually grabbed Mr. crazy by his shoulder and pulled him outside with him. Holding his arm out like a claw machine, the Marionette dropped the would-be killer and giggled happily at the scream and sound of body hitting pavement.

"Oh, thank you!" Sam cried out happily. "So you'll get me untied now and to a hospital, right?"

"Nope!" the Marionette said. "You're just being a greedy bitch now! Asking me to take you places and untie you. I already killed a man for you! Be happy!" The Marionette slammed the window shut and dropped down. Unlike the man he just murdered, Marionette survived the fall. In fact, he almost floated down the street quite gracefully. It could only have been more graceful had he been wearing a dress or skirt. Now, to find Lizbeth's weirdly named apartment building.

The Marionette looked down at the Mr. crazy pancake and without any regards for social ethics like the social contract, the Marionette casually moved his arms through all the guts and blood (just an average night for him before Lizbeth came along and pretty much everyone her bitch. Both animatronics and people) until he found his wallet and took out all of the cash inside. He giggled to himself and went off to find another taxi.

"Taxi slave!" The Marionette jumped in through the window of a taxi, startling the taxi driver inside.

"Woah! What the-?!"

"Take me to the 'You-wish-this-was-like-Friends' apartment building! Post haste!"

"But I'm on break-."

Thud.

Hearing the soft thud, the taxi driver saw the Marionette swing one of his legs up to rest right by his head. The pointy end rather close to his face.

"Bitch, I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if you don't take me to my Lizbeth's home. Now," the Marionette told him in a cold voice.

"'You-wish-this-was-like-Friends' apartment building? You got it!" the poor man said quickly before starting the taxi up, and driving down the road. The Marionette slowly started to giggle before breaking into t loud cackle. He stuck his head out the window, continuing to cackle and ignoring or unaware of the looks given to him.

"I'm coming, Lizbeth~. You can't stop-OW!"

The Marionette had ended up with his face meeting a 'STOP' sign and clutched at his poor face.

"Oh, fuck my face!"

"That's what you get for trying to act like a dog," sneered the taxi driver.

"Don't MAKE me show you the joys of creation!"