The Spellvan 9000 bounced down a dirt road that had clearly not been maintained since the last Goblin Civil War. The flux-drive engine wheezed. The espresso machine hissed. A jar of labeled "Experimental Eyes (Do Not Lick)" rattled ominously in the back.

  Walter the White stood on the roof, arms wide, coat billowing in the wind, shouting like a mad prophet.

  "BEHOLD! The market of opportunity approaches! A land without taxes! A land where magic is traded for teeth and curses are legal tender! A land where funnel cakes are currency!"

  Heisenbones poked his skull out of the passenger-side window. "That's a cursed traveling carnival, boss. It got kicked out of eight countries and one moon."

  Slippery Linda leaned out the side door, chewing on a stick of unstable licorice. "Perfect. Let's scam some weirdos."

  The sign they passed read:

  WELCOME TO HEXFEST: Where the Attractions are Cursed and the Cotton Candy Bites Back

  The gang parked the Spellvan 9000 between a vampire dunk tank and a suspiciously empty tent labeled "Definitely Not a Mimic." Walter slapped a new sign onto the side of the van:

  "Walter's Wicked Wares — Potions, Poisons, and Possibly Perilous Puffs"

  Heisenbones lit up a torch (for aesthetic) while Linda threw glitter in the air (for branding).

  Within minutes, a line formed.

  The first customer was a wizard clown with too many eyes and a license to juggle.

  "What does this do?" he asked, pointing to a bottle labeled Mood Swing Elixir.

  Walter smiled. "Take it and you'll feel exactly like your divorced dad's diary for three hours."

  "Sold."

  Next came a gremlin with a wallet made from police badges. "You got any potion that makes me more 'stabby' but in a legally vague way?"

  Heisenbones tossed him a vial labeled Nightmare Zest?. "Don't drink near mirrors."

  Then came a Karen-shaped banshee looking for youth potion refunds. Linda handled her by turning her into a ferret. Problem solved.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Meanwhile: The MLE Gets Played

  Back in the tower of the Magic Law Enforcement, Captain Sevrin reviewed new intel.

  "Sir, the gang's at Hexfest," said Lt. Pibb, nervously swatting away an enchanted post-it that kept biting him.

  Sevrin narrowed his eyes. "A cursed carnival. Of course. The only place worse than our HR department."

  "We could raid it."

  "No," Sevrin growled. "Too unstable. Too unpredictable. We wait until they slip. Let them make enemies. Then we swoop in like buzzards... magical, lawful buzzards."

  Back at the carnival, a buzzard exploded after licking one of Walter's smoke bombs. Irony.

  The carnival's main stage announced a new attraction:

  "The Sentient Cotton Candy Golem — Tamed by No One. Contained by Regret."

  Unfortunately, it escaped containment.

  It roared—a pink, sugar-fluffed abomination with licorice tendrils and a deep hunger for chaos. It grabbed a man by the head and gave him diabetes on impact.

  The crowd screamed. The ground shook. Someone dropped a churro, which immediately turned into a snake.

  Walter looked up from his register. "Do we... help?"

  Heisenbones was already mixing a counter-potion while juggling a wand and a bottle of eldritch root beer.

  "On it, boss! Just need ten seconds and a distraction."

  Linda cracked her knuckles. "Leave that to me."

  Linda charged the golem and did a backflip onto its head, screaming, "DADDY ISSUES!"

  The golem reeled, confused by both the physical attack and emotional damage.

  Walter grabbed a spell grenade labeled DO NOT THROW INDOORS. "Catch, Linda!"

  Linda caught it, ripped off the safety rune with her teeth, and jammed it into the golem's mouth.

  "BOOM, SUGAR-FREAK!"

  A spectacular pink mushroom cloud exploded over the tent, coating the area in sugary ash and turning half the crowd into hummingbirds for ten minutes.

  When the smoke cleared, the golem was melted into a harmless puddle.

  Heisenbones dropped the finished potion into the puddle for good measure. It hissed, turned teal, and began to sing jazz.

  Linda wiped her hands. "Handled."

  The crowd cheered. Someone threw money. A cursed coin embedded itself in Walter's ear but he didn't care—business was booming.

  While Linda fought the golem, Heisenbones was approached by a group of gremlins wearing tiny hats.

  "Are you the skeleton who saved our funnel cake stand?"

  "Uh... yes?"

  "Then you must be our savior! Our new mayor! All hail Mayor Bones!"

  They hoisted him up on a throne of bottle caps.

  Walter stared. "What just happened?"

  Linda shrugged. "You left a skeleton unsupervised near a group of desperate voters. It was inevitable."

  Heisenbones waved. "First decree: legalize necromancy and churros for all!"

  The gremlins chanted, "HAIL BONE MAYOR!"

  Walter rubbed his temples. "This is going to come back to haunt us."

  He was right.

  As the sun set and the Spellvan's registers overflowed with cursed coins, a mysterious figure stepped off a burning unicycle in the distance.

  Dressed in a trench coat made of screaming owls and sunglasses that glowed with dark intent, the stranger whispered one name:

  "...Walter the White."

  They opened a scroll. It read:

  Bounty Hunt Authorization: Shadow Wizard Money Gang

  Client: The Magic Council

  Objective: Capture Walter, Disassemble Skeleton, Confiscate All Cool Stuff

  Bonus: Free Ticket to Hexfest's Secret Dungeon Rave

  Their wand hummed.

  Their eyes glowed.

  And their beard? It was majestic.

  The first real bounty hunter had arrived.