"Nothing was found," Nick Fury said flatly, shaking his head before taking a slow sip from his coffee.
Tony Stark's expression darkened instantly. "Then why the hell did you come to me?"
Nick didn't flinch. "An employee from your bank—Lan—survived the explosion."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "So?"
"I was surprised too," Fury said, setting his mug down. "Turns out he's a mutant. His powers aren't exactly spectacular, but they were enough to keep him alive."
Tony crossed his arms and leaned back slightly, his tone sharp. "What are you trying to say, Fury?"
"Lan woke up this morning. His memory is scattered, but he was certain the clown wasn't alone. Said he came in with backup."
That got Tony's attention.
Fury continued, "The group he saw with the clown matched descriptions of a gang we've been tracking—a dark-force syndicate run by cyborgs. Nasty types. We've been after them for months."
Tony's gaze remained locked on Fury, hard and impatient. "And?"
Fury hesitated. Just long enough to be annoying.
Tony's fingers twitched. "Do you people at S.H.I.E.L.D. always talk like this? Like you're reading from a bad script? Get to the damn point."
Fury raised an eyebrow, then said, "Fine. Madame Gao. She's the one behind it."
Tony stiffened. The name hit like a trigger.
"Madame Gao?"
"She's been quietly running operations in Queens for years," Fury explained. "Drug trade, black market tech, trafficking metahumans—her fingerprints are all over the underworld. And now, she's tied to the Joker."
"That explains a lot," Natasha said from the sofa, arms crossed as she leaned forward thoughtfully. "There's no way the Joker pulled this off on his own. All those vanishing acts, the chaos—it makes more sense now."
Fury didn't say anything further. Instead, he reached for the documents laid out on the coffee table and handed them to Tony.
Tony flipped through a few pages—photos, transcripts, surveillance data. Then he slammed the folder shut and tossed it back onto the couch.
"JARVIS!" he barked. "Suit up. Now."
"Tony!" Natasha stood, alarmed. "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to pay Madame Gao a visit," he said coldly, already walking toward the armory hatch as his Mark 46 armor began assembling around him.
"You can't just barge in there!" Natasha said, stepping in front of him. "S.H.I.E.L.D. already has agents investigating her. The NYPD is questioning her as we speak. Until there's concrete proof, you can't just go in guns blazing."
Tony didn't stop. The helmet clicked into place with a sharp hiss. "You think someone like Madame Gao is going to admit anything? She'll sit there sipping tea and lie to your face."
"Tony—" Natasha tried again, but it was too late.
With a blast of repulsors, he shot through the open skylight and vanished into the sky, leaving nothing behind but wind and the faint scent of scorched metal.
Natasha sighed, rubbing her temples. "I told you not to tell him."
Fury remained seated, casually sipping his coffee. "He would've found out anyway. Might as well be from us."
"Well, now everything's going to get messy."
Fury stood, setting the mug back down. "It was already messy. Now we just need to clean it up before it blows in our faces. Come on—we've got work to do."
"Yeah," Natasha muttered, "like finding a clown in a city full of masks."
---
The pounding bass of nightclub music filled the air. Lights flickered and strobed, casting neon trails across the smoky dance floor. Bodies moved in sync with the rhythm—scantily clad, drunk, high, or some mix of the three.
In a corner booth shrouded in shadow, John sat alone.
The clown makeup was gone.
Underneath it, his face was clean, almost unnervingly handsome in the dim glow. No longer a jester. Just a man in a tailored black suit, sipping whiskey like he had all the time in the world.
Women passed by, throwing him flirtatious glances—some bold, some subtle. He ignored them all.
His eyes were focused somewhere far off. Not on the crowd. Not on the music. But on the perfect chaos he had set into motion.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was sniffing in the wrong direction. Tony Stark had taken the bait. Madame Gao, the perfect scapegoat, now had a magnifying glass over her head. Every agency in the city would be crawling over her empire, questioning, suspecting, dismantling.
It was a masterstroke.
John didn't need to worry about the kill order. He never truly had. But now, it was practically suspended. The enemy was too busy pointing fingers at each other.
Watching them scramble brought him something close to joy.
No, not joy.
Satisfaction.
This was what he lived for—the game. Pushing people. Bending the rules. Drawing out the monsters hiding under the masks of heroes.
A smirk crept across his face.
This was just the beginning.
He lifted his glass and drained the last of the whiskey, the burn sliding down like fire and victory.
Then a voice broke through the music.
"Hey," a woman said, leaning against the edge of his booth. "Did you just smile at me?"
John turned slowly. His grin widened.
The game wasn't over.
It was just getting fun.