During the three years of Jason's exile, they had maintained a principle of lying low, refraining from doing anything out of line. Over time, the Joker organization's influence waned. Mainstream newspapers were filled with satirical articles, and even ordinary people online dared to mock and adapt Jason's deeds into jokes.
These words were like needles stabbing into the hearts of them. But even so, they endured.
The turning point came three days ago—the night when all of their superpowers were upgraded to Level 8. This proved that Jason was not dead in outer space; not only was he alive, but he had grown even more powerful. This signal acted like a shot of adrenaline, restoring their confidence.
Coincidentally, the World Security Council chose today to hold a meeting specifically targeting the Joker organization. Naturally, they were not going to let this opportunity slide.
Eight armed helicopters fired over a dozen missiles in succession. The missiles, trailing long plumes of fire, struck the midsection of the building.
BOOM!
A series of earth-shattering explosions followed! The points of impact lit up with bursts of fire as the crumbling walls turned into a rain of debris. Thick black smoke began to billow from the skyscraper. On the rooftop of the building opposite, several Joker organization members watched the scene intently.
"Magnificent! I haven't seen a sight like this in years."
"Indeed. Three years ago, this was a common sight everywhere."
"The world has been dreadfully boring since we went into hiding. The news media spends all day reporting on nothing but celebrity gossip."
"Heh, well, now they don't have to worry about finding a story."
"This scene reminds me of that event at the beginning of the century that shocked the world."
"Now that you mention it, I remember. But that person is dead, whereas we are officially returning."
"Correct! After today, we will once again become everyone's nightmare."
"None of those who kicked us while we were down will be spared!"
"Absolutely! The grievances we suffered these past three years will be paid back a hundredfold—no, a thousandfold."
"The declaration of war has been delivered. Now, it's the enemy's turn to move."
"Yeah, there's no sense of accomplishment in dealing with these ordinary people."
"Let's wrap this up. It's time to head back!"
"Yeah," Franklin stood at the edge of the rooftop and nodded. Then, he clenched his right hand tightly. Immediately, the eight armed helicopters accelerated to full throttle and slammed directly into the building.
Already teetering, the skyscraper collapsed into a pile of ruins under the impact of the helicopters. The ground shook violently, and a blanket of dust smothered the entire city. Having finished their work, they vanished into thin air.
*
Half an hour later, hundreds of rescue teams arrived from all directions. They deployed machinery to clear the rubble, pulling out bodies one by one for identification to confirm the death toll. Although they knew it was unlikely, the rescuers clung to the fantasy of a miracle.
But a fantasy is just a fantasy. Eight hours later, the rescue operation ended. Along the wide road, rows of bodies covered in white sheets were laid out. The rescue teams stood among them, their hearts heavy and oppressed.
The 3,000 military and police personnel responsible for security? All dead.
The 172 photographers and journalists covering the event? All dead.
The 835 UN personnel handling daily operations? All dead.
The government representatives, assistants, translators, and security from over a hundred countries attending the summit? A total of 1,236 people... 1,235 dead!
The sole survivor was Prince T'Challa of Wakanda. He had narrowly escaped the catastrophe because he had stepped out early for a walk.
T'Challa sat on a piece of rubble, the white sheet before him covering his father's body. His black suit jacket was gone, his white shirt was in tatters, and his strong physique was marred by various scrapes sustained while clearing rocks.
He had come only for a meeting, yet his father was dead. For T'Challa, in his early thirties, this was nothing short of a cataclysm. Even now, he struggled to believe it was real.
"Prince T'Challa!"
Hearing his name, T'Challa snapped out of it and slowly raised his head. A swarm of reporters and photographers aimed their cameras and microphones at him. In eight hours, news of the event had spread across the globe. International media had dispatched professional teams to Vienna for live reporting.
But here, there was no reporting value other than ruins and corpses. The rescue teams knew very little, so the reporters naturally pinned their hopes for information on the lone survivor.
"Prince T'Challa! A massive explosion has killed thousands. Why did you survive?"
A question was hurled at him, and dozens of microphones were shoved into his face. T'Challa's expression was cold. He parted his dry lips and spoke in a raspy, magnetic voice: "I left early before the meeting ended."
Another reporter asked, "Did you notice anything unusual when the explosion occurred?"
T'Challa said, "I was walking along the river when many cards fell from the sky. The helicopters originally guarding the building suddenly fired missiles at it and then performed suicide crashes, causing the collapse."
The reporters were stunned. They had speculated whether this was a terrorist attack and wondered how a group could smuggle explosives past such tight security. They hadn't expected the culprits to be the military's own armed helicopters. Could this be related to local internal politics?
"Cards?" One reporter caught the key detail. "What kind of cards?"
T'Challa pulled a blood-stained playing card from his pocket and flipped it to show the face.
"This..." The reporters paled, instinctively recoiling half a step.
"It's a Joker card!"
"Could it really be them?"
"It has to be! Controlling electronics is the superpower of the Joker member, Franklin Clinton."
These news workers were the best in their field. They had reported on the Joker organization since its inception. Every atrocity committed by the group was etched into their memories; they knew them better than their own families.
"It's over! The Joker organization is back. The world is going to descend into chaos again."
The reporters were terrified, but their professional discipline kept them steady. This intel was vital; they had to get it out. As they dispersed to set up for live broadcasts, one kind-hearted reporter said, "Your Highness! Please accept my condolences."
T'Challa's face remained mask-like. "In our culture, death is not the end of everything. It is more like a starting point for a journey into an unknown realm."
"You reach out your hands to Bast, the Panther God, and she leads you to a green veldt where you can run forever, unrestrained."
The reporter nodded. "That sounds very peaceful."
T'Challa stood up and slid a ring onto his finger. "My father thought so too... but I am not my father. I will make the Joker organization pay in blood!"
He strode away to a secluded spot. After confirming no one was watching, T'Challa rolled up his sleeve to reveal a watch. With a light tap, a beam of light projected a hologram into the air.
"Prince T'Challa!" The figure in the hologram said in a low voice. "I have heard about the King. Please, stay strong."
Stay strong... T'Challa's forehead bulged with veins. He hissed through gritted teeth, "Assemble the King's Guard. Bring my father's body home."
"Yes!" The figure replied. "Your Highness! About the explosion..."
"I already know who the killers are!" T'Challa gripped the playing card, his eyes filled with murderous intent. "Once the ritual is complete, I will kill them with my own hands."
*
The bombing of the Vienna building became a worldwide sensation. Many wondered if it was an act of man or an accident. If it was intentional, who would have the audacity? An explosion that killed representatives from over a hundred nations... even the most heinous terrorist organizations wouldn't dare claim credit for such a thing.
Speculation was rampant, but interestingly, few initially suspected the Joker organization. They say people forget the pain once the scar heals. Three years of silence had made the public forget the world's most dangerous terrorist group.
Hours later, the latest intel arrived. A single Joker card slapped the media in the face. The culprit was indeed the Joker organization!
This wasn't just a blow to mainstream media; social media exploded. Topics related to the Joker organization topped every chart.
"My God, is that demon coming back?"
"Impossible, the news said they were wiped out!"
"I bet Jason never died; he was just recovering for three years."
"Our government is fucking losers! Three years and they let them resurface!"
*
New New York City, Stark Tower.
"Sigh... couldn't they just stay as legends? Did they have to come out and cause a ruckus?"
On a square sofa, Tony sat close to Pepper, his eyes fixed on the Joker card on the screen. His history with the organization went back a decade. He thought it was over when Jason vanished.
"The Joker has reappeared," Pepper sighed, leaning her head on Tony's chest. "Why do you seem so calm?"
Tony chuckled, squeezing her hand. "Because I have confidence."
Pepper thought for a moment. "No, there must be another reason."
Tony feigned outrage. "You underestimate me? The Mark armor is up to the 50th generation!"
Pepper smiled. "It's not underestimating you; it's knowing you. Besides the armor, you must have some other backup to be this composed."
Tony gave a defeated laugh. "Fine, you win. I don't know the specifics, but I know there's an incredibly powerful figure living on Earth."
"How powerful?"
"Powerful enough to hang Jason up and beat him!"
Pepper's eyes lit up. "Who? Do I know them?"
Tony shook his head. "I don't know who they are. Only the Point Break knows, but he won't tell us."
"The Point Break?"
Tony grinned. "Thor! I call him that because he has blonde hair and a red cape; he looks just like the main character."
Pepper rolled her eyes.
"Anyway," Tony said, "Jason's return must be taken seriously, but there's no need to panic. If the sky falls, there are taller people to hold it up."
*
Washington D.C., SHIELD HQ.
"Director Fury, how do you explain Vienna?" A councilman demanded in the World Security Council office.
Fury, in his signature black leather trench coat, countered, "Explain what?"
"Explain why the Joker organization suddenly appeared in Vienna without SHIELD knowing a thing!"
"SHIELD has been hunting the remnants. Our reports for three years have been accurate. The intel on them being in Africa—"
"Enough! Stop making excuses for your incompetence!"
"It's not an excuse," Fury snapped. "If we are incompetent, what does that make your own intelligence agencies, who couldn't even find a shadow of the Joker?"
Another councilman played peacemaker. "Now is not the time for finger-pointing. We need to know why they resurfaced now."
"I suspect it's related to Jason," One added. "SHIELD always listed him as missing. Could he be back?"
"If so, what do we do? We only won the Battle of New York three years ago by sheer luck."
"What about that mysterious figure?" All eyes turned to Fury.
Fury threw up his hands. "I've asked Thor many times. He won't reveal their identity. But," He added, "Thor says that mysterious person is Earth's protector. If things get critical, I'm sure they'll show up."
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
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