5:00 AM.
The rain had tapered off into a cold, bone-chilling drizzle over Midtown Manhattan.
Inside the headquarters of the Daily Bugle on 39th Street, the night-shift newsroom was usually quiet at this hour—just the low hum of coffee machines and the monotonous tapping of keyboards as junior editors drafted morning obituaries.
That quiet shattered when a secure digital file dropped directly into the inbox of the Senior Crime Desk.
The email contained no text. No ransom demand. No political manifesto.
Only a single 45-second audio attachment titled: The_Joke_Is_On_Fisk.wav
The overnight desk editor plugged in his headphones and pressed play.
Click.
At first, there was only static—the wet, metallic atmosphere of a subterranean concrete cellar.
Then came the voices.
Deep, heavily accented Russian accents shouting in blind panic:
"Alpha Team is down! What the hell is that stuff?!"
"Gas! Gas! Fall back—"
And then, the sound that made the editor’s coffee cup slip from his hand.
It wasn't screaming. It was a terrifying, synchronized chorus of eight full-grown men bursting into uncontrollable, hysterical, and suffocating laughter.
Hah... Haa... HAHAHAHA!
The gasping was frantic. The muscular strain was audible. It sounded like men dying of sheer, agonizing amusement.
Then, a new voice cut through the madness—calm, low, perfectly steady, and devoid of any fear or rage:
"Tell Mr. Wesley... that if he wants to send a cleaning crew, he needs to send men who know how to laugh."
By 7:00 AM, the audio clip had leaked online.
By 8:00 AM, every major radio broadcast, local news channel, and tabloid blog in New York was playing the 45-second recording on a continuous loop.
[ DAILY BUGLE HEADLINE: "THE LAUGHING DEMON OF HELL'S KITCHEN?" ] [ NEW YORK POST: UNKNOWN CHEMICAL ATTACK TARGETS HELL'S KITCHEN UNDERWORLD ] [ NYPD STATEMENT: SECTOR 4 INCIDENT UNDER ACTIVE INVESTIGATION ]
The streets of Manhattan were buzzing with wild rumors.
Was it a new vigilante? A rival cartel? A bioweapon test by a rogue scientist?
For the first time, the citizens of New York weren't just reading about Wilson Fisk’s shadowy mob wars—they were listening to his elite hitmen hyperventilate with frozen smiles.
The fear of the unknown was spreading faster than any gas.
Inside a safe secondary location—an abandoned subway ventilation chamber three blocks south of his old base—Jack sat on an upturned wooden crate.
He wore his headphones, listening to a cheap battery-powered portable radio playing the Daily Bugle morning report.
"...police have cordoned off the 46th Street cellar, finding no bodies, but traces of an unidentified pale-green chemical residue..."
Jack turned off the radio.
He opened his yellow notebook, sliding a pen between his pale fingers.
A soft, translucent purple light flared brightly across his vision.
【 System Milestone Reached: Urban Legend Created! 】
Achievement: Initiate psychological panic and public awareness (The Joker Identity).
【 Rewards Issued: 】
Synchronization: +0.3% (Current Total: 4.5%)
System Cash Deposited: $500.00
Jack felt the cold, sharp intellect of the Joker template settle even deeper into his nerve pathways.
Synchronization reached 4.5%.
【 Current Status 】
Host Synchronization: 4.5%
Total Available Cash: $6,904.00 ($6,404 + $500 reward)
Active Inventory:
2x Laughing Gas Mark II Canisters
1x Laughing Gas Mark I Canister
8x Tactical Suppressed Submachine Guns
Hidden Reserve: $4.5M in Bearer Bonds & Diamonds
Public Status: Urban Legend (The "Laughing Demon")
Jack closed his notebook with a soft snap.
The city was talking about him. Kingpin was furious. NYPD was baffled.
And he had nearly seven thousand dollars in cash, plus eight military-grade submachine guns ready to be converted into real power.
"Four point five percent," Jack whispered softly in the dark tunnel.
His eyes gleamed with dark, razor-sharp malice.
"Now... let's give the news something real to print."
The old cellar on 46th Street was officially burned ground.
Jack knew better than to ever linger at a compromised site.
By 9:00 PM, he was stepping through the misty drizzle of the Hudson River waterfront near Pier 54—an industrial strip of decaying maritime warehouses built during the mid-20th century.
Using his Basic Lockpicking & Wiretapping Mastery, he spent an hour inspecting three different abandoned properties.
He chose a three-story brick structure that formerly housed a commercial fish processing plant.
It was perfect for his next phase:
Seclusion: Surrounded by rusted shipping containers and thick concrete walls that muffled sound completely.
Ventilation: Equipped with two industrial-grade rooftop exhaust ducts—ideal for venting volatile chemical byproducts into the high river winds without drawing attention.
Infrastructure: A reinforced underground ice-storage vault with its own backup electrical breaker box.
Jack dropped to one knee, bypassing the heavy iron padlock on the rear service entrance in four seconds flat.
CLACK.
He stepped inside, locking the door behind him.
Over the next twenty-four hours, Jack went to work using his accumulated capital.
Total funds available: $6,904.00.
He didn't make massive, suspicious chemical orders from a single supplier.
Instead, he made seven separate, cash-in-hand purchases across Queens, Brooklyn, and New Jersey—buying second-hand industrial glassware, high-capacity vacuum pumps, chemical-resistant PVC piping, and commercial gas-scrubbing filtration units.
Total expenditure: $3,200.00.
He also spent $800.00 purchasing heavy steel reinforced door frames, deadbolts, and security hardware to fortify the vault entrances.
【 Financial Update 】
Host Synchronization: 4.5%
Available Cash: $3,404.00 ($6,904 - $4,000 invested)
Active Assets: Pier 54 Industrial Chemical Facility (Level 2)
Hidden Reserve: $4.5M Bearer Bonds & Diamonds (Safely relocated to the new vault)
By midnight of the second day, the underground ice-vault was transformed.
Under the harsh white glare of industrial LED strip lights, rows of borosilicate distillation columns and pressurized mixing vats sat mounted on steel frames.
The two rooftop exhaust ducts were rewired through carbon filtration systems, allowing Jack to process volatile compounds on an industrial scale without leaking a single drop of toxic vapor into the surrounding docks.
Jack stood at the head of the new stainless steel workbench, his dark trench coat replaced by a black lab coat and a heavy-duty industrial respirator.
He ran his gloved hand over the pristine metallic surface.
This was no longer a hobbyist's workbench in a damp basement.
This was a full-scale, professional chemical facility—a factory capable of mass-producing Laughing Gas Mark II by the gallon.
A brilliant, deep purple system window illuminated his vision in the brightly lit laboratory.
【 System Facility Unlocked! 】
Location: Pier 54 Maritime Facility (Underground Sector)
Facility Status: Industrial Chemical Laboratory (Level 2)
【 Task Completed: Establish a scalable, secure chemical production base. 】
【 Rewards Issued: 】
Synchronization: +0.5% (Current Total: 5.0%)
System Cash Deposited: $1,000.00
A violent, exhilarating surge of mental authority washed through Jack's nervous system.
At 5.0% synchronization, a major milestone was breached.
The lingering human hesitation in his mind dissolved completely.
His spatial awareness broadened, his chemical intuition reached expert-level clarity, and his ability to calculate multi-layered chaotic strategies expanded tenfold.
【 Current Status 】
Host Synchronization: 5.0%
Total Available Cash: $4,404.00 ($3,404 + $1,000 reward)
Hidden Reserve: $4.5M in Bearer Bonds & Diamonds
Active Inventory:
2x Laughing Gas Mark II Canisters
1x Laughing Gas Mark I Canister
8x Tactical Suppressed Submachine Guns
Unlocked Traits: Poker Face (Tier 1), Basic Instincts of Chaos, Street Brawling, Chemical Intuition (Intermediate)
Jack removed his respirator mask.
His pale face was illuminated by the sterile white laboratory lights, his cold eyes gleaming with razor-sharp, intoxicating intellect.
He had a factory. He had synchronization at 5.0%. He had over four thousand dollars in cash, millions in reserve, and a city trembling at his urban legend.
He leaned against the stainless steel table, a slow, wide smile spreading across his face.
"Five percent," Jack whispered softly to the empty lab.
"Time to build something the Kingpin will never forget."
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