The nation was no longer stable. It was waiting.

Waiting for the next pop…
…the next blast of confetti followed by a ticking bomb…
…the next flower bouquet that screamed in sonic bursts.

But before that silence broke, others moved in.

Villains Rising

Across the continent, chaos erupted in fragmented pieces.

In Bristol Vale, the technomancer known as Gridwire severed the city’s power for three days, siphoning energy for a secret lab. A squad of second-rank heroes cornered him—and barely walked away alive.

In Ironholme, a four-armed brute named Karnax toppled a military convoy and fled with high-caliber weapons, only to be outmatched by a rookie team led by Strykeheart, the magnetic sword-user.

Banks were hit. Genetic labs were raided. Black market smuggling tripled overnight.

Some villains triumphed. Some fell. But one thing echoed louder than explosions:

“Where is Deathjoke?”

They whispered in bars. Wondered in prisons. Watched the skies.
But there were no signs of him. No laughing gas. No pie bombs.
No sea serpents in trench coats dancing the tango.

“He’s waiting,” Magelord Dirian muttered from his shadowed throne.

“No. Worse,” said Basilika in her sunken den. “He’s thinking.”

Meanwhile: Beneath the World

In a massive dome laboratory two miles below sea level, Professor Deathjoke wore a dark navy blue pinstriped suit under his heavy lab coat, now dirtied with burns and chemical splashes. His goggles shimmered as holographic blueprints rotated midair.

Beside him, Smiley—once Simon Caleb—calmly examined samples of deep-sea creature DNA. Tentacles twitched in vats. Bones regrew in rapid mutation.

“We could build twelve city-killer mechs using the marrow from this extinct beast’s DNA alone,” Smiley said.

“Let’s not,” Deathjoke replied, chewing on rainbow-colored licorice. “Too serious. Needs flair.”

“Then what should we do with it?”

“Paint them pink. Teach ‘em ballet. Then launch them at a hero wedding.”

Smiley almost smiled. Almost.

“You’re unpredictable.”

“You’re catching on.”

Behind them, rows of armor-plated robotic arms assembled war themed weapons—laced with neuro-gas, cannons that shot plasma rays, nuke grenades that levels mountains.

They built. Crafted. Waited.

Until one day… peace returned.

The country calmed down. Cities recovered. Heroes stood vigilant again, weary-eyed but proud.

That’s when it started.

The Return of the Punchline

In Serath City, a street parade celebrating peace was interrupted when every float exploded in bursts of glitter, laughter, and knockout gas. Nobody died—but over 3,000 people woke up with rubber duck hats and temporary hiccup spasms.

In Nordwyn, a children’s hospital received donations of teddy bears. All harmless. Except they all recited personalized taunts to local heroes once activated.

“Hello, Captain Valor! You have the jawline of a soggy pumpkin. But thanks for saving cats!”

Then came the worst: the Skyshine Broadcast.

All across the continent, TVs flickered, radios crackled, even smartphone screens glitch-looped…
…with a single grinning face: Deathjoke.

His suit was freshly ironed, his hair curled like a magician’s mustache.

“Hiya, heroes! Miss me? Don’t worry, I missed me too!”

“Now, now—don't cry. I’m just here to remind you that every peaceful day you get...”

He leaned close to the camera, his eyes twinkling with madness.

“…is just a gift I haven’t unwrapped yet.”

He vanished.

Panic. Paranoia. Powerlessness.

Hybrid stood over the ruins of a blown-up storage facility used for rare materials. No casualties—just chaos.

She ground her teeth, scanning the data feeds.

“He doesn’t want anything,” she said aloud. “He doesn’t steal. He doesn’t conquer. He just… appears.”

No pattern. No demands.

Just perfectly executed chaos.

One by one, the other heroes grew paranoid. Top-ranked champions began second-guessing shadows, hiring private guards, building fail-safes.

Yet… none of them ever faced him. Only Hybrid had.

Why?

“Because he respects you,” Smiley had once said, quietly.

But she couldn’t tell if that was a threat, or a compliment.

Smiley’s Reflection

Back in the lair, Smiley looked over a timeline.

Twenty jailbreaks.

Fifteen near-world-ending inventions, all dismantled by their own creator.

Over a hundred gadgets released—and not a single intentional kill.

“Professor,” Smiley asked, “why do you keep holding back?”

Deathjoke sipped bubble tea from a beaker.

“Because chaos isn’t the punchline, Smiley. It’s the setup.”

“For what?”

“For the greatest joke ever told.”

Smiley waited.

“And what’s that?”

Deathjoke turned, eyes gleaming.

“That you can give the world everything it fears… and still make them laugh before they scream.”