The Joker organization is in Africa!
The moment the American representative finished speaking, the hall erupted into a flurry of hushed, frantic whispers. In the three years following the Battle of New York, governments had arrested countless members of the organization. But everyone in that room knew the truth: those people were mere peripheral trash. Their arrest did nothing to shake the foundation of the group.
The purges were nothing more than a show for the public—a display of government results to prove they weren't sitting idle and to pacify the masses.
The real threat to humanity was the leader, Jason Walter, and his dozen or so inner-circle members. As long as these core figures remained, the Joker organization was a sword of Damocles hanging over the world's head. Given the slightest opening, they would grow back as rapidly as a virus. The weeds the world spent three years pulling could regrow in just three months. To prevent this, governments had spent billions searching for these individuals, yet three years had yielded zero results.
No one expected America to be the first to break through.
The American representative watched the murmuring crowd with a look of smug superiority. He pressed a remote, and the massive screen behind him lit up with a satellite map. The outline was unmistakably the African continent, with a specific jungle region circled in red.
He motioned for silence and pointed to the circle. "According to SHIELD intelligence and 24-hour satellite surveillance, we can confirm signs of Joker activity within this red circle. SHIELD dispatched thirteen teams of secret agents for covert investigations. Every single one lost contact; not even a body was recovered. We are now certain the red circle marks the hideout of the core members."
The delegates immediately began conferring with their colleagues. After a moment, a representative from an African nation stood up. "Do we have more precise coordinates? That red circle covers hundreds of thousands of square kilometers of mountain and rainforest. Unless we launch a carpet search with a million men, finding a specific location is impossible."
The other African delegates nodded in unison. Having grown up there, they knew the complexity of that terrain. If they sent civilians or ill-equipped troops in blindly, they would suffer catastrophic casualties from the environment alone before they ever saw a Joker member.
"We are well aware of the terrain," The US representative continued. "In fact, half of our non-combat casualties among those agents were due to the environment—lethal insects, predators, and the shifting landscape. Our influence in Africa is thin. We believe that no single nation can achieve a breakthrough here. Therefore, we need a coalition: elite scouts from every nation to form a massive Joint Task Force to conduct a total sweep of the red zone."
The delegates hesitated. Right, so you want our soldiers to go into the meat grinder with yours.
Seeing their reluctant expressions, the representative added, "Let me be clear: this proposal is solely for the total annihilation of the Joker remnants. There is no ulterior motive. We all know what will happen if we give them the chance to catch their breath and strike back."
The first half of that statement was pure bullshit. Several delegates didn't even bother to hide their sneers. The idea of the US government acting out of pure altruism was the greatest joke of the 21st century.
However, the second half of his statement held weight. On other matters, nations could bicker and delay. But the Joker organization was an existential threat. It was a consensus: this cancer had to be torn out by the roots.
One major nation's delegate consulted his team and pressed the approve button. "My country agrees!"
Soon, allied nations followed suit. Once the big powers committed, the smaller nations had no choice but to fall in line. The proposal passed with 100% approval.
"We also need local support," The American added, pointing back to the map. "Wakanda's territory is completely covered by this red circle. Their people know the land and how to survive the predators and insects. We hope Wakanda will play a greater role in this operation."
Greater role was code for send more of your people to die. It was classic American diplomacy. Wakanda was known to the world as one of the poorest nations on earth—squeezing blood from a stone.
Poor neighboring nations looked at King T'Chaka with sympathy, but no weak nation dared to cross the Americans.
T'Chaka leaned forward toward his microphone. "The US representative has already spoken with me regarding this. The Joker organization is a blight on civilization. Though Wakanda is poor, we will not allow them to run rampant on our continent. We fully agree. We will provide a large number of expert guides to support the Joint Task Force."
The small nations sighed. Even the King couldn't hold out against the pressure.
The American representative began to clap. "Thank you, King T'Chaka! Considering Wakanda's economic status, the US has decided, out of humanitarian spirit, to grant Wakanda a 10-billion-dollar loan, alongside a shipment of weapons and genetically modified crops to bolster their military and agriculture."
What? America giving aid without a catch? The room broke into thunderous applause. The neighboring countries who had just pitied Wakanda were now green with envy. With 10 billion dollars and advanced gear, Wakanda might lose its poorest nation label in a few years.
T'Chaka nodded politely while clapping, but Prince T'Challa, sitting beside him, remained expressionless.
"Boring," T'Challa whispered.
"Have some patience," T'Chaka whispered back while maintaining his fake smile. "When you inherit the throne, you will have to deal with these settings often."
"When I inherit the throne," T'Challa said with arrogant pride, "Wakanda's seat will be in the front row."
As the meeting moved to trivial matters, T'Challa grew restless. He knew that after the session, a swarm of people would try to suck up to them to get a piece of that American aid.
"Father, I'll wait for you outside," He whispered and slipped out.
Outside, the sun was scorching. Special forces officers guarding the cordoned-off roads were drenched in sweat, their skin turning red under the heat. One officer wished for rain.
Suddenly, a breeze blew. It felt refreshing for a second, but then the officer shivered. The wind was bone-chillingly cold, as if it had come straight from Siberia. The officers looked at each other, sensing something was wrong.
"Someone's coming!"
A thin man in a suit was walking slowly toward them.
"Stop!" The officers aimed their rifles. "This road is under traffic control! Do not approach!"
The man stopped and raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. The officers relaxed slightly—just a misunderstanding. But then, a thick white mist erupted from the man's body, surging outward at a terrifying speed.
"FIRE! FIRE!"
The officers tried to pull their triggers, but an agonizing cold hit them. Their joints seized up instantly. In those two lost seconds, the mist swallowed them. When it passed, the officers stood as frozen statues.
Fuuuu...
The man exhaled a cloud of white frost, his hands in his pockets. "It's been three years. It's time to remind you of the fear of being ruled by the Organization."
Stepping over the thin ice on the pavement, John Wick walked toward the UN building.
"Group A! Group A! Report!"
The soldiers outside the building received no response. "Defensive line! NOW!"
Riot vehicles were repositioned to block the road. Every soldier took their safety off. Reporters nearby noticed the tension and scrambled for info. "Hostiles approaching! Get inside the building!" The commander roared.
Reporters began to panic. Is it them?
Suddenly, the sky was filled with light, fluttering objects.
"Look! What is that?"
"They look like... cards."
A reporter jumped and caught one. When he saw the image, his knees gave out. It was a Joker card. A crazed, blood-stained clown grinning back at him. That specific design was a trademark. Fear, long buried in their genes, was instantly reactivated.
"THE JOKER!"
"THE JOKER ORGANIZATION IS HERE!"
The screams tore through the air, shattering all order.
*
On a nearby rooftop, a military sniper team lay dead. Several figures in black coats stood over them.
"A few cards and they lose their minds," One said. "I thought they'd have made progress in three years."
"They're just civilians, not SHIELD agents," Another replied. "Alright, the intro is over. Let's start the show."
"Who's first?"
"They're just politicians. Why wait? I'll take them all."
A man with a buzz-cut stepped to the edge of the roof, pointing a hand at the eight attack helicopters circling the building.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Suddenly, the helicopters' instruments failed. Control sticks moved on their own, swiveling to aim at the UN building.
"Bird One is unresponsive! Controls are locked!"
"Bird Two is the same!"
"The fire control safeties are off! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!"
"Missiles launching! MISSILES LAUNCHING!"
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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