New York, S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters
"I heard that Amit is dead?"
In a dimly lit office, Nick Fury leaned back in his black leather chair, arms crossed. Calmly, he reached for the cup of coffee on his desk, his one visible eye fixed on the furious woman standing before him—Black Widow.
Amit had been Black Widow's target.
The boss of a cybernetic weapons smuggling gang. Dangerous. Ruthless. And heavily armed.
A week ago, intel had confirmed that Amit's group had acquired a large cache of advanced weaponry, and worse, there were whispers of a plot to assassinate the President of Country United state. The situation escalated quickly. Firefights broke out. The civilian casualties piled up. Local law enforcement, overwhelmed and desperate, had turned the case over to S.H.I.E.L.D.
Fury hadn't thought much of it at first.
Another high-level arms dealer. Another mission for their elite agents.
He never expected it to fall apart—especially in the hands of Natasha Romanoff, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top operative.
The Black Widow.
Trained in the infamous "Red Room," Natasha was an elite among elites. Among all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, only she could stand shoulder to shoulder with Fury himself in terms of experience and reputation.
So how had this happened?
"Yes," Natasha said sharply. "It was all messed up by a clown."
"A clown?" Fury raised an eyebrow as he set his coffee back down. "You mean… like one from the circus?"
His tone was flat, but his expression betrayed a hint of sarcasm. The slight lift of his eyebrow, the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth—it was enough to make Natasha clench her jaw.
That smirk was mocking her.
"I believe he's superpowered. I recommend I go after him immediately," she replied, her voice tight but controlled.
"Superpowered?" Fury said, unconvinced. "You're talking about the same clown who disappeared right under your nose?"
He leaned forward, his gaze sharper now. "Maybe you should start by asking yourself where you went wrong."
"He disappeared in front of me, Nick," Natasha snapped. "As if he turned invisible. I want to check the surveillance footage again."
Despite her rising frustration, Natasha kept her expression impassive. She knew how Fury operated. He pushed buttons—tested limits. Losing her cool here wouldn't help.
"A clown with powers who uses a baseball bat to kill people?" Fury said dryly. "Sounds more like a lunatic with a gimmick than a threat to national security."
His tone remained casual, almost dismissive. But Natasha could sense the undercurrent. He wasn't going to authorize her to pursue this any further.
"I don't recommend wasting resources hunting this Joker. The local authorities will investigate. Your focus should remain on the weapons smuggling ring."
He stood up and walked toward the tall French windows at the far end of the room, hands clasped behind his back.
"Nick," she said coldly, "that clown is dangerous."
"Agent Romanoff," Fury said without turning. His voice lost all humor. "S.H.I.E.L.D. handles threats to the nation. To the world. Not random lunatics in makeup."
That was the end of the conversation.
Black Widow recognized the warning. It wasn't her jurisdiction anymore.
Officially.
"Fine," she said, turning on her heel.
Fury stared out the window at the New York skyline. "Amit's dead. Whatever plans the gang had will go quiet—for now."
Natasha gave a short nod and left without another word.
Fury didn't mention the Joker again. And Natasha knew that meant he wasn't interested in getting S.H.I.E.L.D. involved further.
But that didn't mean she couldn't.
She'd worked outside protocol before. Fury knew that. He'd never stopped her before. And she didn't plan on stopping this time either.
As she walked down the corridor, she muttered under her breath, "Old bastard…"
Her eyes narrowed, and her expression turned ice cold.
She turned sharply and headed for the surveillance room.
She would not let that man go.
Inside the dimly lit monitoring room, a man with glasses and messy hair was hunched over a keyboard, slurping noodles from a cup with one hand and switching between camera feeds with the other.
"Benson," she said curtly.
The man jumped, coughing and nearly choking on the noodles.
"Captain!" he said with wide eyes. In a flash, he tossed a folder over the cup and tried to look professional.
"I need surveillance footage. That clown. Pull everything from the scene earlier."
"Y-Yes, ma'am!" he stammered and turned to his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard.
After a moment, he said, "Captain, I've found him. You'll want to see this."
Natasha leaned in close to the screen, eyes scanning every frame.
The timestamp showed the exact moment she had left the scene.
But right behind her—
There he was.
The Joker.
Clown.
Standing in the crowd, completely visible… and smiling.
His face was painted in garish colors. His red grin stretched impossibly wide.
Watching her.
Mocking her.
Her expression darkened immediately.
"Shit," she hissed through clenched teeth.
She would never forget that face.
That grin.
That utter disrespect.
She swore she would find him.
She would wipe that smirk off his face if it was the last thing she did.
Far from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, in a darkened factory lit only by a flickering bulb, John—the culprit who angered Black Widow was laughing at the spoils he had just obtained.