John turned around and saw a woman in a tight-fitting suit with brown wavy hair shouting at him.
While yelling, the woman dashed toward him with determination in her eyes.
John glanced at the ground and picked up the large black bag that had dropped from the man's hand earlier.
He took off like a shot, running wildly through the crowd, blending in with the fleeing people.
> [Ding! Congratulations to the host, the first trial has ended!]
At that moment, the mechanical voice echoed in John's ears once again.
> [Ding! Congratulations to the host. You have obtained the Fighting Master skill!]
> [Ding! Congratulations to the host. You have obtained the Invisibility skill!]
As the messages flashed through his mind, John felt a strange force rush into his body.
It surged through his veins like electricity, awakening a hidden power deep inside.
His body felt lighter.
His steps grew more stable.
His heart pounded not from fear, but from adrenaline.
Blood boiled in his veins.
That force compelled him to slow down, not out of exhaustion, but because he felt in control—empowered.
Not far behind, Black Widow increased her pace, skillfully maneuvering through the panicked crowd.
She knew she shouldn't have personally interfered.
Even if someone had been murdered in public, S.H.I.E.L.D. typically relied on law enforcement to manage such chaos.
But this was different.
The man John had killed was her mission target.
Since becoming an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha Romanoff had barely failed a mission.
And yet tonight, a clown—this lunatic dressed in greasepaint and blood—had thrown her mission into disarray.
She was furious.
To make things worse, that clown had stolen the very item she needed to retrieve for S.H.I.E.L.D.
She couldn't let him get away.
Not with her mission. Not after making a public spectacle out of her failure.
With renewed determination, Natasha dashed forward.
As she gained ground, she pulled a thin, retractable wire from her pocket—part weapon, part restraint.
"I declare you under arrest!" she shouted, slowing down slightly but keeping her hand ready.
She lifted her chin, voice sharp, trying to intimidate the figure not far ahead.
But then—
John turned around.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A smile crept onto his face.
Not just any smile—one painted in blood and grease, stretched wide and unshaken.
And as she watched, stunned—
John began to vanish.
His figure shimmered slightly before fading, dissolving like smoke into the crowd.
"No!" Natasha shouted.
She shoved past a man dressed as Iron Man and pushed another wearing a Stormtrooper mask aside.
She rushed to the spot where John had just been standing.
But he was gone.
Completely gone.
"What the hell?" she muttered under her breath.
Her sharp gaze scanned the crowd.
But all she saw were people in Halloween costumes: Iron Man, Kakashi, Naruto, Wonder Woman…
No one looked like a clown.
She had just let her target escape—right under her nose.
And before he vanished, he had smiled at her.
No. That wasn't just a smile.
That was mockery.
As if to say:
"I'm here—but you'll never catch me."
Her fists clenched.
Her face twisted in frustration.
That evil, mocking grin was etched into her mind.
"Check! Start scanning now! I want surveillance from every traffic camera, security feed, and drone in the area!" she barked into her comms. "Find me that clown!"
She stood still, glaring at the crowd, unwilling to accept defeat.
But in her mind, that chilling grin kept replaying.
> "Captain, we've retrieved all available surveillance footage from the area…"
A voice crackled in her earpiece a moment later, hesitant.
"But...?" Natasha said, sensing hesitation.
> "But he's not in any of them. Not a single camera picked him up... It's like... he disappeared."
"What?!" she snapped. "Are you telling me people can vanish now?"
> "We did every data check we could. There's no match. No trace. Not even residual motion trails. Captain, he's just... gone."
Natasha was stunned.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had one of the most powerful surveillance and intelligence networks in the world.
If they couldn't find him, then no one could.
But this clown—this John—had managed to slip away completely.
"Tch... damn it!" she cursed and stormed away, unable to hide her anger.
But as she walked off, she failed to notice what appeared just behind her—
In the middle of the crowd, half-shrouded by shadows and moving bodies—
A man in clown makeup slowly faded back into view.
John.
He was standing there, watching her leave.
And that grin, wide and blood-red, returned to his face.
Not out of joy.
Not from pain.
But from something deeper.
Power.
Control.
Triumph.