Harlem, Luke Cage's Bar.
The air here isn't much cleaner than Hell's Kitchen.
"Boss, those bastards wearing Joker masks smashed a police car three blocks away."
Behind the bar, a waiter wiping glasses was shaking violently.
"Should we close down and shut down? Pull down the roller shutter and weld some more steel bars?"
"There's no need."
Luke Cage put down his beer can; he was wearing a yellow T-shirt, the fabric stretched taut by his muscles.
"This is Harlem. No matter how much those lunatics outside cause trouble, anyone who dares to step across this threshold, I'll throw them back into the womb and start over."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the bar door was kicked open.
Not those thugs who just yell and scream.
Three waiters entered, pushing metal food carts.
They were dressed in purple tailcoats, their faces painted with greasepaint, except that their smiles were slashed open with knives, the unhealed wounds oozing blood, blending with the white foundation to create an eerie pink.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
The lead waiter yelled, "To celebrate the closure of ' Jimmy's Barbecue Restaurant,' which means the only edible food in this neighborhood is gone, Mr. J has specially prepared Harlem- themed takeout for everyone!"
The lid of the food cart was suddenly flung open.
There is no food.
Inside was an M134 Minigun rotary machine gun, still steaming.
"Da da da da da--!"
The gun barrel spun wildly, and spitting fire tore everything apart in the dimly lit bar.
The bottle shattered, sawdust flew everywhere, and the waiter who had just been wiping glasses cowered under the bar, covering his head and howling.
" God! We're going to die! We're going to die!"
The expected carnage did not occur.
Luke Cage stood in front of the bar.
A hail of bullets rained down on his chest, face, and eyelids.
The clanging and banging sounds were incessant.
The Negasonic Teenage Warhead were compressed into flat copper sheets, which fell like rain at his feet, quickly covering a thick layer.
Thirty seconds later, the machine gun's firing pin made a hollow sound.
The gun barrel was red-hot and emitting blue smoke.
The "waiter" operating the machine gun was stunned.
He glanced at the weapon still spinning in his hand, then at the large, dark-skinned man who hadn't even broken a skin, his distorted smile stiff and somewhat comical.
Luke Cage brushed the dust off his shoulders.
"Finished?"
He took a step forward, his palm gripping the scorching hot barrel with a slight pull.
"Squeak--"
That heavy machine gun was twisted into a pretzel.
"Go back and tell that idiot with the painted face that he wants to cause trouble in Harlem, and tell him to bring his tanks."
Luke casually waved his hand, and the lump of scrap metal, along with the waiter, flew out the door, smashing into a fire hydrant across the street and sending up a jet of water.
The remaining two Joker Gang members exchanged a glance, then pulled out daggers from their pockets and prepared to charge forward.
"Bang! Bang!"
Two dull, heavy blows.
Two figures crashed straight through the ceiling.
The guests hiding under the table peeked out, their eyes filled with awe as they looked at that invincible figure.
"Hard! So hard! It's practically a sentient piece of granite!"
A burst of piercing applause came from the jukebox in the corner.
Luke turned his head.
Sometime later, a man in a purple suit was sitting there.
He had his legs crossed, a half-eaten corn dog in his hand, and red paint smeared all the way down to his cheek.
Joker.
He casually tossed the hot dog into the coin slot of the jukebox, and the machine hissed twice before emitting black smoke.
"I want skin like that too, really." The Joker stood up and circled Luke Cage. "That would save me so much money on sunscreen! But there's one problem—"
Suddenly, the Joker pulled out a revolver, pressed it against Luke's temple, and pulled the trigger.
"Collapse!"
The bullet exploded.
Luke's head only tilted slightly, without even leaving a red mark.
"Look! There's absolutely no impact!"
The Joker angrily threw the gun on the ground and stomped his feet like a child who hadn't gotten his toy.
"Whether it's a gun, a knife, or even that RPG we bought from Russia, it's like scratching an itch when it hits you! That's not fair!"
Luke stared coldly at the madman, then reached out to grab the Joker's neck.
"The farce is over."
"Ouch!" The Joker slipped back, but he seemed a beat too slow and Luke grabbed his arm.
Luke tightened his grip, unleashing a burst of power strong enough to crush bones.
"Click."
The Joker's arm snapped with a crack, clearly breaking.
But instead of screaming, he brought his face closer to Luke, his smoky-eyed eyes gleaming with a thirst for knowledge.
"Tell me, if I don't peel you open, how will I know if you're just as hard inside?"
Luke frowned, about to completely cripple this madman.
Suddenly, a small silver jar slid out from the cuff of the Joker's intact right arm.
"Since we can't crack the walnut shell, let's inject some water into the kernel."
"Puff--!"
The highly concentrated green liquid was sprayed directly into Luke's nostrils and slightly open mouth.
They were too close.
Luke Cage instinctively tried to hold his breath, but it was too late.
He released his grip, staggered backward, and covered his throat with both hands.
Skin strong enough to withstand large-caliber bullets cannot stop this deadly poison that erupts from within.
His lungs were burning, his stomach was churning, and a strange force was trying to forcibly pull the corners of his mouth up.
Even canned food has an expiration date.
The Joker pulled a gas mask from his pocket and put it on, his voice becoming muffled but even more vicious.
"Look at you, big guy. Your skin is made of iron, but what about your lungs? Your stomach? Or... is your conscience made of iron too?"
Luke knelt down.
My vision began to blur, and everything around me seemed to stretch out.
He saw the guy's face turn into a smiley face balloon, and the chandelier on the ceiling turn into a menacing spider.
"Haha... cough... damn it..."
Luke tried to stand up, but the neurotoxin was cutting off his control over his muscles.
An uncontrollable laugh welled up from deep within my chest; it was a physiological, uncontrollable burst of the Batman Who Laughs.
"Take away!"
The Joker snapped his the Snap.
A modified garbage truck drove up to the gate.
The rear compartment opened, revealing it filled with that green chemical waste liquid.
Several burly men wearing gas masks rushed in, carrying industrial-grade grappling hooks and chains, and skillfully seized Luke was still convulsing the Batman Who Laughs.
"Soak him in it."
The Joker directed his men to drag the still-convulsing Luke Cage toward the stench-filled carriage.
"Remember to weld the lid shut. I want to see how long it takes to marinate this ' Harlem bone' before it softens."
The garbage truck's hydraulic valve slowly closed, swallowing the yellow T-shirt.
The Joker picked up the crushed beer can from the ground and bowed to the empty bar.
"Performance change! Next stop— Happy Factory!"
"Hurry up, Little Red Riding Hood! Your friend is being 'marinated,' or he'll be too salty."