Abandoned chemical plant, assembly workshop in Zone B.
Luke Cage is suspended in mid-air by two industrial chains.
His feet were off the ground, his head drooped limply, and his yellow T-shirt was riddled with holes from being corroded by strong acid.
Yet, not a single red mark was left on his dark, shiny skin.
Click click click!
The saw blades were frantically slicing through Luke's pectoral muscles, but unfortunately, the blade snapped two seconds later, and the fragments flew off on the spot.
"Garbage! Defective products! All of them are defective products!"
Enraged, the Joker slammed the chainsaw to the ground and then jumped on it, stomping on it twice.
He circled around the unconscious Luke Cage, the hem of his purple tuxedo swaying back and forth.
"This is way too stiff! It completely fails to provide a good user experience!"
The Joker pulled a scalpel from his pocket and tentatively poked Luke's belly button.
The tip of the knife bent.
He then pulled out a large-caliber revolver, pressed it against Luke's buttocks, and pulled the trigger.
"Bang!"
Bullets flew wildly through the workshop, shattering a lamp.
"Boring! Boring! Not creative at all!"
The Joker sat on an oil drum, his hands supporting his chin.
He originally had a brilliant idea.
Since this big guy likes to be a hero, let him be one to his heart's content.
He wanted to transform this big, black guy into his old friend from Gotham, Bane.
The wrestler who broke Batman's spine using the Venom tube.
A Luke Cage, injected with an overdose of enhancement drugs and completely out of his mind, wreaks havoc in Hell's Kitchen, yelling about his lesbian relationship while folding Daredevil into a chair.
That scene must be so beautiful, so artistic...
He's already prepared the recipe!
Even if this green chemical waste is not as pure as real Titan Venom, as long as the dosage is large enough, it can still boil brain matter.
But now we're stuck on the first step.
The needle won't go in, and the tube won't insert.
"Are we going to give him an enema?"
The Joker shook his head in disgust, banishing the nauseating thought from his mind.
That's so inelegant, it has absolutely no aesthetic appeal.
He needs a knife.
A knife sharp enough to cut through this damn tortoise shell.
"Knife..."
The Joker has stopped shaking his legs.
He recalled the group of mute men in black pajamas he had encountered at the construction site, who could only hop around.
Their knives were very fast.
It's fast enough to cut through steel bars, fast enough to split a bullet in mid-air in two.
Hey! You there!
The Joker snapped his the Snap.
A thug wearing Joker mask ran over, bowing and scraping, carrying an AK47.
" Mr. J, what can I do for you?"
"Where do those guys in pajamas live?"
The Joker stood up and dusted himself off.
"I know! I know!"
The thug excitedly raised his hand. "The brothers just caught a prisoner during their raid! He was in warehouse number 13 in the dock area! I heard that's their temporary stronghold!"
"The dock area?"
The Joker took a comb out of his pocket and tidied his green hair.
"Perfect timing, I'd also like to see the sea."
He turned around and blew a kiss to Luke Cage, who was hanging in mid-air.
"Don't worry, honey. I'll go borrow some nail clippers and be right back to do your manicure."
Daredevil stood in the puddles at the alley entrance, his foot planted on a thug wearing Joker mask.
Where is he?
The thug was still laughing, a side effect of residual neurotoxins, but his body was trembling.
Extreme fear overwhelmed the euphoria brought on by the drug.
"I... don't know... Mr. J... he..."
Click.
Daredevil crushed the thug's left wrist bone.
"Last chance."
I'll talk! I'll talk!
The thug frantically slapped the muddy water with his intact right hand, blood and foam spurting out from under his mask.
"A deal! It's a deal!"
" Mr. J said that big black guy was too tough, not fun... so he sold him!"
Daredevil paused for a moment.
Sold?
This doesn't fit the logic of that madman's behavior.
Would that madman who turned the police station into a gas chamber and treated killing as a performance care about money?
Who will it be sold to?
Daredevil added even more pressure to his feet.
"Those... those freaks in pajamas!"
The rioters cried out, their faces covered in snot and blood.
"Right in the dock area! Warehouse 13! Those Japan... they paid a high price for that big guy to use for experiments! Mr. J took the money and went to buy explosives!"
Daredevil's mind flashed back to the old face on the construction site, and those heartless black-clad ninjas.
"Roll."
Daredevil retracted his foot.
The rioters, as if granted a pardon, dragged their severed hands and tried to crawl deeper into the alley.
A short stick whistled past.
Bang!
The thug was hit on the back of the head, fell face down into the puddle, and never moved again.
Daredevil turned around, facing the direction of the dock area.
The red figure left a trail of afterimages in the rain before disappearing between the buildings.
Two blocks away.
Inside an ice cream truck parked in the Shadow.
The Joker took off his headphones and contentedly stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!"
He stared at the red figure on the monitor, a smug look on his face, clearly admiring his favorite shot.
"The emotional outburst during this brutal interrogation deserves Oscar, doesn't it? The extra's screams were so realistic; it seems we were right not to give him anesthesia."
The subordinate sitting in the driver's seat was trembling.
The guy whose wrist Daredevil broke had no idea he was lying.
Because that's what the Joker told them.
The news that the Jokers had sold that hard rock to the Japan in exchange for weapons had already spread throughout the Joker Gang ' internal communication channels.
Only by deceiving your own people can you deceive that bastard with radar ears.
" Mr. J, where are we going now?"
The subordinate cautiously asked, "Going to the docks... to see a play?"
"Watching a show?"
The Joker slammed a popcorn bucket over his henchman's head, scattering popcorn crumbs all over the truck.
"We're going to break up the fight! We're going to be peace ambassadors!"
The Joker pulled a map of Hell's Kitchen's gangs from his pocket.
The area was covered with red Mark crosses, with only a few remaining outposts barely clinging to life.
Those were remnants of the Russia mafia and Irish gangsters.
Of course, there were also some local thugs who had been squeezed out of their way by the ninjas.
"I heard those poor bastards have been having a pretty rough time lately."
The Joker drew a circle on the map with his finger, connecting the various outposts.
"Our territory was seized, our goods were burned, and now even our only pleasure—running naked in the streets—has been banned by those guys in pajamas."
"This won't do!"
The Joker pushed open the car door and jumped into the rain.
He opened his arms and took a deep breath of the humid air.
"As the newly appointed head of the neighborhood committee in Hell's Kitchen, I have an obligation to help them get revenge."
"Turn on the loudspeakers! Call all the cars!"
"Tell those idiots with machetes that those Japan stole their Christmas presents!"
"Tonight, let's have a bonfire party at the docks!"