4

They clashed again.

A shockwave burst from the center as Jester’s foot met Carl’s blade in midair. Sparks and confetti scattered from the impact like a firework, and the plaza floor cracked beneath them.

Carl slashed again. Jester ducked, twisted, and responded with a punch.

They separated with a flash. Jester landed on one foot, hopping twice like a cartoon character who stubbed their toe.

“Ow ow ow.” He shook his hand, flexing his fingers like they were made of jelly.

Carl’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, not shouting anymore. His voice was low. Too quiet for the battlefield, but loud enough to cut through the distance. “You’re human… aren’t you?”

Jester stopped shaking his hand. The mask tilted slightly, the happy side catching the light.

“True,” he said. Then gave a small spin. “For the fun of it.”

Carl blinked, not sure if he heard right.

“You’re killing soldiers. You’re —”

“Oh, please,” Jester interrupted, flipping into a crouch. “Soldiers? You mean the corporate goons who signed up to guard a death lab?”

Carl didn’t reply.

Jester stood slowly. “You work for MX CORP. Don't pretend you're the hero here.”

The wind shifted.

Jester’s voice lost its playfulness.

“You're kidnapping elves.”

Carl stayed silent.

“Elven-kind have long lifespans. Centuries. Maybe more. And MX CORP…” Jester stepped forward. “What to modify human DNA. Extend life. Create buyers, clients, immortals. Sound familiar?”

“You think you’re righteous?” Carl’s tone cracked.

“I don’t care about righteousness.” Jester shrugged. “I care about chaos. And this?” He waved his arm around. “Is good chaos.”

Carl raised his blade again. “You’ll die.”

Jester tilted his head. “You have no idea how many times I heard that."

Just then, a figure landed behind Jester with no sound. A masked person, smaller, wearing a tight dark outfit with silver patterns that shimmered like moonlight.

“Oh,” Jester said, voice calm and a little tired. “It’s done?”

Jester turned to Carl. “It seems our fun is over. Shame I couldn’t laugh.”

“What ar—?” Carl began.

Crack.

He didn’t even see Jester move. One millisecond he was standing, the next his arms and legs twisted unnaturally, joints popping out with surgical precision.

Carl hit the ground. His blade clanged beside him.

Jester stood over him, card in hand. A joker. Black and red.

He gently placed it on Carl’s chest.

Without another word, Jester and his companion vanished into the nearby warehouse, swallowed by shadow and smoke.

...

..

.

Jester and Harle moved through the warehouse, their footsteps muffled by the stained concrete floor. The air inside was humid, thick with the stench of sweat and rust.

Harle walked ahead, her shimmering silver patterns catching the glow of the busted ceiling lights. Beside her, Jester strolled like a prince on parade.

They passed broken crates and melted locks, heading deeper into the storage zone. Then they reached the gathering.

A group of about twenty elves—men, women, children—clustered near the far wall. Their eyes were wide, hands twitchy, posture stuck between hope and trauma. Some had bruises. Others just looked… hollow. Jester’s group stood around them, eight strong. Each one masked. Each one tense but calm. Job’s done. Almost.

Jester raised a hand. “You’re free now,” he called, voice ringing out like a magician announcing his final trick.

A murmur passed through the crowd. A few elves clutched each other. One began crying. Relief came slowly.

Then a masked figure stepped toward Jester from the side.

She was taller than most of the others, her mask smooth and dark, stitched with a red line where the mouth would be. Mime.

Jester didn’t need a second to recognize her.

She leaned in and whispered near his ear.

“Warehouse stock: two ice-enchanted shotguns, three MX rifles, twenty stun grenades—all glyph tagged. Four semi-automatic handguns. Eight thousand in cash. One gold bar.”

Jester gave a low whistle. “A little something for everyone. Hey?"

He tapped his chin. “Send two thousand and a handgun to my place. The rest, split among the team."

Mime nodded. A moment later, she flicked her wrist—and vanished in a puff of red-and-black confetti.

The elves were being ushered toward the alley exit now. From there, the cops would be contacted anonymously. Let the city handle the cleanup.

Just as Jester turned to leave, a voice called out.

“Sir Jester!”

He paused. The voice didn’t match anyone he knew. Then again, that wasn’t rare. The group had nine now. The ninth, Grin, had been missing for weeks. Still, this was okay. Grin was the only guy besides Jester in the group, so Jester would rather have it this way. Moving on...

Jester followed the call.

Near the edge of the room, past a stack of broken machinery, someone was kneeling on the ground.

A girl.

Elf, obviously.

Young—maybe nineteen, maybe twenty. She was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her body like she was trying to keep herself from shattering. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the flickering lights. Her long hair was tangled, dark with streaks of dust and dried blood. Her clothes were shredded. She was barefoot. And shaking.

Not like cold.

Like broken.

Jester crouched slowly in front of her. Harle stayed close, standing back just far enough to not seem threatening.

“Hey,” Jester said gently, voice lower now. The mask's expression never changed, but his tone did. “You hurt?”

The girl didn’t look up. Her whole body trembled.

One of his crew members came up behind him. “We found her curled under the floor grate. She hasn't spoken yet."

Jester nodded slowly.

He reached out and set a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. She flinched but didn’t pull away.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Still nothing.

He waited.

And then, just barely, a whisper.

“Kaela.”

Jester tilted his head slightly, "Kaela," he repeated, the name lingering in the air.

He stood up slowly, turning his back to her. With a deliberate motion, he reached up and removed his mask. As the mask came away, a shimmer of light enveloped him, and the flamboyant attire of Jester faded, replaced by a simple Adidas tee and black jeans. Nico stood there, his brown eyes reflecting the dim light, his bare hands at his sides.

He turned to face Kaela, his gaze steady. "What do you want?" he asked.

Kaela looked up, tears streaming down her face. "I want revenge. I want to kill the bastards who did this."

Nico shook his head slowly. "Killing won't bring them back. It only leads to more bloodshed."

She wiped her tears, her voice trembling. "Then what can I do? I have nowhere else to go."

Nico's eyes softened. "You have nowhere else to go, huh? Then you can take revenge."

Kaela looked confused. "But you just said killing leads to more blo-"

"Yes," Nico replied, extending his hand. A transparent mask materialized in his palm, shimmering with a faint glow. "Not by killing."

He stepped closer, offering the mask to her.

"You can take revenge.... with a smile."