There were four bodies lying near the bank counter, freshly gunned down.
Two were Eagle's men. The other two—bank tellers, caught in the crossfire.
John stepped over the corpses without flinching, his expression blank behind the smeared clown makeup.
He zipped up the black duffel bag overflowing with cash and turned to walk out.
Just then, Bal and another masked man emerged from the vault.
Bal held a matching black bag, his face bright with victory—until he saw the carnage.
"What the hell happened here?!" Bal exclaimed, stunned by the scene of slaughter.
But before he could get an answer, John began approaching.
Bal, assuming he was just one of their men, asked without suspicion, "What's going on?"
"Looks like everyone's dead," John replied flatly, his tone calm, unreadable.
"Nonsense!" Bal barked. He could clearly see the blood-soaked floor—he didn't need a report.
Before another word could leave his mouth, a gunshot cracked through the air.
The masked henchman standing beside him dropped instantly, a bullet in his head.
Blood splattered across Bal's cheek, and his mouth fell open in shock.
Bal had seen his fair share of corpses over the years. Death wasn't unfamiliar to him.
But betrayal? That stung differently.
"You son of a—!" he shouted, reaching for his gun.
Bang!
Another shot rang out.
This time, it hit him in the right hand.
Bal screamed, the pistol dropping from his grip as pain tore through his wrist.
"What the hell are you doing?! You've got the energy source! You think Madam Gao's just going to let you walk away?!" Bal roared in rage.
Bang!
Another round fired.
This one struck his left hand.
Both arms now useless, Bal collapsed to the ground, wheezing from pain, blood soaking his sleeves.
"I never planned on her letting me go," John said coolly.
There was something different in his voice now. A strange mix of weariness and satisfaction.
Bal's face twisted with fury. He glared at John, blood dripping from his hands, teeth clenched.
John knelt beside him.
"I heard you were looking for me," he said softly, almost conversational. "I've been wondering—how is it that I've been so hard to find?"
With that, he reached up and pulled the mask off his face.
The clown makeup underneath grinned back at Bal, distorted and grim.
When Bal saw the face beneath the mask, the color drained from his own.
Shock. Rage. Horror.
They all collided in his expression.
He tried desperately to reach for a weapon, any weapon—but his shot-up arms barely moved.
"Aaaargh!!!" Bal screamed.
It was a guttural, broken cry—more animal than man.
His voice cracked as he shouted, helpless and consumed by hatred.
John simply smiled and jammed the muzzle of the gun into Bal's mouth.
The scream cut off instantly.
And then John laughed.
It wasn't a performance.
The laugh spilled out of him, unrestrained—manic, genuine, raw.
He had no idea what emotion he was even feeling.
But the laughter… it felt good.
The red paint around his lips curled up like a devil's grin. In Bal's eyes, John didn't look like a man anymore.
He looked like something else.
"I've got a condition," John said, still chuckling. "Makes me laugh when I shouldn't."
He tilted his head slightly. "I remember one time… Halloween night. Some guy in a trench coat told me I was crazy. Kicked me in the ribs with his polished leather boots. So I killed him."
John paused. Looked into Bal's panicked, sweating face.
"You know what I've realized?" he whispered.
"People only know fear when they're staring death in the face. Until then, they strut around like they're better than everyone else. Like they own the world."
His smile disappeared.
"But I know the truth. Underneath it all… people are just monsters waiting for the right excuse."
Bang!
The trigger clicked.
The bullet tore through Bal's skull.
His final expression—pure terror—froze on his face.
John stood up slowly, laughing again.
It wasn't joy. It was release.
Pure, euphoric release.
---
[Ding, the Clown Trial live broadcast system has been activated!]
A mechanical voice echoed in John's ears.
Here we go.
The laughter cut off.
John's eyes went cold, sharp, focused.
The game begins.
---