As soon as Polaris finished speaking, the music in the bar abruptly stopped.
For a moment, an unnatural silence fell over the room. The pounding bass that had drowned out all thought just seconds ago was gone. Only the echoes of breath and faint murmurs remained.
"What the hell?"
"Did the speakers blow out?"
"Why'd the music stop in the middle of the track?"
Someone shouted over the confusion, "Hey! Boss? Bartender? What the hell's going on back there? Is this place still open or what?!"
The mood in the bar shifted from euphoria to frustration within seconds. The crowd, once dancing and laughing, grew restless. Some began smashing empty beer bottles on tables, demanding service. One guy even climbed onto the bar counter and yelled into the back room.
And then—
Pop!
Every single light in the bar exploded at once.
Tiny shards of glass rained down. The darkness was absolute for a breathless moment.
And then came the metallic groan.
The steel tables, barstools, trays, utensils—anything made of metal—suddenly lifted from the floor as if pulled by an invisible string. Bottles clattered, drinks spilled, and screams erupted.
"What the—?!"
"AHHHH!"
People who had been loud and cocky just moments ago now panicked. Screaming, stumbling, they bolted for the exits. A few tripped over floating objects, sending them crashing to the ground. Chaos ruled the bar in seconds.
In the center of it all stood Polaris, her hands raised casually by her sides, her fingers twitching with magnetic control. A wicked grin played across her lips as she watched the havoc unfold around her.
She tilted her chin up, glanced at John, and smirked like a mischievous child who just broke all the rules at once.
"Well?" she asked. "Is this crazy enough for you?"
In her eyes, it was.
After all, she knew the world mutants lived in. How they were forced to hide, to suppress their powers for fear of retaliation. Displaying powers so brazenly in a public space wasn't just reckless—it was rebellion.
Mutants were rarely given space in the human world. They had to take it.
And that's what Polaris had just done.
But John wasn't impressed.
He simply shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching with what might've been a smile. Or something colder.
"Trash," he muttered and walked right past her.
Polaris's smile faded. She turned after him, frowning as if she hadn't heard him right. The look on John's face—it wasn't respect, or even amusement.
It was mockery.
"Stop right there!" she snapped, like a spoiled heiress demanding attention. "Why the hell are you looking down on me?!"
John didn't stop walking. One hand casually dipped into his pocket, fingers shifting as though searching for something.
Polaris stormed up behind him and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"
John stopped.
He turned.
His eyes were ice.
Cold. Unblinking. Unforgiving.
Polaris instinctively recoiled. Something about the way he looked at her made her skin crawl. Her fingers twitched, but she didn't raise her powers.
"What... what are you doing?" she asked, suddenly unsure.
"Why are you following me?" His tone was flat, dangerous.
"I—I don't know," Polaris stammered. "I just… I don't know."
And that was the truth. She couldn't explain it herself. Something about him drew her in. Like gravity. Like something wrong that she couldn't help but get closer to.
He hadn't even looked at her with interest.
Maybe that was it. The disapproval. The complete disregard. It made her want to prove something.
To him. To herself.
And then John started laughing.
A deep, chilling laugh. Not the kind you hear when someone tells a good joke—but the kind that crawls under your skin.
It was humorless. Detached. Twisted.
Polaris took a step back, disturbed.
"What's so funny?" she demanded, eyes narrowing.
John finally stopped laughing. He looked at her, something dark flashing in his gaze.
"People like you," he said coldly, "you live in chains all your life. One day you break one link and suddenly think you've gone mad. You think this is what it means to be crazy?"
And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a mask.
A clown mask.
He slipped it on slowly, and the moment it covered his face, Polaris's eyes went wide with realization.
"You're... no way… are you the Joker?!"
John didn't answer.
Polaris's expression flickered between surprise and skepticism. She narrowed her eyes.
"So what? You think putting on a mask makes you some chaotic legend? Please."
She scoffed.
"All the stunts you pulled before, I could've done blindfolded. Provoking Iron Man? That's nothing. In front of me, Iron Man's just a guy in a tin suit."
There was truth in her words.
Iron Man's armor—advanced as it was—was still metal.
And metal was her playground.
John tilted his head. Something seemed to shift behind that mask. A different smile.
"Is that so?" he murmured. "Sounds like you might be useful."
"What?"
His voice was too soft. She couldn't make out what he'd said.
But then he looked at her again.
"Do you want to experience the joy of the game?"
Polaris blinked. "Game? What game?"
John didn't answer. He simply turned and walked toward the exit.
Polaris didn't hesitate. She chased after him, calling out, "What game?! Tell me, dammit!"
Stone... 🪨