Delusions and Punchlines

For a few seconds, there was silence.The kind of silence that comes right before somebody absolutely loses it.

And, of course, that somebody was Chance.

He burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell over, his voice echoing through the room. Red had already given up trying to keep a straight face, while Mafioso stood there — red in the face, fists clenched, glaring like he was seconds away from throwing the nearest chair out the window.

"Oh my god—" Chance wheezed between fits of laughter, "you—you really kissed nothing! Like full on, eyes closed, tragic music playing in the background, air-kissing—" He snorted again, clutching his sides. "Beautiful. I mean, really, breathtaking performance. 10/10 acting, boss."

Mafioso glared. "Are you done?"

Chance wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still giggling. "Not even close."

Red was snickering quietly behind his hand. "You really should've seen it from my angle, Mafioso. Looked like you were about to propose to the air."

"Both of you—shut up," Mafioso muttered darkly. "Before I—"

Chance cut in with a sly grin. "Before you what? Ground me? Exorcise me? You can't hit what's not technically there."

Mafioso pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling something in Italian that sounded like a prayer mixed with a death threat.Chance chuckled again and flicked his fingers; his appearance shimmered slightly—his hair turning lighter, his clothes flickering between styles.

Red blinked. "Did... you just change?"

"Yep." Chance stretched dramatically. "Perks of being a hallucination. I look however your messed-up brains decide I should. You see the same guy—" he pointed at himself— "but depending on the day, the mood, or the trauma level, I might look different to each of you."

He grinned, sharp and knowing. "So if I suddenly look taller, hotter, or scarier—it's on you, not me."

Red blinked slowly. "...That's unsettling."

Mafioso muttered, "Figures you'd make even existence itself into a performance."

"Damn right I do," Chance said, smirking. Then, his tone shifted—still playful, but softer. "Oh, and just so we're clear, I'm not a ghost."

Red frowned. "But you literally disappeared."

"I'm not dead-dead," Chance said, wagging a finger. "Red here—" he pointed toward him, "is me. Just... with memory loss and a new name. The real me's still rattling around in there, kicking at the walls, trying to wake him up."

Red blinked, stunned. "Wait—you're saying—"

Chance leaned forward, grin widening. "I'm your subconscious, sweetheart. Everything you forgot—everything you don't want to remember—that's me. The sarcasm, the chaos, the charm—yeah, you've been repressing me this whole time."

Mafioso's expression hardened. "Then why can I see you too?"

Chance's smile turned positively wolfish. "Because, boss," he said, voice dripping with charisma, "you're schizophrenic."

The room went dead silent.

Red choked on air. "I—what—Chance—!"

Mafioso stared at him, eyes narrowing dangerously. "...Excuse me?"

Chance raised both hands innocently. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I didn't diagnose you. I'm just saying—normal people don't see walking manifestations of someone else's subconscious having emotional breakdowns in their kitchen."

Red stared at Chance, half-horrified, half-intrigued. "Wait, so... are you actually saying Mafioso's crazy?"

Chance grinned. "I'm saying everyone in this room is crazy. But Mafioso's got the deluxe edition."

Mafioso let out a slow, long breath through his nose. "You're insufferable."

"I've been called worse," Chance replied easily. "But hey, look on the bright side—if I'm not real, then none of your emotional trauma counts!"

Red groaned, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible."

"Correction," Chance said, dramatically flicking invisible dust from his shoulder. "I'm self-aware."

Mafioso crossed his arms. "If you're really part of Red, then prove it."

Chance smirked. "I already did."

Both Red and Mafioso frowned in unison.

Chance tilted his head, the faintest shimmer of sincerity in his voice. "Who else could roast you both so perfectly?"

Red and Mafioso exchanged a look — equally tired, equally confused.

Chance smiled wider, satisfied. "Exactly."

He spun the coin in his hand — that same ghostly token of luck — then flicked it into the air.It vanished before it ever hit the ground.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Chance said, fading with that infuriating grin still plastered on his face, "I'm gonna go haunt someone with better taste."

And just like that, he was gone — leaving behind only the echo of laughter, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke and trouble.

———To be continue