Singapore: a city of sleek skyscrapers, pristine streets, and world-famous chili crabs. Max Mercer—known to a growing number of confused international agencies as The Misfire—was just trying to enjoy a vacation. Well, a vacation funded by his rapidly-dwindling travel rewards points and a mysterious first-class ticket he definitely didn’t purchase.

“I thought I booked a layover in Des Moines,” he mumbled to no one in particular as the Changi Airport welcomed him with robotic greeters and free Wi-Fi.

Max’s plan (if you could call it that) was simple: find food, avoid international incidents, and possibly locate a decent laundromat that wouldn’t explode. But the universe had other ideas.

Part 1: The Chili Crab Caper

It started with lunch.

Max sat down at a bustling hawker stall and ordered Singapore’s signature dish: chili crab. What arrived was a glorious mess of sauce, shell, and spice. What he didn’t know was that his table had been reserved—by the Pan-Asian Espionage Summit… and he had just taken the reserved seat of Agent Frostbite, North Korea’s most elusive undercover culinary operative.

Before he could finish licking crab sauce off his thumb, a waiter dropped a small metal case on his table with a nod. Max, thinking it was a wet napkin dispenser, opened it. Inside: encrypted launch codes, a USB stick labeled “Do Not Plug Into Anything”, and a stick of gum.

Naturally, Max plugged it into his phone.

The lights flickered. Somewhere in the distance, drones launched.

Part 2: Spies Like Us (But Mostly Hate Us)

Max was chased through a shopping mall by at least four people in black suits, two women with clipboards, and one oddly aggressive barista. His escape route included:

• Tripping into a cosmetic demonstration booth.
• Being mistaken for a rogue influencer.
• Accidentally live-streaming classified intel to 3.7 million followers.

As fate would have it, the nearest hiding spot was a press event for the hottest new K-pop band: 7EVEN SYNC. Mistaken for their new “international wildcard member,” Max was handed an in-ear mic, glitter jacket, and pushed onstage.

Part 3: The Dance of Diplomatic Immunity

Max had no idea what he was doing. But in a twist of fate (or muscle memory from a long-forgotten college Zumba class), he managed to keep up with the choreography. Mostly. At one point, his shoe flew off and hit an overhead drone, causing it to spiral into a government security hub—just as Agent Frostbite tried to escape with the stolen launch codes.

Boom. Mission failure for the spies. Mission accomplished for Max.

Epilogue: Crabs, Chaos, and K-pop Fame

By the end of the night:

• The Espionage Summit was canceled “due to unforeseen pyrotechnics.”
• Max had a standing invite to tour with 7EVEN SYNC in Seoul.
• And the chili crab stall was awarded a Michelin star, thanks to the viral footage of Max’s improvised “Crab Shuffle.”

As he stood outside the Marina Bay Sands, still wearing eyeliner and glitter boots, Max muttered:

“Totally part of the plan. Yep. That plan.”

Need to reach us? Slip us a note under the chili crab plate or send a message the old-fashioned way—just don’t plug anything labeled “Do Not Plug Into Anything” into your phone.

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The post Chapter 3: Trouble in Singapore — Chili Crabs, a Spy Convention, and That One Time Max Joined a K-pop Band appeared first on The Misfire Comics.

Max Mercer, a.k.a. The Misfire, had no real reason to be in Tokyo—unless you count a wrong ticket purchase, an allergic reaction to wasabi-flavored peanuts, and a train conductor named Kazuo who insisted he was someone named “Professor Mayhem.”

Still jetlagged and carrying nothing but a half-melted protein bar, a novelty fan shaped like a sumo wrestler, and a rental translator earpiece that occasionally whispered romantic poetry in Spanish, Max stepped off the Shinkansen and into the chaos of Tokyo Station.

Chaos, Naturally

As he adjusted his goggles (held together by chewing gum and optimism), a sudden tremor rattled the ground. Everyone paused. The locals, seasoned and calm, braced quietly. Max?

Max accidentally flung a yakisoba bun into the air, which arced gracefully and hit a maintenance bot on patrol. It sparked, wheeled in a circle, then activated “emergency alert mode,” loudly declaring:

“¡Peligro sísmico! ¡La apocalipsis ha comenzado!”

Max frowned.
“…That can’t be right.”

And that’s when Pancake arrived.

Enter: Pancake

Pancake was a security prototype—an autonomous robotic dog designed to sniff out explosives, contraband, and bad attitudes. Due to a programming glitch and an unfortunate naming contest at the tech lab, Pancake had developed a vendetta against anyone carrying unauthorized snacks.

Max, of course, had three.

As sirens wailed and tremors continued, Pancake locked onto him, tail whirring like a buzzsaw.

“ILLEGAL SNACK IDENTIFIED. PREPARE TO BE DISARMED.”

Max bolted.

Vending Machine Vengeance

Tokyo’s famed vending machines loomed like chrome soldiers on every street. Max ducked between them, inadvertently bumping a button. The machine whirred—and instead of a drink, launched a canned coffee at Mach 2 directly into Pancake’s faceplate.

CLANK!

The robot dog reeled, rebooting. Max seized the opportunity to escape… straight into an alley where a quake-triggered gas leak ignited behind him. Debris rained down—except for the one vending machine still operational.

Max pressed every button in panic.

Suddenly, the machines spat out a barrage of snacks, energy drinks, and… a collapsible umbrella.

Max blinked. “What the—?”

The Collapse

As the quake intensified, an old overpass cracked above a daycare center.

People screamed.

Max, flailing for footing, slipped on a spilled pudding cup—launched backward into a pile of recyclables—only to accidentally yank a support cable that whipped up and triggered a safety mechanism on a nearby crane.

The crane’s cargo net of steel beams swung—precisely—to reinforce the crumbling overpass just before it gave way.

The children beneath cheered.

The parents cried.

The emergency responders stared in disbelief.

Max, stuck in a tangle of soda bottles and chewing gum wrappers, gave a weak thumbs up.

“Totally part of the plan. Yep. That plan.”

Post-Credit Chaos

Later, as Tokyo news stations dubbed him “The Clumsiest Savior,” Pancake was found chewing on a copy of Snack Law Digest, now demoted to “Emotional Support Security Dog.”

And Max?

He boarded the wrong monorail… headed straight for Singapore.

Have a tip, a theory, or a malfunctioning robot dog to report? Drop us a line before Pancake finds us first

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Maxx Mercer had never been on a plane longer than the TSA had allowed. Yet here he was, flying across the Pacific with an aisle seat, a carry-on full of melted granola bars, and a strong sense of optimism that bordered on willful ignorance. After all, how much trouble could he possibly get into on vacation?

He was headed to Hawaii to visit his cousin Lani, a volcanologist with a fancy Ph.D., a pet gecko named Carl, and enough skepticism to fill Mauna Loa. Maxx hadn’t seen her since the family luau where he accidentally set fire to a tiki torch stand (which, in his defense, did lead to the discovery of illegal fireworks being stored under the buffet table).

This time, he promised himself, would be different. No gadgets. No hero stuff. No accidental explosions.

Just flip-flops, shaved ice, and not a single—
BOOM.

The plane shook.

Maxx clutched his tray table. “Okay, that wasn’t me!”

A voice came over the intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just experienced a mild turbulence caused by volcanic activity below. We’ll be landing soon. Mahalo for choosing Air Hula.”

Later… at Lani’s research outpost on the Big Island

Maxx was greeted by a very sweaty Lani, wearing a hazmat suit and the expression of someone who knew exactly what kind of chaos her cousin attracted.

“Maxx,” she said flatly. “Why are you here?”

“I come bearing gifts!” Maxx grinned, pulling out a half-melted chocolate bar and something that looked suspiciously like a walkie-talkie made from a repurposed karaoke mic.

Lani ignored the offerings. “Kilauea’s acting up. The caldera’s swelling. We think a major eruption’s imminent.”

Maxx blinked. “You think it waited until I got here?”

Carl the gecko blinked twice. Lani didn’t.

That Night

Maxx was not supposed to touch anything. And yet…

Left unsupervised near Lani’s equipment, Maxx attempted to heat up leftover spam musubi using a “harmless” prototype geothermic sensor pod.

The pod slipped. Bounced. Hit the ground.

And triggered a self-deploying seismic stabilizer drone.

It shot into the caldera with a cheerful beep-beep and promptly wedged itself into a lava vent like a cork in a shaken soda bottle.

The volcano hiccuped.

Then… quiet.

“Uh-oh,” Maxx muttered. “That wasn’t supposed to happen… but I’ll take it?”

The Next Morning

Scientists were baffled. The pressure had stabilized. Eruption: averted. No one knew how. Except Lani, who stormed into Maxx’s room with a clipboard in one hand and Carl on her shoulder.

“You plugged the vent with my million-dollar drone,” she said.

Maxx smiled sheepishly. “To be fair, I thought it was a portable grill.”

“You saved the island, Maxx.”

“I what?”

“You saved the island… completely by accident.”

Maxx threw his arms up. “Totally part of the plan. Yep. That plan.”

Carl nodded in what might have been reluctant approval.

Back at the airport, boarding his flight out

A news broadcast blared in the terminal:

“Local authorities are still unsure how the catastrophic eruption was halted. Sources report a mysterious ‘tourist in cargo shorts’ may be responsible. We may never know who he is…”

Maxx boarded the plane with a fresh lei, a sunburn shaped like a ukulele, and a bag full of broken electronics.

As the engines roared to life, he smiled and muttered under his breath—

“Wait… did I just save the day again?”

Got questions, comments, or just want to share your own heroic misfires? Drop us a line—we’d love to hear from you!

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