The madman, John "Madman" Thompson, reclined in his chair, savoring the moment as the punch landed once more on the country's leader. The roar of approval from his fellow inmates echoed through the corridors, a chorus of cheers and laughter. "It was just one good punch, but look at the chaos it caused," he chuckled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

John leaned over his work, detailing plans for a new world order. "Twelve years is nothing," he mused to his cellmate, Martin, a wiry man with a keen interest in politics. "I was injected with nonsense for eighteen years, so this is a breeze. Besides, it's not about the time; it's about the change."

John gathered a small crowd, regaling them with tales of his fateful journey to London. "I thought everyone wanted to do it," he explained, "but it turns out, I was the only one who planned it." The group listened intently, their eyes wide with admiration and disbelief.

John scribbled furiously, determined to finish his manifesto. "After my twelve years of double dinners and planning, I'll run for leader myself," he muttered, a smile playing on his lips. "And when I do, I'll bring real change."

He thought of the punch that started it all, a single act that had set the wheels of change in motion. "It was just one punch," he whispered to himself, "but it made them listen."

John looked out at the world beyond, his heart filled with hope. "This is just the beginning," he vowed, envisioning the new society he would help create—a society born from a punch and sustained by a dream.