Chapter 116: Aftermath

Gordon stood at the doorway of the interrogation room, arms crossed, and said: “You’re telling me someone reported seeing two monsters, dozens of meters tall, chasing each other down Live Hell Street???”

Then he pressed his hand on the new officer’s shoulder: “All you need to ask the complainant is one question—how much did he take?”

The new officer looked uneasy. “But several people have all said the same thing…”

“That’s mass drug use.”

After the new officer left, Gordon leaned against the doorframe, thinking: These newcomers just keep getting worse.

Two monsters, tens of meters tall, fighting in the slums? This is Gotham, not Hollywood. And even if it were true, the local gangs would’ve fired a rocket at them the moment they saw it.

Given Gotham’s number of gangs, if that had really happened, Gordon would already be busy collecting the corpses of those two monsters.

So the incident only led to another round of police raids on drug dens in the East District, causing no major ripple.

But Bruce and Venom’s troubles were far from over.

First, Bruce was a skeptic. Second, he was a human supremacist.

Over the next few days, Venom endured inhuman interrogation. Bruce compiled his suspicions about Venom into a table—its table of contents alone was as thick as a fist.

Bruce successfully made Venom miss Stark. Venom now firmly recognized an extremely serious problem: his host was absolutely, utterly, one hundred percent insane.

There was no other possibility.

Venom now wanted to unilaterally retract his earlier doubt about whether Stark was human. Compared to Bruce, Stark was the very model of a normal human.

Finally, one day, Venom could no longer endure Batman’s insanity. He told Bruce: “In return for the help I gave you before, let’s part ways. Get a high-power sonic emitter, and we’ll never see each other again.”

Bruce was likely the first person to make a symbiote voluntarily request to leave its host.

But Bruce didn’t even hesitate to reject this offer from the symbiote. “No. You’re the first alien lifeform I’ve encountered. Of my 897 research projects on alien life, I’ve only completed 2% of the first one. There are still 896 projects left at 98% completion. You must cooperate with me until every single one is done—then I’ll consider letting you go…”

Venom was truly desperate.

Symbiotes could normally leave their hosts voluntarily—but only if they could immediately find a new one. Otherwise, the moment Venom escaped Bruce’s body, Bruce would instantly grab that lump of slime.

He’d considered slipping onto someone else while Bruce interacted with them, but ever since Bruce’s dark outburst, not only could Venom read Bruce’s emotions, but Bruce could now read some of Venom’s.

Whenever Venom entertained the thought of fleeing, Bruce would wildly overload his own brain with calculations, keeping Venom trapped in a storm of chaos, unable to focus on escape.

Venom suddenly realized he’d been tricked.

Especially after seeing Schiller’s smug smile—he realized he’d moved from a slightly unstable jar into an unbreakable, excruciating prison.

Even sadder: one day, Bruce mercifully let Venom step outside for fresh air. Venom was nearly suffocating—he desperately wanted to confide in a fellow symbiote, so he went to Schiller.

Then Schiller told him a fact that crushed him: “What? Bruce told you he had 897 plans? You believed him?”

“Dream on! Multiply that number by ten—that might be the real figure!”

“If you count backup plans, you might need to multiply it by a hundred.”

Venom realized he’d been sentenced to life imprisonment—for no reason at all.

In truth, given Bruce’s nature, he wouldn’t allow a being with independent consciousness to reside inside him—especially one that could probe his thoughts. But the problem was: symbiotes were simply too extraordinary. Stark couldn’t resist his curiosity about them, and neither could Bruce.

After the dark outburst, Bruce felt confident he could control this alien lifeform, so he planned to study it for a while, then return it to the Professor.

As for Schiller’s secrets, Bruce wanted to ask—but had never succeeded. Every time he brought up the subject, Schiller would casually say: “Naturo.”

Then Bruce would barely contain the furious Venom inside him, turning what should’ve been Bruce vs. Schiller into Bruce vs. Venom in a brutal brawl.

As for Catwoman’s theft case, Schiller had no intention of recovering the diamond bottle. He was only curious: how had Catwoman broken into his estate?

He’d installed special locks on every door, designed by Stark’s lab—technology far beyond this era. No thief should’ve been able to crack them.

But when Batman dragged Catwoman by the neck to the scene to identify the entry point—the sewer tunnel—Schiller and Batman both froze.

It didn’t look like a place any human could enter.

That’s why, even though Schiller knew about this exit, he’d never paid it any mind. Only rats could squeeze through there—probably not even a wild cat.

Catwoman must’ve had some kind of bone-contortion skill, right?

If she had that ability, why not do something better than stealing?

Batman was also exasperated. When he caught Catwoman, she’d confessed honestly. Learning she’d angered the Falcone family, Batman’s head throbbed.

“The Enforcer Is Here”

He had to appear as Bruce and pay compensation, then claim that, given the hefty payment, the Don could spare Catwoman. Falcone didn’t care much—he’d seen plenty of bold thieves. If she was Batman’s lover, letting her go was fine.

But this couldn’t go on. With Gotham’s reforms, petty thieves like her were becoming increasingly obsolete.

“What do you think I should get Selina to do? Last time I suggested teaching, she refused outright—said the school was too far from her apartment, and she couldn’t take care of Maggie…”

Schiller sat across the table. “Have you considered she has a major advantage?”

“What?”

“She’s captivating.”

Seeing Bruce’s puzzled look, Schiller said: “Maybe that’s not an advantage in Gotham—it might even bring trouble. But elsewhere? It’s different.”

“Like where?”

“Like Hollywood.”

Schiller took a sip of water. “If she can make the legendary Batman swoon, have you ever considered making her a Hollywood star?”

Bruce paused. He’d never thought of that.

And Schiller was serious. Catwoman was beautiful, but that wasn’t the point. Her acrobatic skills were just icing. Her one defining trait—DC’s strongest—was charisma.

Catwoman made Batman swoon. Note: Batman, not Bruce.

In some comics, the Dark Knight, obsessed with vengeance, was so moved by her he gave up his hatred, his obsessions, his painful memories, and chose a normal life. What level of charisma was that?

Bruce, Venom, and Schiller teamed up, inside and out, barely managing the black tide from Batman’s dark side—but Catwoman dissolved it effortlessly alone.

In some comics, Batman abandoned his vengeance, his fixation, his past traumas—all because of her—and turned back to the light.

This level of law-level charisma—why wait? Go to Hollywood and become a divine star!

“...And you must consider: Gotham’s industries will eventually need to transform. If we’re moving toward entertainment and tourism, we need a city icon,” Schiller said.

Bruce agreed. Becoming a movie star wasn’t just legitimate—it was wildly profitable, a win-win for fame and fortune, and beneficial to Gotham’s development. Why not?

Besides, Catwoman clearly had the potential to be a career woman. Though theft wasn’t respectable, at least she worked hard to support herself. With her looks, she could’ve become any mob boss’s mistress and lived in luxury—but instead, she still lived in that rundown apartment on Gotham’s eastern edge.

————Extra Notes————

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