Chapter 1181: The Cry of the Lamb (Part 10)

The cold storm in Batman's deep blue eyes never stopped. After Angela left the office in Wei En Tower, only Bruce was left standing in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the whole city alone. Cat Getan, no matter when, looked surprisingly prosperous.

This is not a city of sin at all. This is the largest, most prosperous, and most charming city on the east coast of the United States, a psychedelic capital that countless people dream of, an indispensable part of human urban civilization.

This is the cancer of the earth, the disaster of humanity, and Batman's hometown.

Standing in front of the window, Bruce, who was staring at this city, heard a slight sound behind him. He turned around gently and saw a figure sitting on the sofa against the light. That was another himself.

Bruce didn't feel any surprise or vigilance, as if his appearance there was no more normal?

Or rather, after that night in Crime Alley passed, this figure followed like a shadow and never left.

Bruce walked over and sat opposite him. Two identical figures sat in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window. The lights of thousands of homes composed of layers of high-rise buildings reflected them into two silhouettes, not lonely, but equally lonely.

"I wasn't born today." The Bruce sitting on the right lifted his head. There were no pupils in his eye sockets, but there were no whites of the eyes either. Between the eyelids was all flowing black tide, but it wasn't terrifying, but had a kind of eerie beauty.

"That female police officer said that in the process of constantly pursuing murder cases, she understood that group of criminals and discovered another self. She felt fear, so she chose to retreat. But you know, she didn't suffer from mental illness or have any hallucinations. What she said was all true, and she wasn't an isolated case."

The Bruce sitting opposite him also had no pupils, only white whites of the eyes, whiter than any snow in Cat Getan.

"We should talk about that night first." The black-eyed Bruce said: "That night you never talked to anyone about."

The white-eyed Bruce slowly closed his eyes. The hand he placed on the armrest gradually tightened, and his chest also began to rise and fall constantly. Countless fragmented scenes flashed before his eyes.

But not the alley, the rainy night, the pearl necklace.

He saw his own raised hands, saw the sight of the pistol, saw how the bullet flew out of the muzzle, saw how his parents fell.

"Every powerful detective must be a good criminal." The black-eyed Bruce's voice sounded. He turned to look at the prosperous city and continued:

"You didn't become a detective because of that night. You have always been a criminal genius. You were born to resonate with killers."

"There are too many people in this world whose parents died, the case was tragic, the way of death was heroic, and too many children witnessed their parents die, felt sad, felt desperate. But in this world, there is only one Batman."

"You didn't embark on such a path because of your parents' death. Your wisdom, cleverness, excessive rationality, and genius creativity are gifts from God, just like those born killers."

The white-eyed Bruce's hand holding the armrest slowly loosened, and the black-eyed Bruce stared at him and said:

"I wasn't born on that night. When you first saw Thomas's face, when you first remembered Martha's smile, when the Wei En family spent ordinary days happily, I never left."

"I was born with you. I am a part of you, the part you have been avoiding, but can never get rid of—pathology."

When the pathological Bruce fell silent, Bruce stared at him with slightly scattered eyes and said:

"I have seen you many times, under the bed of the crib, behind the door of the kindergarten, and even in the castle built of toy blocks."

"I wanted to make Thomas and Martha feel sad for my disappearance by hiding under the bed. I wanted to push the door suddenly to make the kindergarten teacher feel fear. I wanted to kick the block castle to pieces to make all the classmates cry. In these times, I saw you."

"But at that time, what we emitted was ordinary malice. Every child would have the thought of pranks. Therefore, I didn't discover that I was different from others, until that night..."

"The moment I saw the muzzle." Bruce's arm began to tremble again. He said in a similarly trembling tone: "I had two perspectives. I saw the blood flower blooming behind Martha, and also saw, through the pistol sight, the scarlet blood flowing from Thomas's chest."

"In every nightmare since then, I couldn't distinguish where I was standing, behind them or in front of them, and I couldn't distinguish what I was holding, the ticket stub of the movie, or the trigger of the pistol."

"Detective and criminal have never had a clear dividing line." The pathological Bruce said: "For more than ten years, what has made you feel incomparably painful is precisely the fact you realized that night: you are the same kind of person as the killer who pulled the trigger that night, or rather, you are more suitable to be a criminal than him."

Bruce took a deep breath until his whole shoulder rose, and then slowly sighed this breath out. The pathological Bruce looked at him and asked:

"Why have you never been willing to deprive others of their lives?"

Bruce stared into his eyes, but the pathological Bruce didn't need to answer. He asked and answered himself:

"Because of your kindness? No, it's because you don't dare. It's because you don't dare to see me, don't dare to admit my existence. You think that by being a saint, you can wash away the fact that you possess a criminal talent unique in this world."

Bruce slowly closed his eyes. His lips trembled before he looked at the pathological Bruce again and said:

"And today, I will see you here because Schiller made me understand a fact: you exist, you are inseparable, you can never be eliminated, and you are even... guiding and instructing me."

"Actually, you have thought about it long ago." The pathological Bruce said: "What is it that guides human action? What is it that makes humanity progress? Is it love? Is it kindness?"

Bruce shook his head. His movement was very light, but it seemed like he was trying hard to push a giant rock off a cliff.

"It's you." Bruce answered.

"In these ten-plus years, what urged me to constantly learn, improve myself, and build equipment was not my love and kindness for anyone, but hatred, anger, jealousy, fear, the evil inherent in humanity, and my pathology."

"Before this, I always had unrealistic fantasies about expelling you. I thought that as long as I was strong enough and firm enough, one day you would leave. On that day, I would get rid of the nightmare of the past and never have to feel fear that I would become a criminal again."

"But Schiller made you understand that I will never leave, and I don't need to leave. I am not your burden, not your shackles, but a sharp knife and a key to open the door to another world." The pathological Bruce continued.

"Only by seeing me, admitting me, and utilizing me can you go to a world that ordinary people can never reach. In that world, there is a group of the most terrible people in this world, they are called 'born killers'."

Bruce seemed to have lost all his strength, leaning weakly on the back of the chair, and continued the pathological Bruce's words:

"Before, the reason I could constantly escape and not admit your existence was because I didn't realize the danger of this group of people."

"And the appearance of the pathological Schiller made me understand that if I don't face you squarely, don't utilize the other power I possess, and don't truly walk into the hearts of madmen, I will never be able to defeat them."

"You have to know me."

"I have to know you."

Two Bruces said in unison.

"You have to accept me."

"I have to accept you."

"You have to love me."

"I have to love you."

"Because..."

"The only ones who can deal with criminals..."

"... are criminals."

"How will you defeat them?" Bruce asked.

"I don't need to defeat them." The pathological Bruce answered. He looked into Bruce's eyes and said: "Schiller is not only teaching you, but also teaching me. You have a professor, and I have one too."

"The actions of the pathological Schiller have already shown me that I don't need to defeat madmen, because I am already stronger than them. I don't need to hurt them, because they are precious lambs."

"Don't be anyone's son, but be everyone's father."

"When they offer sacrifices to please you, say to them, 'If you do well, will you not be accepted? If you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.' (Genesis 4:7)"

The light through the window gradually dimmed, leaving only the gorgeous and dreamy neon light and shadow. And Bruce's voice was like a low chant, gradually sounding in the silence.

"Utilize your talent."

"Utilize my talent."

"Stand high in the clouds."

"Stand high in the clouds."

"Preach to them."

"Preach to them."

"Let them listen to the teachings."

"Let them pay tribute."

"Love them, as if loving fragile lambs."

"Understand them, soothe them."

"Whip them, discipline them."

"Make them walk on the earth."

"As walking in my kingdom."

"Become a father."

"Become... the Father."

When the cold light of the Batarang was reflected in Batman's blue eyes, it looked like a bird glimpsed on the horizon in a polar storm.

The blade cut through the frozen atmosphere in the sheriff's office, carrying a cold tail, and cut through the artery on the side of Jonathan Crane's neck.

Instantly, vitality burst out from the bright red, and then began to pass away irretrievably.

Gordon rushed over in shock, hugged Jonathan who was slowly falling, widened his eyes to look at Batman who threw the Batarang, and roared:

"Batman, are you crazy?!"

Jonathan, lying on the ground, used all his strength to push away Gordon who wanted to help him stop the bleeding, covered his neck flowing with blood with his powerless hands, and said in an intermittent breath.

"Get lost!... Let me hear... what he is saying..."

Batman's lips moved.

At this moment, outside the window of the Cat Getan Police Department, a bright lightning flashed, and the rumbling thunder followed, like every night when Batman fell from the top of the building.

Batman's voice was very light, but it covered the deafening thunder. Everything he failed to voice in countless nights was woven into a cry in this light and light tone.

Jonathan listened intently, only then did he hear the word in Batman's mouth.

"... the missing persons case in the Moson block."