Chapter 184: Smile a Little (Part 2)

Everyone present heard their whispers; just as the members of the Owl Court had thought, if Alberto was lying and pressing the button killed someone other than Haru, the odds of it being themselves were only one in several dozen, and everyone felt such a chance would not fall on them.

If Alberto was not lying and killed Haru, they would suffer no loss, but would instead avoid the risk of Haru hitting the ground first and triggering the bomb.

Just as they said, Haru, whose mask had already been removed, would die sooner or later; even if he did not die today, the Godfather would not let him see the sun the next day.

"I don't want to die!! I don't want to die! You can't press... Chelli, are you crazy? You want to kill me! You can't press!!!" Haru began to cry desperately, sobbing until tears and snot smeared his face, his obese body writhing constantly.

"Hey!" Gordon suddenly stood up, pointing his gun at the tall, thin man and saying, "You can't press; killing is illegal, and I will arrest you."

"Is that so, Detective?" Schiller stood up and said, "He just pressed a button from very far away, and someone else died; what evidence do you have to prove he committed murder? What do you intend to use as the murder weapon? The button?"

"Please! Officer! Don't listen to them, save me!!!" Haru screamed and cried out.

Falcone spoke: "Officer, without evidence, you indeed cannot shoot directly, but you can demand he prove his identity in the name of the police; even if he has no driver's license or other identification, he should at least take off his mask."

The tall, thin man shouted in a piercing voice, "No! There is no such rule!! You cannot expose my identity!!!"

"Press it quickly, Chelli! Kill him quickly! How do you know his belly won't hit the ground in the next descent? Then we will all die!"

"Don't press! I don't want to die! If you press, your mask will be torn off too, and you and your family will all die..."

"You can't press; you know in your heart this is murder, and I will arrest you!"

"You certainly can press! This detective has no evidence, and the police rules don't apply here..."

Like a montage film with chaotic cuts, everyone was shouting their own reasoning; the light slid from one person's face to another's, and even without two seconds, a shot didn't even have time to focus before switching to the next.

In the end, it was the Joker banging wildly on the triangular iron that made the argument stop.

Chelli was already covered in sweat, and Haru's face was deathly pale; suddenly, Haru said as if he had just thought of it, "The first answer, the first answer points to the woman! If you dare let Chelli press the button, I will press mine too!"

"No!" a woman hanging in the high air shouted, "You're crazy! Chelli is my lover; I will let him kill you first, you fat pig fool!"

"Haru... have some mercy, you are doomed anyway; Falcone knows who you are. You clearly know you are destined to die, so why not contribute something to our survival?" The woman suddenly began to sob again.

"You're the crazy one! You, you bitch! Do you think Chelli is really a European noble? He's just a liar! A poor sailor! You two are a perfect match!!"

"If I die, I will take you all with me!" Haru shouted, spittle flying.

"Shit Owl Court! Shit High Councilors! I'm truly fed up; a liar who started by deceiving people, a bitch who climbed up by offering her pillow, and you! You really think you're big shots? You've always looked down on me!"

Haru seemed to have completely suffered a mental breakdown, cursing loudly with his mouth.

Chelli began to tremble all over; with a crying voice, he said, "I can't do that; they will take off my mask. Falcone will kill me and will also kill my family. I have a wife and children; God! Save me!"

Hearing Chelli's prayer, the priest below made the sign of the cross on his chest, but he said nothing.

"Ding-ding! Time's up!" The Joker tapped the triangular iron and said cheerfully, "He made no choice, so it defaults to not pressing. Alright, next!"

He deliberately bypassed several people nearby and walked over to the somewhat elderly figure, saying, "It seems you are their leader, so I'll give you a privilege and let you choose first. Who do you choose?"

The bound old man did not seem panicked; his tone was low as he said, "I choose that professor."

"What?" The Joker pretended not to hear, banging the triangular iron hard to make noise, saying, "He said he chose Falcone..."

"I heard him choose me." Schiller stood up. The Joker cursed and said impatiently, "Your clue has already been used; he can no longer..."

"Then I'll buy another ticket. Your tickets shouldn't be sold out, at least..." Schiller glanced at the Joker's suit pocket and said, "There must be one in your pocket; I saw it before."

The Joker muttered curses while rummaging through his pockets; after searching for a long time, he pulled out a tattered scrap of paper, impatiently crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at Schiller.

The scrap of paper fell in mid-air, but somehow still flew toward Schiller, and Schiller caught it.

The old man spoke: "Even if you have no clue, my choosing you is just to make a deal with you; I see you can shake the rules of this game."

"But I'm sorry, there is no principle of actors leaving midway, after all, I bought a ticket."

"I don't want to leave; I just hope the rules will change."

"Which part do you want to change?"

"If you make a request of me, I can choose to forgo the clue and instead have you do me a favor."

"State your request first, then I'll consider whether to agree."

"I want to give up the button in my hand; you take it away."

"What? Mr. Meng! Are you crazy? If you have no button, what will you do when someone else presses a button to kill you?"

Schiller suddenly lowered his head and laughed, saying, "It seems you must be a member of the previous generation of the Owl Court?"

"I can only say that for your generation, this method might have worked, but you long ago destroyed your own foundation and chose a wrong path."

"Do you think that if you demonstrate a way to escape this predicament first, they will follow you? If that were true, they wouldn't have exposed themselves."

"Everyone understands the logic; if everyone threw away their buttons, there would be no play to perform, and neither the audience nor the host could do anything to you."

"We are not killers; our purpose is not to kill, but to watch a good show. If you refuse to perform in this manner, we won't carry out a massacre, because that would be too boring."

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"But unfortunately, your companions around you are no longer owls pursuing ultimate darkness and chaos; they are just clawed killers you brainwashed with crude methods, no longer possessing your great beliefs that transcend personal interests."

"They won't throw away the buttons in their hands; they firmly believe those are weapons to threaten others not to press buttons."

"Even if I tell them the answer now, they won't be willing to do so."

The old man sighed and said, "It seems everything is beyond cure. I withdraw my choice; I choose... Batman."

As this word fell, countless spotlights focused on Batman again. The Joker leaned his body backward, opened his mouth wide, and displayed an expression of great surprise.

He quickly ran to the very front of the stage, then waved to the lighting technician to have all the spotlights aimed at him. He made faces at Batman frantically; when he found Batman ignored him, he rushed into the band, clumsily picked up a drum, carried it to the center of the stage, rolled up his sleeves, and started banging on it.

After all that fuss, he found Batman completely ignored him, just standing silently in place. The Joker slumped down in disappointment and said viciously, "I should have tied myself up there; that way, when I said I chose Batman, he would definitely be very surprised, maybe even smile a little."

At this moment, in the eyes of the standing Batman, time in the entire opera house began to freeze; whether on stage or off, everyone froze into a scene of a play, with everyone's expressions and movements clearly visible.

Falcone was whispering with Father Daniel; his face was crisscrossed with the furrows of years, but now the eyes beneath his brow ridge still held sharp, piercing gazes.

Batman saw madness there, just like the countless nights he stood by his son's bed, wanting to kill that monster; perhaps he had long been driven mad.

Alberto, sitting in the back row, was looking down in silence; he too was mad. On several such nights, facing his father's deep malice and hatred, he finally drove a knife into his own biological father's chest.

Father Daniel, who was conversing with the Godfather, was equally old, even older than Falcone. His white hair floated in the air under the stage lights, yet his eyes were full of kindness and peace.

But perhaps he too had long been mad; no normal person would believe a faith could save Cat Getan, yet he still served diligently as a priest here. He even became a good priest, but in Cat Getan, the better one is, the madder one becomes.

The same goes for Sheriff Gordon; perhaps he appears to be the most normal person in all of Cat Getan, but he is a police officer, a true police officer, a good officer with justice in his heart and firm in his beliefs. Such a person could appear anywhere in the world without seeming out of place, yet he alone must stay in Cat Getan, and is equally quite mad.

And the professor… he was insane.

The Joker… anyway, he was insane too.

Batman stood among this group of madmen, watching their frozen movements, watching them frozen on stage, then the stage began to rotate.

The stage spun faster and faster; through the shifting lights and shadows, it became a mad vortex, and Batman stood at its center, gradually being swallowed.

He felt he must be insane too.

He was certain he was indeed insane.

At the center of the spinning stage, Batman extended his palm; in his hand he held a crumpled slip of paper—the ticket he had received, and the clue he was about to read aloud.

But just then, when Batman opened it, he discovered the paper was blank, nothing written on it.