Chapter 257: I, the Joker (Part 1)

Golden liquor poured into the glass, white foam rising at the rim; under the light, the whiskey gleamed like gold encased in ice.

Schiller turned the vinyl record, then flipped the switch; a low, bluesy tune emerged. Jack propped his elbows on the table, drunk, and said: "So I hate bars, especially the Golden Cup Bar—its bartenders only play jazz, those ancient, awful songs…"

"Are you sure you like the blues because it's called 'Blues,' and it sounds a bit like 'Bruce'?"

"Don't bring him up…" Jack set his glass down. Schiller sat back across from him. Jack pressed two fingers beneath his eye sockets, voice hoarse: "The tires from Wayne Factory are all junk. This week, I've spent nearly sixty bucks just fixing them…"

They refuse to adapt to the terrain. Gotham's roads are this crappy, yet they still produce flimsy, useless lightweight tires. Bruce is an idiot. A colossal idiot…

Jack tilted his head, digging his fingers into his messy hair. He faced the dilemma every dyer faces: green dye still clung to his strands, but new growth was black. He couldn't cut off all the green, nor re-dye the roots green—so he looked worn-out and absurd.

He was clearly dissatisfied with his hair's state, but had no other option, so he yanked at it fiercely.

Jack downed another sip. Schiller slid his chair forward, picked up the bottle, and poured himself a drink.

Jack raised his glass, clinked it against Schiller's, and muttered morosely: "The whole world's been unbearably dull lately. What's the Bat up to? Oh—he's off flying off with his sweetheart!"

He dropped his head sharply, green hair obscuring his sunken eyes. Jack's lips twisted downward—anyone could tell he was mimicking Batman.

"Oh! My dear lady! I've brought you the world's most beautiful gem! Do you love me? Yes! I love you! Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah…" He puckered his lips to mimic kissing, but clearly had never kissed anyone—his attempt was clumsy.

Suddenly, he slammed his glass onto the table, jerked his head up, flinging his hair back to expose his forehead and eyes, and shrieked: "What does he want? Does he still plan to marry her?? Even have a child?? He's insane!!"

Then he froze, staring blankly as he turned his head back, took a sip, and said sadly: "But he won't even invite me to the wedding…"

"How can he not understand? I love him more than anyone else on this earth—and ask for nothing in return. I only want him to smile."

"Perhaps he understands."

"Then why won't he smile?"

"If he smiles, would you still exist?"

Jack lowered his head, then lifted his eyes to Schiller. His gaze held hope and excitement. "You mean—he's not smiling so I won't disappear? He loves me too, right?"

He began trembling violently. Golden liquor in his glass foamed more fiercely. A sharp, shrill chuckle erupted from his chest—like metal scraping glass.

"I always said you two are alike. But if he truly became you, would you be happy?"

"Him become me? No. No, never. That would make the world the most boring place imaginable—more boring than a Batman who never smiles. God! I can't imagine it! It's disgusting!" Jack clutched his throat and gagged.

"A Batman grinning like this? Oh God, what kind of monster is that? If that ever happens, shoot me. Please, Professor!"

Jack's arm shook uncontrollably. He pointed a trembling finger at the bottle beside him. Schiller poured him more. Jack downed it in one gulp—as if drowning in alcohol to escape something terrible.

He pulled his lips sharply downward, let his eyes droop, and formed a sobbing expression.

"If Batman laughs louder than I do…"

Slowly, he lifted his lips. His expression shifted from Batman's usual cold solemnity to wild, mocking glee. His mouth curved wider, stretched wider, until it revealed his signature mad grin. "Like this…"

"Then I'll kill him! Kill them all! Let the world burn! Bastards—all of you die!" Jack tore at the hem of his shirt like ripping paper. He grew agitated, trembling uncontrollably in his seat.

Suddenly, his body stiffened like a startled owl. He kept that pose, neck strained, staring blankly at the door: "You're here? Do you really think such a day will come? Waaah… I'm scared…"

At the door stood another Joker. Tall, handsome, his face smeared with chaotic paint. His beautiful blue eyes fixed on Jack. "No. You don't need to fear. You know this best…"

"Every night, you park your car, walk home to your place full of bars. Every day you grip the bars and scream: 'Let me out, Batman!'"

"You know where that is. It's Batman's mind. You were born from there."

"He locked you inside his skull, refused to unlock the prison door. So you said: let's try another way. Let's find another way to make him open it…"

"So you came here. You're trying to slip the key in from the outside."

"But you failed. But that was just the first attempt. There will be more chances. If you don't want to be locked away forever, keep trying."

"How do you know?" Jack asked the other Joker.

"How do I know? Of course I know…"

As he spoke, Jack's mouth opened wide in shock. He trembled in fear. The other Joker stepped closer. The light cast his shadow over Jack, who curled into himself.

He looked up, tear-filled eyes seeing Bruce Wayne painted as a Joker, grinning at him.

Jack thrust out his arms wildly, flailing as if trying to shatter the terrifying figure.

A gunshot rang out. The Joker-Bruce collapsed. Jack froze. Behind the fallen Joker-Bruce stood another Joker, gun raised, smoke curling from the barrel.

"He's lying to you, Jack. He's making up stories. Can't you see?"

Jack stared dazedly at the fallen Joker-Bruce. "If he lied to me… then what's the truth?"

He spoke, hollow with despair: "If I didn't escape from Batman's prison… then where did I come from?"

"Perhaps you came from someone more like you…"

The man lowered his gun. Jack looked at him. Another Joker. But this one wore a long black coat and held an umbrella.

"Who are you?" Jack asked.

"I am you, Jack. Haven't you seen me before? Or…"

"…aren't you facing me right now?"

Jack turned stiffly. He let out a piercing scream, then hurled his glass away.

"Don't come near! Don't you dare! You monster! I hate you! Get away!!"

"Don't do this, Jack…"

The voice was low, gentle, trying to soothe him. "Don't you remember? You lived there a long time. It was a vast, beautiful house—with over three hundred floors…"

"The center held a magnificent spiral staircase. You lived on the 190th floor. Your room had a soft double bed, covered in emerald-green bedding, with your favorite Batman pillow on it…"

Jack seemed entranced by the description. He followed the figure toward the door. The bulb above lit up, then brightened, glowing points swirling into a grand chandelier.

Jack stepped out. The blinding light stung his eyes. He found himself in a dazzling corridor. The floor and walls were black—but not static. The black flowed, threaded with golden lines like light.

Beyond the corridor lay a deep well, surrounded by a spiral staircase.

The well had no bottom. Peering over the railing, only a faint golden glow shimmered from below. Along the rim, spiral stairs descended endlessly, each level opening into another corridor.

Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the silent staircase, jarringly loud.

They walked long, then entered a corridor. Only one room stood at its end. They opened the door. A man with gray eyes sat amid piles of documents. Seeing them, he said: "It's you… bringing a guest? Need the elevator? Fine. 190th floor. Go."

No sooner had he spoken than the floor vanished beneath them. Their consciousness plummeted. When they hit the ground, Jack looked around. This place wasn't grand or mysterious like the corridor. It resembled a regular hotel floor: deep red carpet, low ceiling, damp air.

They twisted through corridors until they reached the door with the smiling face. The gray-eyed Joker watched Jack, his calm, gentle gaze mesmerizing.

"See? Isn't this wonderful? Open the door. Let's go home…"

Jack raised his arm mechanically—then froze. A cruel smile spread across his face.

"Thud-thud-thud." From the corridor's end came footsteps. The other Joker turned. There, at the far end, the blue-eyed Joker-Bruce reappeared.

The gray-eyed Joker shuddered. He faced the blue-eyed Joker down the corridor. "Bruce. Go back. This isn't your place!"

The Immortal Wood of Marvels

"You're manipulating him, Professor. You want to lure him in. I won't allow it…"

"What right do you have to say that, Bruce? You want to erase every criminal in this world—including this poor Joker. All he wants is for you to smile. He's done nothing wrong. Yet you want to cruelly kill him…"

Two swift hisses, then a bang. Jack crouched in the corner, watching the gray-eyed Joker open his umbrella, blocking two batarangs.

The entire space began collapsing. Golden shards turned into a rain of light, falling to the ground. Dark alley bricks flew upward, rearranging into another scene.

Jack saw puddles on the ground like mercury mirrors—reminding him of fallen leaves left behind last autumn.

The blue-eyed Joker roared, transforming into a swirling black mist, claws outstretched, monstrous. The gray-eyed Joker became a gray mist.

The two mists tore at each other, biting, silent roars echoing as they writhed and battled above hell's abyss. Jack stood below, gazing up. He began laughing soundlessly—until cold rain soaked him to the bone.

"Oh, damn it!" Jack leapt from his chair, slapping spilled liquor off his pants. "I've been driving too long. My arm's killing me."

"Don't worry. Grab a glass from the cabinet. I'll pour you another."

Schiller picked up the bottle. As Jack turned, Schiller's gray eyes, under the light, reflected the golden glow of the liquor.