Chapter 271

Selina picked up her bag and got out of the car, turned back to give Bruce a kissy face and said: "Thanks, baby, I had so much fun. I'm going back to pack my bags—see you tomorrow afternoon!"

Bruce turned sideways, extended one hand to open Selina's door. She understood his intent, walked back, leaned forward, and slipped into Bruce's arms, kissing his cheek.

Then she left quickly. Bruce touched the spot on his cheek where Selina had kissed him, sighed, and thought: I'm really losing my mind.

If someone had told him a year ago that he'd spend days driving along the East Coast just for leisure, he'd have found it worse than prison. Yet love is irrational—when Selina said she had fun, all his guilt over wasting time vanished.

Of course, since the vacation was over, he had to return to his normal life. Bruce slowly started the car and drove back to Wayne Manor. When night fully fell, he donned the Batsuit, climbed into the Batmobile, and left the manor to continue refining his Batcave.

The Batcave was mostly built by now, though some light equipment remained uninstalled. The Batmobile roared through Gotham's nighttime streets, but barely had he turned a corner when a blinding light flashed into his eyes. He squinted toward the intersection on his right—there stood a massive truck.

The blinding light came from the truck's high beams. Both headlights flickered once, and as the light vanished, Batman saw the terrifying grin on the driver's face.

Instinct screamed a warning. Batman slammed the accelerator—but it was too late. The massive truck barreled toward him. He slapped the button before him. In an instant, the seat ejected. He hit the ground, rolled twice, then stood up.

The heavy truck slammed into the Batmobile, flipping it entirely. When it crashed down, shards of windshield and roof panels sprayed outward. Then the truck's front exploded. Flames burst on the dark highway like a firework blooming in place.

"Welcome home, Batman! Hahahahahaha!!!"

A series of shrill laughs echoed from the darkness. Batman squinted—and saw the figure.

As if destined, they faced each other in Gotham's night. The man opposite, painted with clown makeup, held no weapon, looked frail.

Yet Batman's heartbeat quickened. Blood surged to his head. He didn't know if he was afraid—or excited.

"Did you enjoy your vacation, Batman?"

The Joker stared into Batman's eyes, smiling as if expecting affirmation. But soon his face twisted into sorrow. "I wasn't happy, Batman. Do you know what I've been through lately?!"

"I was dragged to a hospital by a mad psychiatrist! Subjected to his horrific dream experiments—thrown into deep subconscious space, forced to face a monstrous thing!!"

Suddenly, he stopped. Turned his head toward the truck's wreckage. Screamed. Pushed his fingers into his eye sockets, then dragged all four fingers down his eyelids, making a terrified expression: "Oh my God—what did I just see?!"

He rushed over, frantically rummaging through the debris. Then he found a piece of tire still unburnt. He clutched it. "My Tire Lady… she's dead, waaah… while you were gone, she was the only one who kept me company…"

Batman stood still, watching the Joker's performance. He said nothing, only pulled his mouth downward.

Gotham began to rain. Soon, it became a downpour. Lightning cracked across the sky. Rain pounded the wreckage in the road's center, spreading the stench of charred metal farther.

Then the Joker stood. He stood in the rain—no armor, no cape, no weapon—alone, like a thin, pale ghost.

The rain smudged his makeup, as if dissolving his entire skin. Yet he still wore that mad grin, speaking to Batman: "You think I'm a nuisance, don't you?"

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"Always popping up from everywhere, dumping trouble on you, forcing you to watch performances you don't like and can't understand, spouting mad nonsense you don't want to hear and can't comprehend…"

"But, Batman… I'll make you understand…"

His smile grew more deranged. In this terrifying expression and motion, the absurd comedy faded—leaving only tangible danger, pure madness.

He pulled a button from his pocket. "Have you ever made a life-altering decision? One that changes your path?"

"I just made one."

"I made a bet with someone, Batman…"

"I bet you wouldn't let me down. So now…"

The Joker stared through the curtain of rain directly into Batman's eyes. "The game begins."

He pressed the button. A deafening BOOM. Batman turned—saw a violent fireball erupt somewhere in the city.

The button hit the ground, splashing barely visible droplets. When the ripples settled, only the Joker's mad grin remained. Batman had vanished.

The next night, same icy rain, same piercing sirens. A giant Bat-Signal blazed over Gotham. Gordon held the phone: "Get the negotiators up there now!! What the hell is that lunatic doing?!"

He stood before his office window, staring at the nearby building's roof. Only one figure stood there—but ropes hung from the building's side, each tied to a person.

On TV, the Joker's face, even more horrifying in the rain, hugged the lens. "You know what? Yesterday, I asked every homeless person on Gotham's twelve main streets: Who do you hate most? Who do you think ruined your life?"

"Many complained—bosses fired them, landlords kicked them out, convenience stores and restaurants refused free food. Yes, yes, all kinds of things like that…"

"And I! Hero Jack! I wept for their suffering. So—hahahahahahaha!!" The Joker burst into wild laughter. "I brought their enemies here!"

He took a deep breath, hunched his shoulders, one hand on the lens, the other pointing to the roof's edge. "See?! Homeless ones! Your enemies are about to… die!"

"Hahahahahahaha!"

On camera, the Joker walked to the roof's edge, pulled out a knife, pressed it against a rope. The man tied to it wore a suit—clearly an executive.

He looked up at the Joker's mad grin and the knife aimed at his rope. He screamed in panic: "No!! Don't!! I'll fall—I'll die!!"

"Oh, hero… yes, I'm a hero. I give the condemned a chance to speak their last words. What do you have to say?"

"Please, let me go! Please, don't do this… don't do this to me—I don't want to die!!"

The executive begged endlessly. His mind shattered—he couldn't form a single coherent sentence.

The Joker found it boring. He swung the knife, cut the rope. The executive fell from over thirty stories, hit the ground, and became a puddle of meat.

Before police and negotiators could react, ropes and bodies rained down like heavy rain. On the ground, all they saw were the victims' final expressions of despair.

Soon after the Bat-Signal lit up, a second figure appeared on the roof—Batman.

As destiny demanded, a dark silhouette stood opposite the Joker.

No one knew what they said—but they grappled. The world filled with rain and thunder.

Their fight resembled a silent play—a clumsy, almost comical duel unfolded.

Finally, the Joker was knocked down, arms bound. But Batman's shoulder bore a gash—blood streamed down, washed by rain.

The Joker lay on the ground, still smiling. "Batman, you won. But do you think this is what everyone wanted to see?"

"Even if you're the hero of every remaining soul in Gotham, you're not the hero of the homeless. They almost saw their enemies fall from the skyscraper, smash into meat—get a fate worse than their own!"

"You'll never be a hero. Hahahahahaha. The innocent you save? They're the very people others dream of killing. Do you think they hate you? Hahahahahaha!!"

After the Joker was taken away, Batman walked alone through the streets, got in his car, started the engine, and drove into Gotham's endless dark rain.

He wasn't shaken by the mad words. He was simply exhausted.

He didn't head straight to Wayne Manor. He drove to the Batcave, treated his wound as usual—spray first, then bandages. When done, he disposed of his bloodstained clothes, changed into a fresh suit, then drove back to Wayne Manor.

Wayne Manor still glowed brightly. Alfred stood at the door to greet him. Seeing his pale face, Alfred said: "Young Master, you need something warm. How about hot chocolate?"

"Thank you, Alfred."

He didn't refuse. Walked to the sofa and sat. As Alfred brought the hot chocolate, he instinctively reached with his dominant hand—then winced as the wound pulled. He froze, switched hands to take the cup.

He knew Alfred noticed. Though the butler said nothing, he still escorted him upstairs to his bedroom as always.

A deep weariness surrounded him. He walked to the bathroom sink, looked in the mirror. His face was pale, expressionless. Yet somehow, that mad grin appeared in his mind, surfaced in his eyes, reflected in the glass—he seemed to see himself smiling.

He shook his head, crushed the chaotic thoughts, and stepped out of the bathroom.

His finger hovered over the bedside lamp switch. He hesitated—then didn't press it. Without turning off the light, he lay on the bed, and slowly fell asleep, exhausted.

Soft breathing echoed in the room. Night deepened. Rain grew heavier.

The entire house glowed with gentle light. Bed, walls, carpet—all reflected a thin halo. Darkness seemed to have nowhere to hide.

Then a lightning flash revealed—at the deepest corner beneath the bed—a crimson mouth slowly revealed a mad grin.

————EXTRA NOTES————

Due to my primary job, update times have changed. You can read them the next morning—no need to wait up.