Chapter 450

Batman did not wait long; he turned to leave the monitoring room and stop the Joker's scheme, but just then, the monitoring room's door, which had been open, suddenly shut.

Like every door in the underground complex, the monitoring room's door was made entirely of metal and blast-proof; Batman threw several micro-bombs at it, but they left only charred marks—no significant damage.

Batman was certain the door's sudden closure was no accident, yet he saw no additional movement from the Joker on screen—meaning the door was not closed remotely by him; someone else had shut it.

Since the Joker on screen kept talking, Batman couldn't be sure whether footsteps had arrived during that time—if they had, it meant the Joker had an accomplice.

The Guard Is Here

Batman frowned in thought: earlier, when they'd been chased by agents through the manor, looping in circles, the Joker had likely remained seated in the monitoring room, observing them in real time—because the agents received timely intel, proving the Joker had been there during that period.

After the agents stopped chasing them, they devised a plan to search for an entrance on the first floor; then Batman began assembling a bomb from helicopter parts, while at the same time, the Joker approached Lex and Clark and kidnapped them both.

The timeline checked out—but there was a massive flaw: if the Joker had kidnapped Lex and Clark while Batman was building the bomb, when had he made the bomb?

Batman had clearly seen the earlier bomb—the one that made noise and drew out the residents—was not small; though simple in construction, it still required time to build, let alone the one strapped to the ceiling beam.

Both were clearly homemade bombs—no possibility of simply moving pre-made ones into place. Batman himself had spent time assembling the bomb that blew open the underground exit; he didn't believe the Joker could have built two bombs and subdued Lex and Clark within the same timeframe.

Even Lex alone would've been difficult—but Clark was no easy target. And if his guess was right, Lex hadn't stayed on the first floor either—so whether the Joker built the bombs first or captured them first, he'd have had to move between floors; accounting for travel time, it was impossible.

Did the Joker have an accomplice? Who could it be? Why help the Joker?

Before Batman could answer this question, he heard the Joker on screen say, holding the button:

"Before I begin, I must tell the audience member who's most eager to cheer me on: stay where you are, and be a good spectator."

"If you try to storm the stage and interrupt this great performance, the angry Joker will immediately press the button and give this show the most humorous and grand finale possible!"

Batman's finger paused on the door, then he turned back, fixing his gaze once more on the screen.

Because he saw: the kryptonite strapped to Clark's chest looked tightly bound, but since the crystal itself was irregularly shaped, and the rope merely looped around a few sharp edges, it was clear the imbalance in weight had already loosened the strands wrapped around two of those edges.

Clark's chest rose and fell rapidly—he was in excruciating pain, not only from the kryptonite on his chest, but also from the choice he'd made.

At that moment, the Joker's voice came from below, light and cheerful, as if reciting an opening poem.

"First, let me introduce to you—Clark Kent."

"As you can see, he is handsome, tall, and striking. I can also tell you he is deeply just and kind."

"When he heard of an explosion in the parlor, he traveled thousands of miles to rescue; when he learned a friend was in danger, he reached out his hand. He is also a first-year student at Metropolis University—with excellent grades and exemplary conduct, a bright future ahead…"

"Of course, we must also mention his family background: he comes from a small town in Kansas, where his family owns a farm, his parents love each other, and their life is happy…"

Praise poured endlessly from the Joker's mouth—he lauded Clark as flawless, endlessly emphasizing his excellence, kindness, and righteousness.

But then Batman noticed: a room on screen suddenly turned into a small, flashing blue square. As it flashed, a white line of letters appeared at its center: "Do Not Disturb."

He knew: someone inside had pressed the "Do Not Disturb" button—meaning they had voted for Clark Kent.

Batman wasn't surprised. The banquet had invited many—not only business magnates, but also entertainment figures. Not all were highly educated, and each had different inclinations; someone stepping forward wasn't unexpected.

Moreover, many didn't know Clark. Hearing the Joker praise him so extravagantly, they naturally felt rebellious—thinking this was the madman's scheme.

Soon, more and more blue squares lit up—until nearly every guest room's screen glowed blue. Batman saw many holding phones, shouting loudly, as if trying to make their voices pierce the walls and reach their neighbors.

From their lip movements, Batman could tell what they were saying.

"Fuck! You have to vote for him! Do you want to kill old Luthor's son? He won't let us live!"

"Where the hell is old Luthor? His son's been kidnapped, and he doesn't care?!"

"Who knows if this Clark is the madman's accomplice? And I don't believe anyone could be as perfect as he claims."

"I know young Luthor—he's a lonely, pitiful kid, still young, and might inherit the Luthor Corporation. We can't kill him…"

"We can't kill young Luthor—he's old Luthor's only son. If he inherits, he'll be far worse than his father. If he dies, old Luthor might find an even more dangerous heir—that'd be a nightmare!"

Soon, nearly every room glowed blue. That cold light fell on Batman's mask; the information from their words seeped into his mind, merging with the Joker's endless praise—like an entire world suddenly split cleanly in two.

One side: praise. The other: murder. Two utterly opposite emotions surrounded Batman.

It was a bizarre, absurd scene: every actor on this stage seemed to be performing their own play. The Joker raved about Clark, but the supporting cast ignored him entirely, stubbornly making their own choices.

Yet they were all deeply connected—each watching the others' reactions, then deciding what they believed was right.

Soon, Batman noticed many who had pressed the button first began to rage.

"I didn't want to press it—I was forced!"

"That madman said if we don't press it, he'll leak radiation and give us all cancer! You don't know how painful cancer is!"

"My father died of late-stage lung cancer. In his final days, he could only survive on painkillers—it was unbearable. I don't want to become him!"

"What did I do wrong? I just want to live. Why can't I press it?"

"He's just a college kid. So what if he got good grades? What future will he have? He might end up going home to farm. The world won't miss one more farmer."

"I own a company worth tens of millions. So many employees depend on me to feed them. I'm more important than him."

"Why is he tied up and I'm the one choosing? Because I'm the chosen one. It's his fault the Lord didn't pick him. The forsaken deserve to die!"

Batman stood there, watching their downturned mouths, raised eyes, and spittle flying as they shouted, their faces flushed as they desperately defended themselves, scratching their heads for plausible excuses.

In this moment, Batman felt something strange: they were so immersed, even in this situation, they used their clever minds to justify themselves.

They were so serious, so earnest, draping this absurd comedy in a veneer of reason.

They were actors, not spectators. Once dragged into the river of rules, they never thought of climbing out—instead, they fought to swim the fastest, hoping the one lagging behind would feed the crocodiles and buy their own safety.

Were these people victims? Perhaps, Batman thought.

As the screen filled with flashing blue squares, that cold light struck Batman's eyes, dripping down his lashes like melting ice from an eave in spring.

At that moment, he couldn't help wondering: why were they so serious?

Batman shook his head, dismissing those thoughts. This scene alone couldn't shake him—he was no longer the rookie Batman.

He pulled out equipment from his utility belt and began trying to pry open the door. Though the Joker threatened to press the button if he left, Batman couldn't just sit idle—doing nothing wasn't his style.

Soon, the Joker's actions on screen confirmed Batman's earlier suspicion: he had an accomplice. The Joker picked up another phone with his other hand, listened for a few "hmm"s, then raised his voice:

"It seems many have made their choices. They chose—Clark Kent!"

"You chose well! You're about to send a virtuous, brilliant man straight to a bomb—then watch it blow his head into bloody pulp!"

"I'll give you a chance to change your minds. Just press the other button—the result will change… Aren't you going to do it? Really not? … Oh, well."

"Wait!" The Joker suddenly spoke in a tone of confusion. He held the other phone to his ear, said "Hello?" a few times, then announced:

"Emergency communication! Emergency communication! We've received reliable, anonymous intel: Lionel Luthor is dead!"

"That is—the father of our friend here, Lex Luthor, the head of the Luthor Corporation—he's dead!"