Chapter 475: The Three of Us (Part 2)

Bruce, returned from the Metropolis, though lost in thought, had not forgotten what he had been investigating before coming to the Metropolis.

Since Bruce did not know when Constantine would leave Gotham, and he had no means to counter Constantine, he accelerated his investigation, determined to uncover Constantine's true nature while he remained in Gotham.

When Constantine had been followed by Batman previously, he had not realized the seriousness of the situation, so he never considered fleeing Gotham; by the time he decided to leave, the snowstorm had trapped him.

With transportation paralyzed, many entertainment spots in Gotham had shut down; with nothing better to do, Constantine began wandering the city.

Unlike ordinary people, the crime-ridden city, seen by all as dangerously corrupt, felt like home to Constantine—few in this city could match his level of degradation; the more rotten one becomes, the more invincible.

He had been kidnapped by gangsters, but within two days he was sleeping in the boss's bed; he had been extorted by street thugs, yet they found nothing on him but two half-dead toads.

He had been evicted by his landlord, slept on the streets, formed a band with homeless men, made a small profit, and been scammed by a brothel madam—only to turn around the next day and make her most famous courtesan fall madly in love with him, leading her to quit the trade.

Thus Constantine drifted through this city, similar yet different from his own style, his wild and unrestrained soul captivating Gotham itself.

This carefree, glamorous life lasted only until he wandered near Gotham Cathedral.

Due to his sensitivity to mystical phenomena, Constantine discovered the hidden wine pool beneath Gotham Cathedral; when he pried up the newly repaired floor tiles and saw the glowing green liquid, his eyes widened, gleaming with excitement.

Perhaps it was overconfidence from skill, or perhaps he knew demons would not let him die easily—Constantine gave not a thought to safety; he simply found an empty plastic water bottle nearby and filled it to the brim.

But he did not know that while Batman was investigating Constantine, he was also investigating the wine pool beneath the cathedral.

Previously, he had gathered ample information from books, needing only firsthand inspection; for days he had been circling the cathedral, only to stumble upon the furtive Constantine.

As Constantine stole the wine, Batman appeared at the perfect moment, attempting to stop him—but due to Batman's insufficient defenses against magic, Constantine simply teleported away.

Then the two resumed their cat-and-mouse chase across Gotham.

At first, Constantine held the advantage, for magic was truly convenient—whether blinking, teleporting, or creating clones, it was nearly invincible in pursuit.

But as time passed, Batman's formidable ability to learn and plan began to take effect; Constantine found himself facing one trap after another, as if every scenario had been anticipated by Batman, and escape grew increasingly difficult.

Since Constantine was too slippery to catch, Batman's patience wore thin, and his tactics grew increasingly aggressive; Constantine knew that if things continued, he would not escape—he decided to find a place to hide and lie low.

Most of Gotham's industries belonged to the Wayne family; Constantine knew this. But if he must find a place to hide, hospitals, universities, and prisons were the least likely to be searched.

The next day, bruised and swollen, Constantine arrived at Arkham Asylum; the receptionist was Brand. Constantine asked, puzzled: "Where's Schiller? Isn't he here?"

"His anxiety flared up—he's home resting," Brand replied, turning to his desk, picking up the medical records and payment slip, scribbling two entries, then tearing off the form and handing it to Constantine.

Constantine took it, scratched his head, reached into his pocket, felt the two coins, then said: "Uh… I don't have money…"

"No problem. He anticipated this." Brand pulled another document from the bookshelf and handed it to Constantine, who opened it and said: "An IOU? This is too…"

"He told me to tell you—'Sign it or don't.'"

"No sign, no room, right? Fine…" Constantine scanned the contract filled with economic clauses, picked up the pen, and signed.

Brand didn't look up, dialed the nurse, pointed at Constantine, and said: "Room 13 on the fourth floor. Add another bed."

"Um, Dr. Brand, patient 13 is violent—you forgot? That's Dr. Hugo…"

Brand looked up, irritated: "What do you expect? The heads of the Twelve Families are crammed four to a room. When's he going to stop hogging a private one?"

"If he refuses, transfer him to Central Hospital—there's plenty of space in the morgue."

With that, Brand turned and left. The nurse shook her head, sighed, and said to Constantine: "Follow me."

On the way upstairs, Constantine chatted with the nurse; when not in crisis, he was quite sociable—more accurately, skilled at socializing with attractive people of any gender.

At the fourth floor, the nurse stopped at the stairwell, looked at Constantine, and said: "Sir, I don't know who you are, but I must warn you—your roommate is unstable."

"Oh? What's wrong with him?"

"He used to be our chief physician, but for some reason, he went mad. At first, he was extremely violent—several Ma Lei orderlies were injured. Lately, he's calmed down, but he may still attack. Be careful."

"A doctor? How did he drive himself mad?"

"Who knows?" The nurse resumed walking, saying: "I think you shouldn't care. Gotham has someone going mad every day—it doesn't need a reason."

At the door to the room, the nurse pushed it open; a figure crouched in the corner. The nurse frowned, turned, and said: "Mr. Constantine, wait here a moment—I need to call an orderly. Why did he tear off his restraint gown again?"

The nurse left. Constantine walked over, glanced at the man—he was not young, bald, wore glasses, his jaw trembled constantly, muttering under his breath.

Constantine leaned closer, heard words like "dream," "monster." Just as he shook his head, ready to walk away from the ramblings, he suddenly caught a familiar syllable.

Constantine leaned in again, listened longer—he confirmed the syllable was "Schiller."

Constantine glanced around; just as he opened his mouth to ask, the nurse returned with an orderly. They pinned Hugo to the bed and restrained him. Constantine coughed lightly, sat back on his bed as if nothing had happened.

A while later, an older nurse wheeled a cart to the door, approached Hugo's bedside with a tray, and gave him an injection. Seeing the nurse with the needle coming toward him, Constantine shrank back: "I don't need an injection, do I?"

The nurse sized him up and said: "No, you don't."

She took a slip from her belt, glanced at it, then said: "Dr. Brand told me—morphine or cocaine?"

Constantine's eyes widened, but seeing the nurse's calm expression, to avoid looking inexperienced, he coughed again and said coolly: "Morphine."

The medicine arrived quickly. Constantine pretended to be asleep. After the nurse left, he opened one eye, confirmed the room was empty, then crept to Hugo's bedside.

Hugo, sedated, was asleep. Constantine watched him for a long time; seeing no reaction, he gave up.

At night, the room was silent; both men seemed deeply asleep. But after a while, Hugo stirred.

His jaw trembled, his body shook, he struggled on the bed—then suddenly stilled. Slowly, he pulled one hand free from the torn restraints, sat upright, then freed the other.

He stepped off the bed, glanced at Constantine, still asleep—his face no longer showed fear or panic, but calm, even gloomy.

He moved silently to the door, opened it with extreme care, making no sound. Yet the moment he left, Constantine's eyes snapped open.

Constantine let out a soft "tch." "Only acted for ten minutes? You think I'm asleep? Youth."

He rose swiftly, showing no signs of drowsiness from the drugs, slipped out the door noiselessly, followed Hugo—and found him entering a room on the seventh floor.

The door to the seventh-floor room resembled a high-security base gate—metal frame and panel, clearly meant to contain dangerous individuals. Yet Hugo somehow opened it. After he entered, Constantine pressed himself against the door.

He heard nothing from inside, so he snapped his fingers; a faint wisp of a spirit slipped through the crack. Now he could both hear and see.

Inside were two men: one was the bald Hugo; the other, thinner, weaker, wearing glasses, pale-faced, looking like a scholar.

"If you're going to keep babbling about your unrealistic dreams, our collaboration ends here, Hugo."

"Jonathan, I repeat—it's not a delusion. I saw it with my own eyes! If we don't find a way to stop him, even if we escape, we'll just be locked up again."

"Fear has already defeated you!" the scholar, Jonathan, raised his voice, sneering: "I can make people see illusions and fear them too."

"I had already developed that weapon… who knew…" Jonathan's voice turned bitter. "A mysterious thief stole my work and locked me in here!"

"Last time you said you were locked up a year ago. Do you know Gotham has a new superhero now? Batman?"

Jonathan snorted. "Of course I know. It was Batman who put me here. Back then he was just a kid—got lucky."

"Looks like we both have enemies in Gotham," Hugo's voice grew lower, tinged with madness. "To escape, we need to cause chaos."

Hugo dragged out the word, then turned to the window. The lights of downtown Gotham blazed in the distance. He said:

"City of sin? Perfect."

"Shatter the glass, burn the cash, make ordinary fools get shot, make the so-called heroes scream—that's what we must do—"

"It's time to make some noise."