Chapter 4778

Arkham Batman now confirmed Rorschach's brain wasn't great; they were here to play a game, not hold a meeting.

And even if they held a meeting, they'd long stopped discussing immigration issues—America's fifty states were unified under one rule, he was the sole master of this land, no two-party strife existed, all Americans regardless of race or skin color held only one identity: U. S. citizen. The immigration issue had long ceased to be a problem.

Arkham Batman truly didn't want to answer his question, but this madman was clearly relentless, trailing him constantly, leaving Arkham Batman no chance to attend to his own tasks—whether photographing Shiler or hunting clues, both required stealth. Carrying a political loudspeaker, even if he were Number Three, he'd still die at Shiler's hands.

After walking two steps outward, he stopped, turned, and stared at Rorschach: "You probably misunderstand my presidential status. I didn't come to power through party elections. The topics and tactics those two parties use to stir public discord mean nothing to me; they've never been part of my political views. I hope you can mature, grasp that humanity's basic survival rights outweigh everything, okay?"

Arkham Batman's words were already veiled. He'd sensed Rorschach's political leanings—anyone leading with immigration talk could be guessed. In the comics, Rorschach had read extremist conservative newspapers containing news of infamous white supremacist groups. Arkham Batman merely reminded him: here, any reason endangering human life is unacceptable, including racial discrimination.

But like many mentally unbalanced people, Rorschach's personality, while sounding steadfast, was actually obsessive. Once he fixed on something, it wouldn't change—whether pursuing his version of justice or other matters.

He'd deadlock with Doctor Manhattan over certain decisions, to the bitter end. If Doctor Manhattan were truly wrong, Rorschach would indeed resemble a steadfast justice-seeker, explaining why many like him. Yet he'd also obstinately cling to errors—like firmly believing the laughing murderer of pregnant women was a loyal, good soldier, even idolizing him. No matter who said he erred, Rorschach refused to accept it.

"I must remind you, President. This is vital—far more important than this game. An entire nation rests on your shoulders; you must answer to those who love this country..."

Arkham Batman had seen Rorschach was obsessive but politically unsophisticated, with strong biases. He truly didn't want to waste more time, so he said: "If you're not here to play the game, you can withdraw. But now I must complete my task—please stop hounding me."

This was Arkham Batman after becoming president—his temper had improved considerably. Though he'd subdued Congress hundreds of times, he still preferred civil debate over martial force. Yet his courtesy seemed to Rorschach like retreat from guilt.

"You're the president—if you spend time on such games, how will you care for your constituents? You must work to earn their trust, heed their views. Take immigration, for example..."

"Doctor Manhattan," Arkham Batman called directly, "if you brought him in just to target me, don't blame me later for showing no mercy."

Rorschach's voice vanished instantly—likely Doctor Manhattan had muted him. Arkham Batman's reflexes weren't for show; a sidestep put him out the side door. Night was dark and rainy, visibility poor—Rorschach wanted to chase but had nowhere to go.

Arkham Batman returned to the garden but didn't linger. Though immune to most environmental effects and unafraid of ground skills, he felt with so many in the castle, Shiler might already have entered.

He circled the garden to shake off Rorschach and approach the other side door. Before entering, he spotted Black Widow searching for clues. Arkham Batman didn't rush in; he stood by the window to observe. Suddenly, a black shadow appeared behind the right-side spiral staircase—likely from the rear door. That was Shiler.

Arkham Batman's heart leapt to his throat—Black Widow clearly hadn't noticed Shiler's arrival. She was still solving the puzzle to open the living room chest for clues. These castle puzzles shared a trait: massive computation, requiring Arkham Batman half a day, others full focus. Black Widow was thus; when Shiler neared her within fifty yards, she showed no reaction.

Arkham Batman drew a deep breath, intending to tap the window to warn Black Widow. Though it might draw attention to himself, he was confident he could escape.

Shiler drew closer. Black Widow seemed to sense something, but Shiler was now within thirty yards. A tense violin piece flared, finally snapping the calculation-obsessed Black Widow to alertness—she whipped around, seeing only a cold-glinting blade.

"Sshhk!"

"Ugh!"

Arkham Batman watched helplessly—the blade spanned at least fifteen yards, clearing four or five bodies, and slashed Natasha's back, blood gushing instantly.

Natasha's face paled, but as a top agent, she stifled a scream, merely grunting as her grappling hook shot out, launching her straight up to the chandelier, then swinging on it to shatter the nearest window glass with a crack, falling with shards into the outdoor mud.

Arkham Batman forgot Shiler, rushing to help Natasha up. After Shiler's strike, he seemed to gain a powerful buff—almost instantly, the tune echoed again in both their ears.

Arkham Batman suddenly turned, executing a "Cloak Dizziness"; Black Widow raised her hand for a "Widow's Bind." Both seemed control skills, but differed: Cloak Dizziness knocked back and dazed; Widow's Bind was a hard interrupt.

Shiler was first shoved back two steps, but his buff seemed immune or greatly reduced dizziness—he stiffened less than half a second. Yet Widow's Bind followed, stripping his buff, and both slipped from his sight.

"You okay?" Arkham Batman supported Black Widow as they crouched in a bush. Her face was extremely pale.

"Aren't you affected by rain?" Black Widow countered.

"I'm immune to most environmental effects and ground skills," Arkham Batman explained.

"I've lost about half my blood and still bleeding. I likely need a hemostatic item, or I'll bleed to death."

Arkham Batman frowned deeply. Bleeding effects and environmental impact? Then one stab could kill a man?

But he reconsidered—if one stab caused fatal bleeding, Shiler wouldn't have bothered chasing; no need for a buff to pursue after the first strike.

"Probably won't bleed to death," Arkham Batman guessed, "it'll stop after a while, or at least slow. I'll go find a medkit."

"No need," Black Widow shook her head, "you do your task—I can find my own."

"But you're impaired," Arkham Batman said, "if you meet him again, it's certain death."

"Shouldn't be," she replied, "with serial numbers, he should kill in order. He might spare me or trap me—then you can rescue me later."

Arkham Batman agreed: slashing needn't follow order, but killing should. So even if he found Black Widow again, he'd likely use skills or trap her, not kill her.

Weighing whether to fetch a medkit or wait to rescue Natasha, Arkham Batman decided quickly: "I'll take you to the wall. Use stealth there—he'll hardly spot you. If I find meds, I'll come rescue you."

Black Widow frowned slightly; Arkham Batman explained: "You didn't notice he can't see?"

"What?"

"He lacks vision, or perceives the world differently. Unless you're very near or let him focus, he only judges your approximate position. With stealth, he struggles to pinpoint you precisely."

Black Widow exhaled in relief: "Okay, if you meet him, bring me something. But I still prefer sealing him quickly."

Arkham Batman nodded, said nothing more, turned and left—his time was precious. He needed to find Spider-Man first, hand over the photos. This castle was huge, with towers; he didn't know how many circuits to climb. Scanning windows inside was unrealistic—only Spider-Man could see all windows from outside.

Arkham Batman waited a moment in the garden, then flashed into the rear door—but didn't go in, hiding instead by the door. Soon, he saw Shiler approaching from this direction.

Clearly tracking someone, but not Arkham Batman, since Shiler kept looking up—likely Spider-Man.

Arkham Batman raised his camera, but discovered it required use within 100 yards—a dangerous range; Shiler would surely notice him.

Yet Arkham Batman stayed calm, adjusted his breath, lifted the camera aiming at Shiler, waiting for him to enter the 100-yard radius. Click—the flash blazed.

After confirming Shiler's image was captured, Arkham Batman shut the door, blocking Shiler's sight, then turned and ran.

He wasn't sure the door could block Shiler's rear-targeting skill, but knew it could physically slow Shiler. Even if Shiler locked onto his back, opening the door would cost him two seconds—enough for Arkham Batman to escape.