Chapter 823: Batman Deep Behind Enemy Lines (Part 2)

The difficulty for ordinary people in Gotham to impersonate crime bosses lies in their inability to acquire good cars, tailored suits, and bodyguards—if they had the means to get these things, they would already be crime bosses themselves.

But Bruce was different; he was a wealthy man with a disturbed mind, determined to adopt a profession outside his own class, making what ordinary people could never do seem effortless to him.

Yes, Bruce's plan was to first observe the behavior and appearance of crime bosses, then disguise himself as one and infiltrate their ranks.

He developed this idea because, during those many days in the slums, he realized Gotham's criminal underworld was far too vast, with countless petty and major bosses—ordinary people simply couldn't memorize so many faces.

And because criminal leadership changed rapidly: today you ruled three blocks, tomorrow you were dead, and even the boss next door might not know yet—how could nightclub or mansion guards possibly keep up?

He originally needed to observe because he assumed members of different tiers might differ greatly in appearance, so he needed to meticulously note every distinction to help him identify people later.

But now, due to the fanatical obsession of crime bosses with the Godfather, their appearances had become virtually identical: all wore black suits and leather shoes; members of the Twelve Families added a red poppy—so if you dressed this way, couldn't you speak to anyone at any level?

"A plan is slowly forming in my mind, but I know completing this grand deception requires many factors—and there is one place where I can perfectly execute it; to do so, I must find a person…"

Another page of the calendar was torn off; less than a day remained until the assignment deadline, yet at this moment, Bruce's thoughts flowed freely, and among the words he sketched appeared a familiar name—"James Gordon."

"James has always been my reliable ally, and this time, I hope he will cooperate with my plan…"

"Even now, I remember the look of shock on his face when I approached him and told him to arrest me—but I understood him; he must have thought I'd lost my mind again, yet this was the most crucial part of my plan…"

Beyond Bruce's smile, his opposite side showed Gordon's stunned expression—he widened his eyes and said: "What? You want me to arrest you??? You…"

"Wait, Bruce, let's talk this through…" Gordon stepped forward and placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I know you've been through a terrible shock, but things need to be handled gradually—you're still young, don't go down the wrong path…"

"No, James, listen to me," Bruce said calmly, looking directly at Gordon. "If I'm arrested, will I be sent to prison?"

Gordon's movement froze. He said: "Whether you will or not… well, you won't be sent to prison—you're a mental patient with a psychiatric evaluation from a hospital, so you'll be confined to a psychiatric facility."

"Then what's Gotham's most famous psychiatric hospital?" Bruce asked.

"Of course, Arkham Asylum… wait, you want to go to Arkham? Why? There are no fellow patients there for you—only a bunch of crime bosses who refuse to be discharged…"

"I'm going there to find those crime bosses."

In the end, Gordon still helped him. Bruce, as planned, was tried under a false identity and committed to Arkham Asylum.

Standing again in the hospital corridor, Bruce's mindset was entirely different. The last time he'd been here as an intern, he'd watched helplessly as Schiller turned what had once been a relatively normal psychiatric hospital into a gathering hall for crime bosses.

He'd interacted with those crime bosses back then too, but he'd stubbornly believed there was nothing worth seeing in them—he spoke to them only to feign cooperation.

Now, standing before Arkham Asylum, he wore a suit, tie, and polished leather shoes.

He stepped out of the car, stomped his feet, adjusted his tie, walked briskly inside, entered the room, lit a cigar, sat down, and exhaled smoke—before he even spoke, another crime boss in identical attire approached and said: "That's some fine stuff, buddy. Where'd you get it? Not from the shipment before December, right?"

Bruce lightly rubbed the side of his cigar. "Not smuggled. Just paid a little extra."

Someone beside him raised an eyebrow and sat down next to Bruce. Bruce wore a mask, but the still-healing scars on his neck revealed he'd suffered severe burns.

"I'm Harrison. My territory is the Fisherman's Port in the East District. Where are you from? And why are you here?"

"You can call me Matchstick Ma Long. My territory is near Wayne Tower—though I also have ties to the South District. I'm not here to find anyone—I'm here to make a deal…"

Every word Bruce spoke was true, so his demeanor and tone left no flaw. Harrison narrowed his eyes. "Near Wayne Tower…"

Bruce said nothing further, leaving Harrison ample room to imagine. Harrison could never imagine this man was Wayne—but according to what he knew, the territory near Wayne Tower was directly controlled by the Twelve Families.

Harrison thought: this man's statement clearly indicated his identity, yet also conveyed his attitude—you only need to know I'm one of the Twelve Families; you don't need to know which one.

Given this attitude, the business he wanted to discuss must be unusual. Harrison filled in all the gaps himself, then looked at Bruce and said: "You know the rules here—this is lawless ground. Whether a deal goes through depends entirely on sincerity. How much sincerity are you willing to show?"

"I thought," Bruce replied without flinching, "that in any place in the world, business always begins with discussing returns."

Harrison rubbed his fingers. He realized he was dealing with a tough opponent—no wonder, he was one of the Twelve Families. He smiled and softened his tone. "True. But conditions here are special. You can think of it this way: if you've entered this hospital, you've gained an equal chance to speak with anyone."

"Before, you might not have had the right to meet certain people, and they might not have had the right to meet you—we all had to follow rules, no arbitrary actions. But in this hospital, we all have only one identity: patient."

"If this is your first time here, let me remind you: remember this—we are only patients. If you still think of yourself as a crime boss, something terrible might happen. There's a doctor here who rarely appears, but you'd better not provoke him. If you fire a gun here and blow a hole in the wall, you'll be in deep trouble."

"I've been here before," Bruce said directly. "Back then, that professor was still working here. I made some like-minded friends here—friends who greatly benefited my career. So this time, I'm looking for even more trustworthy partners…"

Hearing this, Harrison changed his tone. "So you've been here since early on? Then there's nothing more to say. Whatever business you want to discuss, go ahead."

"But that was long ago. I don't know if things have changed here. If you're willing to give me some guidance, perhaps I could get a copy of that professor's diagnosis?"

Harrison's eyes lit up instantly. He placed both hands on the table. "Everyone knows Gotham has two unique places: Arkham Asylum and Gotham University."

"In both places, no matter who enters, they have only one identity: if you're in Arkham Asylum, you're a patient; if you're in Gotham University, you're a student."

"Precisely because of this, we have equal opportunities to communicate. Many choose to admit themselves—or send their children to school—so they can discuss business that's too sensitive for ordinary venues."

Hearing this, Bruce paused. Arkham Asylum and Gotham University had become Gotham's two most unusual places—and both shared one common trait: they had both been shaped by Schiller.

"Thinking of this, I felt confused: is this a coincidence? Or had someone long ago recognized the flaws in these rules, deliberately broken conventions, created platforms, and strengthened communication to ease the problems caused by rigid systems?"

"What confuses me is that the professor who influenced these two places doesn't seem at all like someone trying to save Gotham."

"But I don't believe it's coincidence. If I remember correctly, the Godfather created the crime rules and demanded everyone obey them—yet this hospital breaks those rules. So why hasn't the Godfather objected?"

Bruce put down his pen, paused, then wrote:

"Or is it true, as he claimed, that the crime rules were the only solution he could find in that era—and now, everyone realizes this system can no longer sustain itself?"

"Perhaps Arkham Asylum and Gotham University are the first steps the Godfather took to loosen the chains—but why, after three years, has Gotham remained unchanged, and why hasn't this kind of platform expanded further?"

"What are the Godfather and the professor waiting for?"

As he finished writing this line, Bruce's pen suddenly halted. A thought entered his mind—absurd, yet he let the ink blur on the page, carrying a trace of disbelief.

"... re they waiting for me?"

"Since then, have they been waiting for someone who awakens from the rules, recognizes their flaws, has the courage to overthrow them, and the wisdom to build new ones?"