Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics

Gotham's night is forever steeped in tar-like darkness. The lead-gray clouds oppressively climb the towering black buildings, and the lights of drones wandering between the buildings flicker like the ECG of a dying patient.

Neon signs, flashing red and blue in the curtain of rain, spasm like blood vessels creeping along the exterior walls of buildings, illuminating the Joker's spray-painted visage split open with laughter, blending seamlessly with the fleeting headlights at the street corner.

In the night torn apart by shrill police sirens, screens on building façades light up from the Lower city area all the way to the Upper city area.

All screens display the same face—a face gruesomely disfigured by chemicals, so terrifying that one glance sends one's heart racing.

The ghastly figure lets out a wild cackle into the camera, as if telling all of Gotham that the City of Darkness's long-lost nightmare has returned.

"Good evening, Gotham. Your old friend has appeared again, and I wish to share some good news with you—remember that delightful Death Game?"

"That was a quite creative idea," the person in the screen says, pointing to his head, "and I, the Joker, have decided to help our genius artist realize his mad vision—tonight!"

"Cheer, for tonight the walls will fall; Applaud, for tonight the flames will rise; Howl, for tonight the dam breaks; Weep, for tonight—I will give everyone true freedom!"

The Joker's piercing laughter echoes in every corner of the city. Countless lights just lit are snuffed out, yet more anxious lights flare up. Among them, the biggest and brightest, like the moon, is the Bat Light ignited in the Lower city area.

Batman arrives as expected. But what he meets is not James Gordon, but a red-haired little girl. Fiona struggles to adjust the angle of the Bat Light, oblivious to the shadow creeping up behind her.

Not until Batman coughs softly does Fiona turn around. Clearly startled, she regains her composure, leaning against the Bat Light and clasps her hands behind her back, saying:

"Good evening, Batman. I didn't expect you to actually come."

"How do you know I'm not dead?"

"James told me. He said if blowing up your house could kill you, Batman you'd have died long ago. Then he gave me this big bulb to try and see if I could call you here."

"Does he have something for me?"

"It's me who has something for you," Fiona says. "Did you see the Joker's speech just now?"

Batman doesn't answer, and Fiona continued, "He has kidnapped those rich people. He said he will make them pay. Do you think he can do it?"

"You shouldn't believe a word that madman says," Batman replies.

"If he really can do it, will you stop him?" Fiona stares intently into Batman's eyes, her gaze so intense it feels like it's scorching his eyeballs.

"I will stop the Joker's plans," Batman says. "You need not worry about that."

"Why would you do that?" Fiona's questioning tone catches Batman off-guard.

"What?" he asks.

"If the Joker can make those rich people pay for their evil deeds, why would you stop him? Just because he has offended you?"

Fiona takes another step forward and says, "You would say if people are guilty, they should be judged by the law. But the law has never judged these people. So if someone else can make them pay their dues instead of the law, and you stop that person, are you really upholding justice?"

"Violence is not the way to solve problems."

"Then why do you show up?"

Fiona doesn't care about Batman's silence. She still looks him in the eyes and says, "We've waited too long for this day. If you're not going to stand with us, then pretend you're already dead. I'm saying this because you did protect some of us in the past."

"Batman, being falsely accused is unpleasant. But one day, if the crime that brings you to judgment is not unfounded, but something you really did let everyone down with, how will you face yourself when you stand in court?"

Fiona steps back and says, "It doesn't matter who blew up Wayne Manor, they gave you a chance to save yourself. If you can still hear my advice, then pretend you died in that explosion, and do not appear until dawn."

After saying that, Fiona gives him one last look and turns to walk toward another door in the room.

Batman finally comes to his senses. From Fiona's words, he realizes—Shiller didn't just impulsively decide to blow up Wayne Manor. Despite everything, this doctor still gave him an opportunity to escape.

Bruce Wayne is dead. Batman vanishes, and nobody finds it strange. He has every reason not to show himself, not to face anything tonight, just to find a warm nest to hide in and quietly wait for dawn.

Should he do this? Batman asked himself. Should he let the Joker act as the Executioner, sending those who the law cannot judge to Hell, hoping that all problems would resolve themselves?

As this question emerged in Batman's mind, the sound from the communicator was ghostly, causing Batman's heart to also skip a beat.

"Where are you, Batman? Did you see Joker's speech?" the anxious voice of the Pale Knight came from the other end, "The monitors should be able to track where Joker is taking those people, right? We need to hurry to rescue them!"

Listening to the eerie silence on the other end of the phone, the Pale Knight paused in changing out of his patient gown. He slowly stood up straight and said into the phone: "Batman, what are you thinking? Why haven't you sprung into action?"

"Give me a reason to do so," Batman said.

"What?"

"They treat crime as an investment," Batman's voice grew deeper, sounding as if it had sunk thousands of meters to the ocean floor, "Investments always come with risks, don't they?"

The hand of the Pale Knight holding the phone started turning white; he roared into the phone, "What are you thinking, Batman?! Haven't you realized your mistake yet?"

"Yes, I was wrong," Batman finally said. His heart finally calmed down as well, "What truly terrifies them is not when people wield the weapon of law, but when people put down the law and pick up weapons."

"It's not your mistake, it's our mistake," the Pale Knight said quickly, "Our mistake before was hoping that improving social welfare would save Gotham. And now your mistake is hoping that killing all the wealthy could save Gotham. Can you be sane for once!"

The Pale Knight's words were like a bucket of ice water poured over Batman's head. He heard the Pale Knight continue,

"Joker is misleading us down another wrong path. That is making us think we can solve all problems with a night of killing. But in reality, that's just fucking impossible!"

"Use your brilliantly talented brain and think about it. What's the likelihood that we can take over all the leaderless industries in one night, ensure nothing gets stolen, and then use them without harming ordinary people?"

Batman suddenly woke up. According to his investigations, besides the Elite, Gotham also had a hidden Order Sect.

Now, killing all the wealthy would only trigger economic chaos which wouldn't improve the lives of ordinary people but would allow the Order Sect to gorge themselves and get fat.

He just knew Joker wasn't that kind-hearted!

Batman struggled to suppress the negative emotions in his heart. Lately, he's had to do this too many times, reducing its effectiveness. But after some time, he managed to do so.

Batman, briefly regaining his composure, took a deep breath and said, "Wayne Manor was blown up, affecting my Batcave a bit. Recently, I've been active in the labs at the Wayne Building."

"I'm coming right now," declared the Pale Knight as he put on his coat, "The lesson I learned from last time is to never expect to solve problems in one night. No single night does the job!"

The city neon melted into sugary stains in the curtain of rain, flowing with the rainwater onto the road, crushed by speeding tires, and splashing out brilliant rainbow lights.

The metal framework of the Gotham Bridge reflected several distorted afterimages.

The police frequency burst through the car radio: "All units, be alert, the target vehicle is breaking through the third blockade—"

The Challenger's engine suddenly burst out with a soft blue flame, the exhaust spewing rain mist mixed with the smell of gasoline. Tires on the slippery road carved meters-long black scars, and the sparks from drifting around corners ignited the materials of an advertising billboard halfway through installation, sending flames soaring on the road.

The windshield wiper on the police car moved insanely in the highest setting, but the windshield was still covered with a bloody halo—behind, an oil tanker hit by stray bullets exploded, mushroom cloud billowing, and the rearview mirror reflected the sky filled with burning US dollars.

The figure in the driver's seat slammed on the brake. In the rearview mirror, two police cars hastily turned their steering wheels. The moment the roadblock was hit and sent flying, the Challenger's chassis scraped against the bridge surface, shooting out a string of red sparks.

The Pale Knight had just turned into this road when two police cars, out of control from sudden braking, spun toward him. Then, the huge body of the Challenger scooted past, knocking out one of his side mirrors.

With a bang, half of the Pale Knight's body slammed onto the steering wheel, his ribs painfully almost numb.

Bruce leaned out and blew a sharp whistle. The Pale Knight clenched his teeth hard. Just as he reached to press the accelerator, the bloody smell floating in the night air forcefully restrained his movement. He pushed open the car door to look back.

Both police officers in the car were knocked unconscious due to the severe impact, one of them with a bleeding head. The Pale Knight quickly got out of the car, pulled open the door, and dragged out the officer.

The impact was not severe; the man was still conscious. The Pale Knight hurriedly called an ambulance. But the oil tanker explosion that had just occurred on Gotham Bridge and the undestroyed US dollars scattered all over caused an unprecedented traffic jam. There was no way an ambulance could get through.

The gaunt fingers touched the gun at the back waist. The Pale Knight took a deep breath to restrain his fury. He suddenly turned his head, just in time to see Bruce's smiling face reflected in the rearview mirror.

Several police cars from behind came driving up. The Pale Knight handed the injured officer to his colleague and got back into his car.

Accelerating with one press of the pedal, the two vehicles, one after the another, added two bright meteor trails amidst the steel rain.