The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman.

Chapter 3892 The Nameless Bat (62)

Chapter 3892 The Nameless Bat (Sixty-two)

When Hugo entered the activity room, everyone could see the oppressive atmosphere surrounding him. The Riddler screamed first, Two-Face snorted, and the Joker raised an eyelid and slammed a deck of cards onto the table.

“I guess our bald man didn’t bring any good news.” The Joker leaned back, crossed his arms, and said, “How long has Batman been gone? About two months, I guess? I’m starting to think he’s abandoned us.”

“Good news, he hasn’t abandoned you,” Hugo said, stepping forward.

"What's the bad news?" Mudface asked, taking advantage of the fact that no one was looking, as he secretly ate a card.

"The bad news is that he's very unhappy with your performance. He sent some damn agent to point a gun at my head and told me to make sure you guys do something worthwhile."

"Are you still half asleep?" the clown asked, looking at him. "Did your hypnosis experiment fail again? Did you hypnotize yourself?"

The Joker now looks completely different from when he was causing trouble. He's not as excited and crazy as before; instead, he seems listless, and his speech is very coherent. He doesn't utter a single word of laughter. If it weren't for his unique appearance, he would be impossible to spot in a crowd.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Hugo said, as if he didn’t know how to begin. “Batman was busy for two or three months, so when he found out we were all holed up in the asylum playing cards, he was very unhappy and had to find us some work to do.”

“You’re really crazy,” Two-Face commented. “Isn’t playing cards in an asylum what Batman would want to see?”

“That was true before, but there might have been some minor changes recently.” Hugo pulled up a chair and sat down, saying, “Batman is probably really overwhelmed with work, which has led to a lot of resentment. If we don’t appease him now, he really might cut the funding for the mental hospital. The activity building might be sold off and turned into a department store.”

“Oh, God,” Killer Croc slammed his fist on the table and said, “No way, he can’t do this to us. We’re supervillains!”

"But they're Gotham residents, and mentally ill at that. This is the only place willing to take us in without paying rent. If the mental hospital closes down, are you planning to rent a leaky place for $300 a week?"

“They even provide two meals and afternoon tea here!” Hugo said, gesturing with his hand. “Look at this activity room. It has air conditioning, a pool table, playing cards, and the foosball set is brand new. Without these, you would be like old men, listening to the radio and reading the newspaper every day.”

"No, no, no, absolutely not!" Mad Hatter Teach was the first to jump up and say, "I still need to research my brainwashing device! How am I supposed to win back my Alice if I don't have research funding?"

“I can’t rent a house,” Killer Croc said. “No landlord would rent to me; they’d shoot me with shotguns.”

The others looked at the Joker, and Two-Face couldn't help but ask, "But you, Joker, didn't you used to stay in the Joker's territory? How come you've come and squeezed in with us?"

The Joker sighed and said, "That's a long story. Have you ever heard of the Robin Gang?"

You mean those crazy teenagers?

“That’s right, they took over my Joker’s territory. They kicked me and Harley out, and I didn’t want to rent any of those gangster houses, so I ended up here. And you, lawyer, shouldn’t you be thriving in Gotham’s return to the gangster era?”

"Ha, don't you even know who's in charge in these mob families now? Wayne, Kane. Batman's parents are incredibly vengeful; I hurt their son before, why would they hire me?"

The group exchanged glances and sighed in unison. The riddle-maker rubbed his nose and said, "But what else can we do if we don't play cards here? Go out and kill someone, then write some riddles?"

"Don't dream," the Joker scoffed. "It's all gangsters out there. The upper echelons are rich, and the lower echelons are thugs. Who can you possibly kill with your skinny arms and legs?"

"What do we do now?" Harley yawned, slumped over the table. "The weapons I got have been confiscated too. If Batman really kicks us out, we'll be homeless. He can't be that heartless, can he?"

“Hard to say,” Hugo said, pursing his lips. “The guy he sent is a formidable one. You should have heard of him, Schiller Rodriguez.”

The Joker raised an eyebrow and said, "You just said he pointed a gun at your head? Isn't he younger than the usual Rodriguez?"

"Yes, it should be an counterpart from another universe. That guy is a real ruthless character, and I'm sure none of you can handle him."

"Who said that?" Mudface snorted defiantly. "I can become Batman..."

Bang! Crash! Bang!

A sniper bullet pierced through the floor-to-ceiling window of the event building, sending Mudface flying into a cloud of dust. After struggling to reassemble himself, Harley picked up the sniper bullet from the ground.

The slender sniper bullet had a complete sentence engraved on it: "Get to work now, immediately!"

Everyone dispersed in a hurry.

"Little Pudding, I'll go with you," Harley giggled, clinging to the clown. But the clown, as if encountering a plague, shoved her away and said, "Stop bothering me! I'm going by myself!"

"You're so clueless about romance! You fall in love with every guy you meet. Are you going to go find that new Rodriguez? Batman will be heartbroken by your infidelity!"

The Joker remained silent, his face grim. Harley seemed to find it uninteresting too; she pulled out her phone and called Poison Ivy, saying, "Hey? Red? Where are you? Batman's got us some work to do, let's work together. Then, on Hurricane Night, we can stay home and watch a movie together..."

Hearing her words, Hugo couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Although these madmen generally regarded money as dirt, it was indeed useful in crucial moments. Harley had made a considerable amount of money dealing in arms during the Gotham war, enough to buy her own house; she could have easily avoided Batman's missions.

The others weren't so lucky. With Batman out of Gotham, they weren't in the mood for trouble. But if they were kicked out of the mental hospital, they'd have to go up against those gangs, and the worst part is, they might not even be able to win.

To reiterate, for Gotham, returning to the era of gangsters is a good thing, especially the era of family-run gangs where blood ties and surnames matter. These lunatics are all lone wolves, unable to squeeze into the existing system. They're neither as rich nor as well-equipped, making it difficult for them to act as lawlessly as before.

Living outside comes with its own costs; just finding a place to live is a huge problem. These people look so strange that most landlords wouldn't rent to such a nuisance. If you also incur the wrath of the gang, things will become even more difficult.

So, even if it's just to keep Arkham Asylum from going bankrupt, they still have to go out and work. They don't know what's wrong with Batman, but they need to appease him first so they can have a nice place to live and afternoon tea.

A group of oddly dressed lunatics stopped abruptly in front of Arkham Asylum, glancing at the dark clouds gathering on the coastline. Mudface scratched his head and said, "So, what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know, Batman didn't say." The Riddler was also puzzled.

The others could only look to the Joker. The Joker was the one among them who knew Batman best. Batman had sent someone to threaten them, but hadn't specified what the task was, leaving them to guess through the Joker.

"A hurricane is making landfall," the clown said.

"But this isn't the first time a hurricane has made landfall; there must have been three this year, right? Is Batman really that short-staffed?"

“Of course not, so there must be something else going on.” The Joker leaned against a pillar in the porch, thinking as he spoke. “There must be some kind of disaster we don’t know about happening in the background, and it’s very likely that it will take the opportunity to cause trouble when the hurricane hits. That’s why Batman called us out.”

"You expect us to turn the tide?"

“We’re expected to die first,” the Joker said. “Because if the hurricane and the mysterious disaster destroy Gotham’s existing order, we’ll become the biggest destabilizing factor again. So Batman needs us involved to draw the attention of that mysterious disaster, even to pit our two sides against each other and distract each other. That way, his little birds can focus on disaster relief.”

"You mean that mysterious disaster was caused by someone?" Two-Face couldn't help but frown.

"If it were just a human, it would have been thrown here with us long ago. The reason Batman hasn't dealt with a certain hidden threat in Gotham is not because he doesn't have time, but because that guy is really difficult to deal with, and Batman isn't confident he can catch him."

“This is getting interesting,” the Mad Hatter said in a high-pitched voice. “What could be more difficult for Batman to deal with than you, the Joker?”

“I’d like to know too.” The clown gazed at the heavy clouds on the distant horizon and slowly revealed a smile.

Schiller stood on the rooftop of a building not far from the mental hospital, the pre-hurricane winds whipping the sniper rifle's sling. He watched the group of lunatics gradually leave the hospital grounds, then, rifle in hand, he too left the rooftop.

As he walked down the stairs, he put the sniper rifle back into the case. He strode out of the building's side door, crossed the howling wind through the streets, and under a sky so gloomy it seemed to drip water, stepped over the fence back to the asylum's parking lot.

He glanced around, walked to one of the cars, opened the door, and without looking, sat down in the passenger seat. He turned and met the clown's gaze, who was about to drive off.

"What are you going to do?" the clown asked him.

“This car isn’t yours,” Schiller replied.

"But it's not yours either," the Joker didn't deny.

Schiller looked down and pulled his badge out of his pocket, flashing it at him: "FBI, you're under arrest for illegally stealing someone else's vehicle."

The clown slowly widened his eyes: "You're entrapping me."

"I told you to go out and find work, not to steal cars. I'll let you off the hook because you're mentally ill. Get rid of the evidence!"

"I won't!"

Ten seconds later, the clown was dragged from the car like a helpless sack. He staggered, then fell to the ground, yelling at Schiller, "I don't have a car! How am I supposed to get out of here?!"

“Walk out.” Schiller cocked his pistol and said, “I’ll follow you. Don’t even think about stealing any other cars.”

What grudge do you hold against me?!

"I'm just upholding the law. Enough talk, get out of here."

The Joker angrily tugged at the hem of his shirt and strode out of the parking lot. Schiller didn't go to get the car; instead, he followed behind him, gun in hand.

The Joker had barely taken two steps when a sharp screech of brakes came from the parking lot entrance ramp. Before the Joker could even react, Schiller had already shot out the car's tire. The car, which had been hurtling straight towards them, spun around on the ground due to the blowout and veered off in another direction.

Schiller raised his gun, pointed it at the car that had crashed into the railing, and shouted, "Get out! Lie down!"

A middle-aged man with a large beard slowly got out of the car, raised his hands, and lay face down on the ground. Schiller, still aiming at him, asked, "What happened?"

"I'm sorry, officer, I... I don't know. Maybe the ground was too wet and slippery!" The other person sounded very panicked. "I stepped on the brakes, but it didn't work! I'm really sorry."

“Let’s go,” Schiller said, turning to the clown.