Chapter 63: A Visitor at Wayne Manor
Withered branches resembling gray skeletal hands clung to the courtyard walls. Eerie, chilling screams occasionally echoed from within the building. The plaster, eroded by wind and rain, peeled off in patches, giving the structure a ghastly appearance, like a devil's painting. The entire building, inside and out, exuded a sinister, terrifying atmosphere.
This was Arkham Asylum, one of Gotham's oldest buildings.
It resembled both a mental hospital and a prison, housing numerous mentally ill individuals with criminal tendencies.
For some unknown reason, Gotham seemed truly cursed. Here, violent criminals with mental health issues were as common as pickpockets in other places who would be thrilled with stealing a hundred dollars.
Inside the asylum.
Batman lurked in the shadows, crouched by the railing near the roof, his icy gaze fixed downwards.
He had come here after investigating a large shipment of chemical raw materials at the docks.
He had initially suspected someone was secretly producing narcotics potent enough to send thousands to the gallows, but it now seemed the situation was different from what he had imagined.
In the warehouse below, it was clearly a pharmaceutical factory.
Workers in pharmaceutical suits, under the direction of a man in a white coat, mixed and manufactured barrels of white powder, which was then poured into the city's main water pipes that flowed through Arkham.
That man, like a scarecrow in a field, was thin and slightly hunched. He wore glasses and had a scholarly appearance, but a hint of madness lurked between his brows. The nameplate on his chest read Jonathan Crane, and his position was Chief Physician.
"He's the chief physician of this asylum."
Bruce frowned.
It was clear this physician was not content with his regular duties, dealing with deranged mental patients all day, and had started other ventures.
His gaze swept over the accumulation of spilled traces left beside the pipes as the drug was being poured.
"This operation has been going on for at least a few days."
"Someone is poisoning everyone in Gotham?"
No, it wasn't ordinary poison. Bruce himself drank Gotham's water and hadn't felt anything amiss.
Bruce shifted his weight, about to leap down and use his fists to stop these people's unclear criminal activities, and then haul the thin physician up by his grapple line for interrogation. Suddenly, a message came from within his cowl.
"Alfred?"
"Master, someone has come to visit. It seems your Bat-Signal has been compromised. You should return and see to it."
Receiving Alfred's quick and brief warning, Batman hesitated. Concealing his movements with the rushing water sound from the pipes, he used his grapple line to collect a bit of the spilled powder near a corner where the medicine was being moved. He quickly reeled it in, turned, and melted back into the shadows, unnoticed.
After his parents' deaths, the old butler had raised him. In Bruce's heart, Alfred was his only remaining family. He mounted his Bat-cycle and sped back home.
...
A few minutes earlier, on the streets of Gotham.
Passersby were buzzing about one thing: Falcone, one of Gotham's biggest mob bosses, had been stripped down to his underwear and tied spread-eagle to the Bat-Signal, projecting its bat-shaped signal towards the perpetually overcast sky.
The terrifying silhouette of the bat could be seen by everyone in Gotham who looked up.
His fearsome reputation and authority, built over years as the godfather of the underworld, had vanished. The whole of Gotham felt like something different was about to happen.
This was unprecedented; someone was challenging the dark and corrupt order of the city.
From then on, thugs and villains on the streets of Gotham, when extorting passersby or robbing shops, finally began to act like true criminals, committing crimes with a hint of panic and fumbling, afraid that at any moment a shadowy bat figure might appear from a high vantage point and engulf them!
"Batman?"
A newspaper, caught by the wind, fluttered and slapped against his face. He had just arrived in Gotham and was looking up at the skyscrapers.
Clark took the newspaper off his face and saw the glaring headline: Falcone, the Roman, Captured Under the Bat-Signal.
It included a photo from the scene and a sketch of Batman's silhouette, wings spread, flashing between the tall buildings.
He paused, the silhouette looking so familiar.
"Is this the person who knows the whereabouts of the Lazarus Pit?"
Clark turned back in confusion and saw someone who looked a bit unfamiliar.
"Who are you? Why are you wearing David's clothes?"
David, having returned to his hometown to naturally recover his appearance, couldn't show his true face upon arriving in Gotham.
"Where's your blue cowl?"
He prompted him.
"David? What happened to you? Is this also one of your abilities?"
Hearing this, coupled with the familiar height and build, Clark immediately recognized the person before him as his younger brother and was greatly surprised. Following his brother's instructions, he took out and put on the blue cowl.
"Where do we find this Batman now?"
"Bats tend to be nocturnal creatures."
Ignoring Clark's curious scrutiny, David thought for a moment and said.
"Let's go check his home."
Batman also needed to rest. Night was when Gotham's crime rate surged, so he might be at home at this hour.
The two of them sped through the city at supersonic speeds, arriving outside Gotham, at Wayne Manor.
Green grass, walls covered in ivy, a tall, dark manor gate, a long corridor of statues, and behind a fountain, a magnificent, towering ancient castle.
"What a huge manor.
Lex's estate isn't as spacious as this."
Standing outside the manor, Clark stared in awe, feeling like a country bumpkin arriving in the city, peering inside.
"Is that Batman living here?
Right, what are his abilities?"
The newspapers said Batman fought against gangsters to save people and maintained the city's order. He couldn't possibly face numerous criminals armed with guns bare-handed. He instinctively recalled the metahumans he'd encountered before.
"You've already seen them."
"Seen them?" Clark looked confused. He hadn't seen anything other than a vast, old estate.
David didn't choose to barge in unannounced; he rang the doorbell.
On the square stone pillar beside the door, a screen the size of a palm displayed the face of an elderly man with an air of an English butler.
"May I ask who you are?"
"Is Bruce Wayne here?"
"I'm sorry, sir is not at home. Please visit another day. Could you leave your name, and when sir returns, I will..."
"Then is Batman here?"
Ignoring Alfred's formulaic response, David coldly changed the subject.
Wasn't Bruce Wayne currently capitalizing on the fear of Gotham's villains with his shadow?
He was working overtime even during the day to fight crime.
"Batman?
You mean that vigilante who flies around Gotham in a bat cape?"
Alfred, who had recognized David at a glance, maintained a calm demeanor.
Batman had previously displayed David's face on the Batcave's screens, trying to gather information. Alfred had also seen the astonishing footage of David shooting beams from his fingers, effortlessly killing robbers.
"This is Wayne Manor. The person you're looking for isn't here."
Then, with an apologetic tone, he closed the video feed.
"What do we do now?"
Clark scratched his head. They were refused entry, and the matter was urgent. Should they force their way in?
"It doesn't matter. My objective has been achieved.
Now, a certain bat should be rushing back to its lair."
Not intending to wait foolishly outside, David pulled Clark past the gate and into the estate.
...
Mounting the Batpod, Batman sped back to his manor.
Like a thief, he used his grapple to infiltrate the second floor of his home and looked through the window.
In the reception room, the two sat on the sofa, being entertained by Alfred.
A familiar figure, not drinking the coffee before him, tapped the armrest of the sofa rapidly with his fingers, seemingly impatient, waiting for something.
"This raptor hasn't left Gotham yet? What could have him so anxious?"
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