Chapter 26

Megan returned to the Joker. After he scrubbed the dirt from her head, he pinched her cheeks and studied her earnestly. He simply laughed and clapped his hands, not at all surprised that her consciousness had flickered back to life a little; she was a dull child anyway, destined to depend on him regardless of anything else.

If she were a clever child, she would know who posed the greatest threat to her. But Megan had been special from the very beginning; she was the most satisfying gift he had ever received, one that belonged entirely to him.

However, observing that her attention was becoming fragmented—while a positive sign—presented its own set of problems that required further adjustment. He could not have her suddenly transition from a quiet, withdrawn personality to someone hyperactive. After all, the Joker was already dissatisfied with her "little mouse" demeanor; if she were to become restless on top of that, it would hardly be good news.

Megan was always full of issues, but that was fine; the Joker would correct her. He reached into some corner of his cell and pulled out a rubber ball. Perhaps he had prepared it for his surprise gift originally, for a gift needed to be unexpected, requiring just a touch of camouflage.

The Joker handed the garishly decorated ball to Megan. Now, it belonged to her. He told her to play with it: "Bounce it down, bounce it up, and then catch it."

"Megan, you need to learn some athletic skills. Besides, this isn't difficult."

If it were any other child, they would have been exposed to such toys at a very young age and would naturally have mastered some technique by now, rather than standing there holding it, completely at a loss. But Megan just stared at him, motionless.

As he looked down at her, he suddenly realized that she was merely looking at him. Even if her gaze held no meaning and served no purpose, she was simply watching. Beyond that... he keenly sensed that she was holding a breath in her chest, exhaling and inhaling it again, repeating the motion many times over.

Megan: "Wuu—"

Even though the Joker was far too tall, making it a burden for her to simply look up, she refused to give up. Finally, she let out a meaningless sound toward him. It was not loud, but in the deathly silence of the cell, it reached him with perfect clarity. Megan looked at the Joker with eager, pleading eyes.

This time, it was conscious, autonomous—she was willing to give everything just to make a sound and be heard. She was not in pain. The fingers hanging at her sides twitched slightly; perhaps she wanted to do something, though she did not yet understand what.

The Joker raised an eyebrow. He hadn't noticed the small movement, so he reached out and ruffled her hair carelessly. She didn't look like a little mouse anymore; she was starting to resemble a puppy. This realization plunged the Joker into thought, but since her brain was broken, these were all minor issues that could be overlooked.

"You'd better..." He thought about it seriously, yet he truly couldn't think of anything worthwhile to say to her. Her little head couldn't process complex information; to hold her to such standards would be sheer madness.

But she had made her own effort, and now she was simply demanding a response from him. The Joker, of course, would not be stingy. His pale face stretched into an exaggerated grin, his scarlet lips curving upward. He bent down to give Megan a hug and patted her thin back. "Good girl. I see your effort."

He was the greatest performer of the century, the most brilliant screenwriter with boundless imagination. He would always bring brand-new, heart-shaking dramas to the world, performing them himself and reaping the rewards himself.

The Joker said, "My favorite child, Megan, have you gotten what you wanted now?"

***

"Then go back to your dark room and play."

And so, the door to the dark room was closed. The lights were on inside, and Megan stood alone on the open floor by the bed, clutching the rubber ball. She still didn't know what to do. When she was left to her own devices, the focus in her eyes blurred slightly, and she thought of nothing at all.

She had no sense of time passing; there was no clock in the dark room, and Megan paid no attention to time. Perhaps a long while had passed, but it was certainly before the bedtime mandated by the Joker, when a massive explosion suddenly occurred. The shelves, the iron bed, and everything else around her were shaken, each emitting their own metallic clamor.

Megan was startled at first, but then she looked around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. However, her dark room had not been damaged, and after the explosion, there was no further noise.

Soon, the Joker opened the door to the dark room, covered in dust. Seeing her curious gaze, he did not approach or comfort her. Instead, he looked down thoughtfully at the marks left on the floor from where he had walked to the door after the blast.

His attention was not entirely on that, however; a trace of intrigue flickered in his smile. He remembered to instruct Megan: "Someone has invited me to a party, and I must prepare. But Megan, you—stay here and don't wander off, understand?"

If he were to accidentally lose his amusement by letting her be picked up by the bat-freak, he would look like a joke. He didn't want to star in such a ridiculous farce just yet. After cautioning Megan, he began to erase his traces, a task he performed with practiced ease.

The Joker's cell was restored to its state just after being struck by the missile that had fallen from the sky; there was not a single sign that he had walked from the cell to the dark room door. Everything was natural. After all, the missile that brought him surprise and freedom had landed with pinpoint accuracy, destroying only the cell door, leaving him unscathed. The only loss was his collection.

He walked out of the cell, hearing the screams and shouts of the people in Arkham. Without looking, he knew that many guards were rushing toward the scene. Given the atmosphere, perhaps he should do something more appropriate?

For instance, bringing even greater chaos to Gotham. He wasn't the one who started it, so he could consider the scale of the chaos and the blow to Batman later. For now, he would immerse himself heart and soul in this feast—at the very least, he would not let down the missile that had come first to rescue him.

It was only polite.

The other party held great expectations for him, and the Joker was never stingy. As he exited the corridor and reached the open-air area, he saw several crates of weapons that had also been dropped from the sky. For all the criminals imprisoned in Arkham Asylum, this was an incredible gift.

However, no other criminal had escaped their cells yet. The Joker went to seize the keys, showing "mercy" by releasing his dear fellow inmates. He didn't just release the high-security block; the doors to other sections were also opened by the system. Then, the Joker went to fetch the warden—their beloved Mr. Arkham.

Heaven knew how many words he had been holding back here with no one to tell! Now, he decided to tell them all to Mr. Warden. He held the warden hostage, chattering incessantly at him. But polite people do not refuse—at least, not when staring down the barrel of a gun. This was a truth the Joker had known from the very beginning, and now he was bringing it to everyone. He was truly generous.

In the warden's office, he forced him into a bizarre crouching position, tying him to a gun with a rope. Without a doubt, this was a game of endurance. Only those resilient enough would survive; otherwise, any movement would pull the rope, trigger the mechanism, and effectively mean surrendering one's life, watching death arrive.

***

Outside the office, ever since the Joker had taken over the system and opened all the cell doors, the criminals imprisoned in Arkham Asylum certainly wouldn't miss such an opportunity. They rushed out of their cells one after another, grabbing the weapons dropped from the sky, and the place became lively in a way it hadn't been for a long time.

Listening to the commotion outside, the Joker smiled at their warden and said, "Don't be too nervous. Relax. You wouldn't want to accidentally—before you're even exhausted—"

He clenched his five fingers into a fist and then spread them wide. "—'Bang!' Your head would explode like a firework."

He couldn't suppress his manic laughter, clearly finding this joke perfectly to his liking. Suddenly, a ringtone cut through the air; it was the phone in the warden's pocket. The warden, who always maintained a polished and glamorous image in front of others, trembled in terror, clearly afraid that the sound would trigger the Joker to do something beyond his psychological endurance.

The Joker fished the phone out of his pocket and saw the caller was a guard at Arkham. He answered, listening with a broad smile as the person on the other end shouted "Mr. Arkham" without even confirming who had picked up the phone. The guard said that almost all the psychiatric patients and criminals had escaped, and urged him to think of a way quickly—either lock the prisoners back up or run fast.

He listened with leisure, nodding occasionally and offering an "mm-hmm" to give the other party a full response. But when the person on the other end asked with some hesitation, "Why does your voice sound so... what is your opinion?", the laughter he had been holding in his throat erupted without restraint.

"Oh, let me see, Mr. Sane, is it? Hello! You are speaking with... wait, who am I? I thought I was famous enough. Why would anyone not know who I am..."

The Joker fell into contemplation. This conversation didn't seem to have anything wrong with it, but his tone was dramatic and filled with flair, which led Mr. Sane on the other end to the worst possible conclusion, causing him to shiver in horror. The phone was abruptly dropped. As for the held-hostage Arkham warden? The guard couldn't care less; at most, he would warn the others.

The phone was smashed, and the communication was cut off. The Joker had originally thought this bit of fun could last a little longer, but who would have expected the other party's capacity for pressure to be so low. He regretfully put the phone down and walked back to Jeremiah Arkham to speak with him.

"My dear, look at the system you upgraded not long ago. It's truly interesting. Once you take over the main system, it's much simpler than holding keys and opening doors one by one. It saved me a lot of trouble. I believe—"

"You must be very grateful for it. Otherwise, we wouldn't have the chance to talk like this, this closely, and the one bound isn't me, but you." This was a scene of role reversal; in drama, it always caused a sensation, and when interpreted by audiences and readers, countless viewpoints would burst forth to annotate them.

The Joker said, "Guess why I kidnapped you?"

"—He is coming."