Batman sat in a garden lounge chair, comparing Schiller's notes against a paper on the relationship between psychoanalysis and behavioral science. A breeze blew in through a gap in the garden wall, and fallen leaves drifted down behind him. It was a rare moment of peace.
The Arkham Supergroup was only moderately capable of keeping Batman occupied. If they truly wanted to divert his attention, they needed a psychology expert. Debates over good and evil were merely a minor path; nothing wasted time quite like family affairs.
And these Batmen had all reached turning points in their lives. Didn't they need a life mentor to show them the way? The guidance might have been a little too cutting, but could anyone deny that it solved the problem in the end?
After reading for a while, Batman put away his computer. He crossed the corridor, took the elevator down, and arrived at the Batcave.
"Have you dealt with those burdens?" A sinister voice rang out. Around the corner, Joker was not in his cell at all. He sat properly in front of the equipment, not even wearing his usual manic grin, staring intently at the data instead.
"Temporarily." Batman walked over and adjusted the machine. The screen above displayed a bizarre image: two masses of utterly different colors constantly tangled and intertwined, devouring each other while maintaining an eerie balance.
"Then let's discuss the next step of the plan, great hero." Joker turned around. A pile of even more abstract diagrams had been drawn on the paper in front of him.
"This has to be more troublesome than we imagined. I need a more professional and powerful team..."
"The Justice League?"
"No. Absolutely not—they don't understand Batman well enough, and they understand Joker even less. So they can't deal with the