Cat and Bat (Part 2)

When Schiller saw the black Qi practically written all over Bruce's face, he knew the conversation with Catwoman had probably not gone well.

"You didn't get into another huge fight, did you?"

"Worse than that," Bruce said.

"All right, then which hospital room is she in?" Schiller asked.

"I mean Gotham's situation is worse than I imagined."

"There's a group of bad people here whom you can't really blame, because in this environment, they've already done well enough," Bruce said.

"I think you've realized by now that being Batman isn't such a simple thing, have you?" Schiller said.

"Indeed." Bruce said, "I thought I had tough armor, a helmet that could stop bullets, sharp Batarangs, guns, and bullets. With all that, what gang could I not handle?"

"Guns are certainly useful," Schiller said.

"At the very least, they make people willing to listen to what you have to say."

"I can't tell Selene that she was wrong." Bruce covered his eyes. "In truth, she's already done well enough."

"Jonathan probably wouldn't see it that way. If I told you that Jonathan grew up in the same kind of environment, and that his crimes were also the result of no one ever guiding him, what would you think?"

Bruce opened his mouth. He realized that he had once believed himself to be righteous. Later, he learned there was no such thing as absolute justice, but he had thought he was at least fair. Now, he found that perhaps he was not fair enough either.

He had to admit that he was biased toward Selene. Many of the gangsters he punished were just like Catwoman Selene; they simply had not been as lucky as her.

Their families and pasts were a complete mess. They worked for gangs not because they were monstrous villains or born evil. They were only trying to make a living.

Breaking free from the shackles of one's birth class was far harder than imagined, especially in Gotham.

That truth left Bruce feeling somewhat despairing. At last, he understood why Schiller said he did not understand Gotham.

Because anyone who wanted to save Gotham completely did not understand Gotham.

Everyone here was a bad person, yet there was not a single bad person here.

Among these walking corpses, you could find no one who deserved to be saved, and no one who was born deserving to be destroyed.

There was no chief culprit here. Everyone here was the chief culprit.

This path of becoming a hero was vastly different from what Bruce had imagined. He had thought that as long as he caught enough criminals, extracted information from them, followed the trail to find the few malignant tumors that had been influencing Gotham, and brought them to justice, Gotham would steadily improve.

But now he found it was a bottomless pit. Once he removed one batch of malignant tumors, another would emerge. Once he punished one chief culprit, there would always be another.

No one could endure that kind of attrition. It was not a matter of wealth or physical strength. Harvey believed that only those who reached the finish line were not necessarily the winners, but Batman did not even have a finish line.

Only now did Bruce realize that his struggle against Gotham would consume his entire life.

Then he understood that wealth, equipment, and fighting skills truly could not make him the real Batman, because his greatest enemy was not criminals, but giving up.

The greatest problem he faced was not how cunning his opponents were, but whether he was determined enough—determined enough to spend his entire life endlessly grinding away at a city that could not be saved.

It was like an ordinary person spending their whole life trying to make the sun rise in the west.

Batman stood atop Gotham Central Building. The wind was fierce there, howling past his ears. Beneath his feet were countless mediocre evildoers, like ants building nests. From there, he could see all of Gotham clearly.

Batman had thought Gotham had no order, only chaos. But now he discovered that not only did it have order, that order was stronger than anywhere else. If there had only been chaos, he could have rebuilt order. But now, he could not even break Gotham's existing order.

After a while, Batman heard footsteps behind him. Catwoman approached with her hands behind her back.

When she saw Batman turn around, she smiled, took out a gemstone from behind her back, and cheerfully handed it to him. "I picked a very pretty little treasure from my collection. Of course, I couldn't bear to give you the biggest one, but I think this one is pretty nice too."

Before Bruce could speak, Catwoman said, "Yesterday, I talked to Maggie. She said I should apologize to you, because no matter what, I shouldn't have cut you with a dagger."

"I've never apologized to anyone before. When people wanted to beat me up, I beat them back. But I think you've been very good to me. You even took me for a ride on a skyscraper, and I stabbed you. That does seem wrong."

She blinked her beautiful eyes. Those brown eyes sparkled in the Gotham-like darkness as she said, "I can tell you're very troubled. I hope this gemstone makes you feel a little better."

Batman lowered his head and looked at the gemstone in his hand. It was a triangular ruby, a little like his ears. It had been exquisitely cut, and even in the faint light, it held a captivating gleam.

For the first time, he felt that it was not merely a mineral with no meaning to humans beyond looking pretty.

"Do you want to hear my story?" Batman asked.

Elsewhere, Schiller was holding a phone. "Medical parole? How did he get that approved? Though I don't want to blame you, the Gotham Police Department is being far too careless..."

He thought about it. Well, the Gotham Police Department truly had no lower limit left to break.

Then he said to Gordon on the other end, "I hope he stays quietly in the hospital and doesn't come back looking for trouble. You know, I'm different from Batman."

Gordon hung up and sighed. He knew it would not be that simple. Though Jonathan had finally been sent to Arkham through the efforts of many parties, Victor had vanished, and Lantolos was dead.

That old president of Gotham University, however, had avoided prison under the pretext of medical parole. After spending so many years in Gotham, he still had some connections, and in the end, he got his way.

Schiller never hesitated to assume the worst of a Gotham citizen. He knew the old president would not let things go so easily.

Sure enough, just as Schiller was about to get off work the next day, a girl rushed into her office in a panic. She was the girl who had complained to the school when Christine disappeared before, Christine's good friend.

"Christine disappeared again?" Schiller asked.

"Worse than that." The girl said anxiously, "After what happened last time, Christine gave me an emergency number. She told me that if that number ever called my phone, it meant she might be in danger!"

Schiller hurriedly packed up his things. "When did this happen?"

"Just three minutes ago! The call connected, but there wasn't any sound on the other end!"

Schiller calmed the girl, then called Bruce. "Bad news. Something happened to Christine again. I don't know whether Gordon told you, but the old president didn't go to prison under the pretext of medical parole. If he wants revenge, the first person he'll target will definitely be the one who testified against him..."

Bruce immediately returned to Wayne Manor and put on all of Batman's equipment. He had been the one to persuade Christine to testify against the president, so he had to save the girl.

Unfortunately, the old president had learned his lesson this time. He did not use any lowlife gangsters, but hired professional kidnappers instead. They left no trace, and the old president seemed to simply want revenge rather than use her to threaten anyone.

But that only meant Christine was likely in an extremely dangerous situation.

After a while, Batman received a call from Schiller. Schiller said, "The street where the Red Crow Gang used to be in the East End, that drug-manufacturing den you destroyed..."

Bruce did not have time to ask why before Schiller hung up. Batman sped through Gotham's night in a mad rush.

But he did not have the Batmobile yet. An ordinary sports car was not fast enough, and it would still take a while to get from Wayne Manor to the East End. Christine could be hurt at any moment. Though he did not like Christine, he did not want to see an innocent person tragically murdered.

Batman slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He deeply felt that he needed a better vehicle.

Suddenly, an unexpected number called. Catwoman's voice came from the other end. "Hey, I think I saw that little girlfriend of yours who waits for you on the street every day. What's going on? Why are they heading toward Maple Street? It's dangerous there..."

"She's been kidnapped. Find a way to save her! No... I mean, can you keep an eye on them?... Stay far away and watch them, then call me... Forget it. No, no, no. Don't follow them. Just tell me where they went."

"You sound like you need help," Catwoman said.

Batman sounded irritated. "This has nothing to do with you. Just don't go out tonight and cause trouble for me."

Then he hung up and drove straight toward Maple Street.

After a while, Batman appeared at the end of Maple Street. This had indeed been the Red Crow Gang's old territory. He had destroyed a poppy processing and manufacturing den here. Batman's memory was excellent. He followed the right side of the street, then turned through two alleys.

The moment he reached the end of the alley, he heard fierce fighting and gunfire inside. Batman quickly found the back door and picked the lock. When he entered, he first saw a group of lowlife thugs sprawled all over the ground outside. They groaned in pain, apparently struck by joint locks.

Passing through the entryway into the living room, he saw seven or eight masked kidnappers lying on the floor as well. A whip cut through the air with a howl and nearly struck Batman.

Catwoman turned around and said, "Thank God, the little girl is fine."

Batman turned his gaze toward Christine on the sofa. Her clothes were slightly disheveled. If Catwoman had not arrived in time, something terrible might really have happened.

Then Catwoman sniffed, frowning. "Something's wrong. Why do I smell gasoline? Is your car leaking? No, damn it! It could be Molotov cocktails. Get out of here, quickly..."

Before she could finish, the glass by the front door shattered. Countless Molotov cocktails wrapped in strips of cloth were thrown inside.

The flames surged up with a roar. This abandoned den contained plenty of upholstered sofas, curtains, and other flammable materials.

Before long, the fire became extremely fierce. Bruce carried the unconscious Christine, and when they reached the back door, they found that the lock he had picked had been blocked from outside by heavy objects.

Clearly, this was a premeditated trap.

Batman's clothes were fireproof, but if it kept burning like this, both Christine and Catwoman would be in danger. Fireproof clothing did not mean he was immune to smoke. As the flames grew stronger, thick black smoke made the entire building almost impossible to see through, and all of them coughed repeatedly.

Suddenly, a crisp clang came from the right, as if something had fallen. Catwoman reacted quickly, lashing her whip toward it. But when she dragged it back, it was actually a fire extinguisher!

Without caring where it had come from, Catwoman grabbed the extinguisher and shook it hard. Batman said, "Go through the place where they threw the Molotov cocktails. There should be a vacuum zone there!"

Batman took the fire extinguisher and cleared a path in front, while Catwoman supported Christine from behind.

Sure enough, whoever threw the Molotov cocktails had used a great deal of force, making them land in the middle of the hall rather than near the door. Aside from a small patch of carpet, there was little flammable material by the door. Batman used the extinguisher to put out the flames rushing toward them, and the two fought their way forward.

When they reached the door, Batman first used his gun to destroy the lock, then began ramming the iron door with all his strength.

The person who threw the Molotov cocktails had clearly left in a hurry, so the front door had not been blocked as firmly as the back door. After Batman rammed it several times, he forced open a gap.

But that also meant air began circulating, making the flames even fiercer. Catwoman was nearly unconscious from the smoke. Batman could clearly feel the hand she had placed on his shoulder beginning to slide downward. Once she lost consciousness, she and Christine would surely die.

Batman used every ounce of his strength and rammed it one final time. Bang! The door flew open, and the three escaped. Catwoman gulped down air. At that moment, both Batman and Catwoman were covered in soot and scorch marks.

After taking Christine back, Batman drove while asking Catwoman in the passenger seat, "Why did you rush in to save Christine? It was dangerous, wasn't it?"

Catwoman was still excitedly examining the luxurious interior of the car. Clearly, she had never ridden in such an expensive vehicle before.

She cleared her throat to calm her excitement. After a while, she said, "Actually, I just thought of a lot of reasons for you to praise me. Like maybe I want to learn from you and become a good person, maybe I'm really a righteous heroine deep down, or maybe I couldn't stand those kidnappers hurting an innocent person..."

Then Catwoman looked at him. Whenever those brown eyes gazed at him, Batman once again felt his heart beating rapidly.

"You don't want me to do bad things, but I really love those gemstones. So couldn't I do one bad thing, then one good thing? Wouldn't that balance it out?"

"...All right, actually, I just wanted to make you happier." Catwoman shrugged.

"I know I can't become some great hero. I just like stealing things. It's a habit I developed growing up. I can't give you any grand speeches. Maybe that girl who always waits for you on the street is much better than me. After all, she received a higher education, she's beautiful and charming, and she's innocent and naive. She's never done anything bad."

"But this is just who I am. I never think about those things. I only do what I want to do. You can see me as a criminal, or think I'm a hopelessly bad person. I'm still me. This is me—a cat."

Batman's hand around the steering wheel loosened slightly. He did not know whether that was the answer he wanted.

But he knew that Catwoman's romance, liveliness, and sincerity were not the fundamental reasons he had fallen in love with her.

A bat would love a cat because he envied her freedom—the freedom he could never have as the Dark Knight.

He had already made up his mind to fight this incurable city to the bitter end.

Watching the luxury car slowly come to a stop at the intersection, Schiller stood on a rooftop and said to the Symbiote in his mind, "...No, we can't go down there. What happens next isn't something children should watch."

The Symbiote let out a string of dissatisfied gurgles.

"Yes, I know you did wonderfully just now. You took that fire extinguisher from the café across the street corner and threw it in. Your aim was excellent!"

"But what happens in the car is just the meaningless reproductive process of humans. You Symbiotes don't need that process. You only need to shed crumbs."

The Symbiote fell silent, and Schiller did not know whether it understood.

Schiller shifted his gaze away from the luxury car and looked toward Gotham's dimly lit night.

Perhaps this was an incurable city. Perhaps Batman was also just an ordinary person who could feel despair and confusion, he thought.

But Batman was not alone. He would never be alone.

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