Batman Wavers Again

Gordon undid a button at his collar, rolled his neck, and relaxed his shoulders. Then he turned to look out at Gotham's dark, rainy night, as cold and damp as ever.

His colleagues exchanged farewells as they left the Police Department after work. One of them said to Gordon, "Hey, man, you never should have taken that troublesome case. Dozens of missing persons? You'll probably be digging through files until midnight again."

Gordon smiled helplessly and said, "Like you said, dozens of missing people. I have to take it seriously."

After his colleagues had all left, Gordon made himself a strong cup of coffee. He planned to pull an all-nighter.

The missing persons case in the Morsen District was extremely strange. In past disappearances, no matter how carefully they were concealed, the bodies of some victims would still be found. But of the forty-six people who had vanished from the Morsen District, not a single body had turned up on Gotham's streets. That was highly unusual.

Gotham had never been a city that followed the law. Gangs were everywhere, and no seasoned gangster would go to the trouble of disposing of a body. They would simply toss it off a building. They knew it would not fool the police, but in Gotham, the police were nothing.

The dozens of people who had disappeared from the Morsen District came from all kinds of professions. They had almost nothing in common. Their only shared trait was that they were permanent residents of the Morsen District.

Gordon was still young then. He was only a minor official in the Police Department, still far from becoming Director. This case that no one wanted to take, this hot potato, had ultimately landed in the hands of the justice-minded Gordon. Though he knew it would likely be a thankless task, he still intended to see it through and seek justice for the victims.

Just as he was staying up late organizing files and was nearly too exhausted to continue, he suddenly heard a sound behind him. When he turned around, a huge shadow loomed over him. Gordon immediately reached for his waist, but his gun was not there.

The person before him wore a black bodysuit, with two pointed ears on his head and a black cape draped over his shoulders. He was tall enough to block nearly all the overhead light. Gordon cautiously asked, "Who are you? Why are you in the Police Department?"

"You can think of me as a vigilante. I'm investigating the missing persons case in the Morsen District. I noticed you went there today, and yesterday as well. You should be the detective in charge of this case. I hope you can give me the files on the missing people."

Just as Gordon was about to refuse, the man spoke again. "Of course, I have some leads I can trade with you. Or rather, I can work with you to solve this case."

A vigilante? Gordon thought. That's absurd. There couldn't possibly be someone like that in Gotham City. Otherwise, this place wouldn't be called the City of Crime.

Gordon and Batman's first meeting was not pleasant. They faced off in the Police Department for a long time. Clearly, the newly arrived Batman had yet to grasp the essence of leaving without finishing what he had to say. He lingered with Gordon for a long while before finally growing impatient.

Batman discovered that he was truly unlucky. Gotham City had countless negligent cops, yet he had run into the most conscientious one. Gordon even seemed prepared to defend those files to the death. Batman did not want to hurt him, so he had no better option.

After Batman wiped out the Gutter Gang, the beggar had deeply shaken him. Although he had ultimately saved the beggar, he had clearly reflected on his actions. He stopped aiming so high and started with the simplest things.

The Morsen District, the starting point of his superhero path, was far from peaceful even without the Gutter Gang. The number of missing persons there had reached a dangerously high figure. There were only a few hundred permanent residents, yet more than forty had vanished. Batman resolved to make this case the beginning of his career.

And naturally, he had someone he could suspect.

A university professor who did not sleep at night, who sneaked into a district controlled by Gotham's gangs, appearing for no reason and disappearing for no reason—could there be anyone more suspicious?

It was not as though Batman had never considered confronting Schiller directly. But he knew he would probably struggle to defeat this professor in a battle of words. He had lost both of his encounters with Schiller. He felt he needed sufficient evidence before bringing him to justice.

That day, Batman returned to the Morsen District. Since he could not get the missing persons files from Gordon, he slipped into the home of one of the missing residents, hoping to find other clues there.

He had just climbed out through a window when he saw Schiller again. Under a streetlamp not far below, Schiller held a black umbrella and looked toward the wall across the street. Batman spotted him.

He found that Schiller was staring at the spot where the beggar had once stayed. But the beggar was no longer there. Batman had sent him to Gotham City's best hospital and covered all his medical expenses. Though the beggar had lost both legs, at least he had survived.

Because the beggar had leaned against that wall for years, a dark stain had been left behind. Rainwater had formed a small puddle where he used to sit, reflecting the dim yellow streetlight. Schiller stood across the road, gazing at the puddle, seemingly lost in thought.

The young Batman ultimately could not hold back. He jumped down and appeared before Schiller.

"Good evening, Batman. I remember that's what you called yourself last time, so I'll call you that too."

Batman's eyes fixed tightly on him from behind his mask. He said, "Stop dancing around the issue. You know why I'm here."

"You're here to play savior. I know. For example, you rescued a pitiful beggar."

"Did you cause the missing persons case in the Morsen District?" Batman asked.

Schiller shook his head. Batman said, "You're the only outsider, and you have no reason to be here."

Schiller said, "Clearly, you already have an answer in your heart. Why come ask me? You're always good at turning things you've already decided into questions for other people."

"If you get an answer that satisfies you, then naturally you'll be content. But if you don't get the answer you want, you become angry."

"If I say I'm not the murderer, you'll be angry. But your anger won't come from your sense of justice. It will only be because I didn't give you the answer you wanted."

"You think you can predict everything, don't you?" Schiller asked.

"I said, stop dancing around the issue. You're the only person here with any suspicion on you..."

Before Schiller could speak, he noticed a Batarang fly past the side of his neck. He seemed to have underestimated Batman. Whether this Batman or the Batman of the future, neither killed people, but they often beat criminals senseless and did not hesitate to break their legs before sending them to the hospital.

But clearly, this young Batman was still missing a step.

Schiller said nothing for a moment. Another Batarang skimmed past his neck. This time, Schiller did not use Spider-Sense to turn his head aside in advance. He merely watched Batman quietly.

The Batarang left a cut along the side of his neck, drawing blood. Then a rapid series of footsteps suddenly sounded from the end of the alley, and a voice shouted, "Stop!"

Batman turned toward the end of the alley. Under the streetlamp, Gordon was aiming a pistol at the two of them.

"Hello, Detective Gordon," Schiller said.

Detective Gordon kept his gun raised as he slowly approached. "Put down your weapons. Don't move."

Schiller spread his hands, indicating that he had no weapon. Batman put away the Batarang he had been holding.

Only when Gordon came closer did he notice the blood flowing from Schiller's neck. It ran down his shoulder and had even soaked his shirt.

Schiller said, "Batman, you made a mistake. You said I was the only suspect, but this detective clearly doesn't see it that way."

"Besides me, there's someone else with no reason to be here. You."

"I'm investigating the missing persons case," Batman said.

"So am I," Schiller said. "But clearly, you are no more righteous than I am, because neither of us is a police officer. I think only Detective Gordon has the authority to do that now."

"I'll find evidence," Batman said.

"If you need evidence too, then what makes you any different from the police?" Schiller suddenly asked.

Batman had no answer for a moment. He had expected Schiller to demand evidence from him. Batman knew that although Schiller had appeared somewhere he should not have been, that alone could not prove he had committed a crime. So Batman had resolved to find some trace of evidence proving that Schiller was the murderer.

But Schiller's question had struck the heart of the matter. Batman thought the police had always been useless because they needed evidence for everything. Even if a murder happened right in front of them, if they had not seen the killer, they would not arrest the most suspicious person.

That was how it had been when his parents died. Not a single police officer gave the explanation they should have, and no one was brought to justice. His parents had died, yet no one paid the price.

He thought, if I need evidence too, why don't I just become a cop at the Gotham Police Department?

But if he did not need evidence and simply arrested whoever he wanted, then what made him any different from a criminal?

Batman regretted it. He should never have approached Schiller and spoken to him. Every conversation with Schiller left him deeply shaken. This wavering of mind and conviction was the most terrifying kind.

Every time Batman encountered Schiller, he had to go back and think deeply for at least two or three days. He had to understand the question Schiller had raised, find his own answer, and strengthen his conviction before he could go out again.

It felt no different from attending university classes. The teacher posed a question, the student thought it over, then wrote an essay. At their next meeting, aside from checking the assignment, another new question would be waiting for him. One question after another, as though there would never be an end.

Meanwhile, Schiller was complaining inwardly as well. Jonathan was really something. Stealing most of the Fear Gas had not slowed down his research at all. Instead, it had driven him to kidnap test subjects even more frantically, leaving Schiller unable to sleep at night because he had to clean up this mess.