Haha, It's Over!

While Ma Zhaodi was working his third job, Prosecutor Harvey Dent had already returned home early.

Tonight wasn't quite what he'd imagined. The fire was significant but not urgent. He didn't even need to stay at the scene; he could just head straight home, as there was nothing for him to do there for the time being.

As for Johnny Vitti's murder, that was Commissioner Gordon's problem to worry about. He himself had promised Glinda they'd go hand out candy to the neighborhood kids.

If he came home late, she might get upset again.

Harvey drove home. It was still relatively early, so he opened the door with a happy heart.

"Hey, Harvey, you're home so early today?"

"Ha, I promised you I would be, Mrs. Dent."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Guess who it is?" Glinda said, turning towards the door.

"How would I know--wait, let me get it--"

A sense of alertness rose in Harvey's heart at that moment. It wasn't due to any strange premonition, but rather a realization that if someone wanted to launch an attack on Halloween night, this would be the perfect opportunity.

All it would take is bribing a child and presenting a carefully wrapped bomb as a Halloween surprise. Almost no one would be on guard against that.

But before he could finish speaking, Glinda had already opened the door.

"Trick or treat!"

A few "little monsters" suddenly jumped out, interrupting his wandering thoughts. No bombs, no attacks, no retaliation from the mob, just a peaceful and happy Halloween night.

After all, what reason would Falcone have to seek revenge on a minor prosecutor like himself? He'd been beaten up just for checking license plates at his nephew's banquet. Someone like that had no motive to come after him.

He chuckled self-deprecatingly, thinking he was being overly worried, then walked to the door and began handing out candy with his wife.

"Happy Halloween, little ones."

"Happy Halloween! Mr. Harvey!"

"Happy Halloween, Mrs. Dent."

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, at the Gotham Police Department in downtown Gotham City.

Gordon flipped through stacks of case files, glancing at his watch. It was late at night. He casually stubbed out his cigarette in a Halloween-themed ashtray on his desk.

"Happy Halloween, Batman. Thanks for the gift."

"Happy Halloween, Commissioner Gordon--go home early and be with your family."

Gotham's Halloween night passed, and apart from a bizarre murder, the night was as peaceful as a beautiful dream.

But for some, what happened in Gotham tonight was like a nightmare.

Today was a peaceful morning. Ma Zhaodi, as usual, rode his beloved little wheelchair to work.

He was in a great mood. All three jobs were done in one night, and they had brought him considerable rewards. Even setting aside the little pumpkin lantern, just the twenty thousand dollars in assets, intermediate cooking mastery, and Solomon Grundy's friendship were enough to make him feel it was all worthwhile. As he left, Grundy had even shaken his hand in a friendly manner.

"Pumpkin man, scary, good person."

"Pumpkin man, friend, hamburger, delicious."

Because of this, Ma Zhaodi decided he would bring Grundy delicious food every day from now on. Although he wouldn't starve to death, he would definitely remember him as a friend.

Perhaps one day, if Ma Zhaodi encountered any supervillains or assassin organizations, he could shout "Grundy save me!" down a sewer opening and see the big guy squeeze out and come to his aid.

Of course, if possible, Ma Zhaodi would prefer that such a scenario never happened.

"Good morning, Santos, Rick, Castro. How was your night?"

He greeted his colleagues cheerfully, but strangely, the three, usually jovial, didn't respond. Instead, they looked at him with peculiar expressions.

"What's wrong? You guys look a little off."

"Ah? Ah, good morning, Ma Zhaodi."

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Ma Zhaodi. Did you go out for odd jobs last night?"

"Hmm? Yes, I went out for odd jobs."

"Oh, oh, you weren't at home?"

"I couldn't work if I stayed home, Castro." Ma Zhaodi looked at the three of them, puzzled. They spoke hesitantly today, completely unlike their usual straightforward manner.

"Um. I just want to confirm, you're new to Gotham, right? You haven't joined any gangs?"

"Good heavens, what are you talking about? Of course, I haven't joined any gangs. Didn't you see? I can barely use a gun. I'm still training at the shooting range my supervisor introduced me to every day--Wait, you guys are really acting strange today. Did something happen?"

"Uh, did you see today's Gotham Daily?"

"Haven't bought it yet--what's wrong?"

"And the Gotham morning news today? Haven't seen that either?"

"What exactly are you talking about?" Ma Zhaodi frowned. Seeing his colleagues' hesitant behavior, a strange, ominous feeling suddenly welled up in his heart.

"What about the news?"

"See for yourself."

Santos handed him a newspaper, and Ma Zhaodi took it casually. A glance was all it took for the headline to make his eyes widen in disbelief.

"Johnny Vitti Assassinated, Ugly Pumpkin Left at the Scene!"

"Last night, during Halloween, Johnny Vitti, nephew of Gotham City's Godfather Falcone, was found dead in the bathtub of his own villa. According to the forensic examiner, Johnny's fatal wounds were two gunshots directly to the head."

"The killer left the murder weapon, a .22 caliber Kliper pistol with its serial number filed off, at the crime scene. The gun bore no fingerprints; also left at the scene were two items: a makeshift silencer made from a baby pacifier, and a jack-o'-lantern."

"No cash was reported missing from the villa. Police suspect this was a revenge killing. Commissioner Gordon stated that the key clue in this case lies with the uniquely shaped jack-o'-lantern left at the scene."

Stunned, Ma Zhaodi turned the page with trembling hands. The back of the newspaper displayed a picture of the jack-o'-lantern left at the crime scene.

Within its twisted, pained expression, there seemed to be a distinct artistic flair, with hints of Miller's Classicism, a touch of Monet's Impressionism, Matisse's Fauvism, Munch's Expressionism, Balla's Futurism, and Picasso's Cubism, even Dalí's Surrealism seemed to be reflected in this small pumpkin. In a word—

"Haha, it's over!"