"How is that possible?! Isn't Joker still sleeping soundly in Arkham..."
Jason shot to his feet, only to belatedly realize that Bruce meant the Joker in the illusion. He had overreacted.
But when Jason sat back down, slightly embarrassed, and looked around, he realized that everyone else looked grim, too.
Even knowing it was an illusion, hearing that name still brought a reflexive discomfort rising from deep within them. They understood Jason's reaction perfectly.
Jason had stood up; Damian had nearly drawn his sword.
"The Joker in the illusion..."
"Much the same as usual," Bruce recalled. "Kidnappings, bombs, threats on a livestream, games testing human nature..."
"Fuck..." Jason muttered a curse, then remembered that Miaomiao was here, too. He swallowed the word halfway through, lowering his voice considerably.
"So, Bruce, how did you realize something was wrong?"
Ultimately, that was what everyone most wanted to know.
If the surroundings and objects in the illusion were indistinguishable from reality, even providing sensations like touch, where had Bruce spotted the flaw?
"My guess is that the Merfolk's illusions are constructed from the past experiences and reactions of the people inside them."
Bruce looked at Miaomiao, received a nod of agreement from her, and continued.
"When Dick and I left the Batcave and headed for the Amusement Park, everything along the way was extremely realistic, almost identical to the real Gotham in my memory. But that was also the problem. It was too similar, practically a copy-and-paste of the memories in my head, and that gave the illusion flaws."
Everyone understood.
It was like getting up, washing, going to school or work, then eating and resting according to the same routine every day. Every day seemed the same, day after day, year after year. But no two days could ever be completely identical.