The embers in the fireplace flickered gently, and a thin layer of fragrant mist floated in the dimly lit study.
Three screens flickered with light on the marble tabletop.
A surveillance video was projected into the air and was being played back repeatedly at an extremely slow frame rate.
In the scene, the dark figure, over 2.1 meters tall, crushed the alloy flamethrower with one hand, slapped away the Heat Wave wave with a backhand, and then strode forward despite the continuous fire of Deadshot armor-piercing rounds, casually slamming Mr. Freeze. Freeze to the ground like a bowling ball.
The entire battle involved no tactical maneuvering or any props used as props; it was purely an overwhelming display of power.
The Penguin in the middle screen exhaled a heavy puff of cigar smoke, his single eye behind his monocle narrowing into a slit.
"Ha, so this is the new Batman you guys were talking about?"
Oswald Coppert raised his short, stubby fingers and flicked the ash off his expensive striped suit, his tone filled with deep disdain.
"Vulgar, so very vulgar, like a wild boar that escaped from a slaughterhouse."
"The real Batman is a master of martial arts, his moves are always clean and precise, every action calculated with the precision of Switzerland watch."
"But what is this guy doing?"
"Slapping, throwing people, smashing through the floor with brute force—even the laborers at Gotham Docks who carry two hundred bags of flour a day have more discipline in a fight than him."
The Riddler on the right-hand screen sneered, his question mark cane spinning rapidly in his palm.
" Oswald, your aesthetic sense is clearly still stuck in the sewers of the Middle Ages."
The Riddler adjusted his green-rimmed glasses, pointed his slender finger at the paused screen, and his sharp voice echoed in the study.
"The point isn't whether his movements are graceful or not, but rather this guy's pitifully low level of intelligence!"
"Didn't you listen to the recorded communication from earlier?"
When he pronounced "I admire Batman," the ending sound was not only flat and monotonous, but he didn't even imitate the slightest trill!
"When the real Batman disguises his voice, his vocal cords vibrate at an extremely low frequency; that's a technique of advanced acoustic control."
"Not to mention his flawed and illogical dialogue."
"To be chatting with kidnappers about the cooking time of steaks in a chemical plant, his brain must be full of butter."
"From pronunciation habits to logical behavior, this is clearly a fake devoid of any mystery or aesthetic appeal."
Listening to the two people's criticisms, the Joker on the left screen suddenly brought his pale face close to the camera, the exaggerated scarlet paint on his lips almost sticking to the screen glass.
"Alas! What nonsense are you two idiots spouting to yourselves?!"
The Joker let out a shrill, eerie laugh, grabbed his messy green hair, and shook himself violently in the chair, looking extremely agitated.
"Fighting techniques? Vibrato in pronunciation? Ha! Do you even know what art is?"
"The most fascinating thing about that little black bat is its repressed and painful obsession!"
"He is the embodiment of night, a melancholy sculpture standing atop a gargoyle overlooking the entire decadent city, and the endless dance between us!"
But what about this person?
The Joker pulled a pale white daisy from his pocket, nervously tore off a petal, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed it.
"There is no compassion, no restraint, not even a trace of self-reproach for wanting to save anyone!"
"This is an outrageous trampling of the sacred bond between me and Batman!"
The Joker spat out a mouthful of flower petals at the camera, squeezing out two comical tears from the corners of his eyes. "It's awful. If Gotham is full of these boring, muscle-bound freaks who don't even know how to introduce themselves, I'll lose all interest in blowing up the hospital."
The shadowy figure sitting in the shade of the desk tapped the tabletop lightly with his fingertips, interrupting the three people's outburst.
"In other words, we've reached a consensus."
"He's just a brute trying to flaunt his Batman name in Gotham."
The Penguin took a puff of his cigar, a sinister glint appearing in his eyes.
"No matter where Gotham brute came from, Gotham has its rules."
"If he just wanted to use Batman's name to collect protection money, that would be one thing, but he disrupted the underground order we jointly established."
"I'll have my spies keep a close watch on every corner. If he dares to take off that armor and show his face, I'll make him know the consequences of offending us."
The Riddler snorted and said nothing more.
The study was briefly silent, save for the faint crackling of the candlelight.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, the Penguin raised his long-handled umbrella and tapped it on the wooden table in front of him.
"Wait, everyone, it seems we've overlooked something extremely important."
The pupils behind the monocle contracted slightly, and the Penguin's disdain faded somewhat, replaced by deep suspicion.
"Tonight, City Hall was packed with half of Gotham's elite. Mr. Freeze and Deadshot burned most of the hall down and kidnapped Bruce Wayne in front of everyone."
"With such a commotion, even that clueless imposter has jumped out to join the fun."
"But what about the real Batman?"
Penguin looked around at the faces on the screen, a hint of surprise and uncertainty in his voice.
"Normally, even if I bring in a little extra flour, that black bat will jump out of the ventilation duct and interfere."
"The skies over Gotham were bright all night, yet he didn't throw a single Batarang. That's completely out of character for him."
The Riddler pushed up his glasses, a smug smirk playing on his lips.
"It's obvious that the alien disaster that struck Metropolis two days ago, which affected the entire world, was far more significant than the Gotham."
"It's said that the entire Metropolis Police Department was razed to the ground by those aliens, and the entire globe was shrouded in a strange, blood-red sky. Don't tell me you've forgotten about that."
" Batman Metropolis went to Metropolis to play the savior, only to be severely paralyzed by aliens and is now barely clinging to life under an oxygen mask in some secret bunker."
"Or to put it more bluntly, he has become construction waste along with the ruins of the Metropolis."
The dark figure in the shadows stroked his chin thoughtfully and added in a hoarse voice.
"It's also possible that Amanda Waller and her group of federal agents finally couldn't resist and secretly handed him over to a military laboratory."
The group analyzed the possibility that Batman had been severely injured by aliens or detained by the government, and the more they reasoned, the more convincing their arguments seemed.
While everyone else was seriously discussing where the real Batman died, the Joker on the left side of the screen rolled his eyes dramatically.
He rested his chin on his hands, his feet dangling back and forth on the workbench, and a snicker that seemed to be choking him out came from deep in his throat.
idiot.
They're all a bunch of self-righteous idiots.
An alien crisis? Severe paralysis?
Bruce Wayne himself was knocked unconscious and carried away by a few second-rate thugs you sent, and left motionless on the concrete floor of the chemical plant.
If my bat baby were to descend from the sky wearing a cape tonight, that would be a miracle!
A bunch of low-level villains!