The rain has stopped.
But this doesn't mean Hell's Kitchen has become clean.
On the contrary, the torrential rain forced the city to vomit up all the filth inside.
The filth that usually hides in sewers, alleys, and wall cracks is all washed into the open.
Black water accumulated in the low-lying area, with oil slicks and unidentified garbage floating on the surface. Under the reflection of the neon lights, it emitted a stench even stronger than usual.
It's three blocks away from the gallery.
A dental clinic that has been abandoned for at least ten years.
The sign here has long since been half gone, leaving only a grinning molar model that makes a strange "creaking" sound in the wind.
The clinic's basement.
There are no windows here, only a surgical light with faulty contact.
"So boring."
The Joker slumped in the dusty, moldy leather chair.
He crossed his legs, his muddy leather shoes swaying back and forth in mid-air.
He held a pen in his hand, which he had somehow acquired, and his nimble fingers made the pencil spin rapidly between his fingertips.
"Seriously, this is so boring."
The Joker sighed, tilted his head back, and looked at the water stains seeping from the ceiling.
"The villains in this city are all defective products manufactured on an assembly line; even the instruction manuals are written exactly the same."
He sat bolt upright, the chair creaking loudly. Opposite him sat a neat row of unusual "spectators."
Those were six plastic mannequins stolen from the mall.
Some of them were missing arms, and some were missing half a head.
But they were all carefully dressed up, becoming supporting characters in an absurd stage play.
"First and foremost, you, fatso."
The Joker jumped off the chair and walked to the first mannequin.
He walked up to the first model.
The model was dressed in an oversized white suit, the buttons zipped up tightly, because two down pillows were stuffed into her stomach.
A baguette was forcibly stuffed into its hand, serving as a scepter symbolizing power.
The Joker poked the mannequin's smooth plastic forehead with a pencil, making a crisp "thud".
"You're too serious. Really, as serious as a constipated headmaster."
The Joker circled Kingpin, exaggeratedly mimicking Kingpin's usual arrogant gait.
"Snap."
The Joker broke the pencil in his hand and threw it at Kingpin's bald head.
"Weeds will grow in the garden, and with just one fire, your blocks will turn to charcoal. You're not only boring, but also... lacking in imagination."
He shook his head and looked at the second model.
This model was much thinner than the previous one, wearing a black and white bodysuit, with a crooked bullseye drawn on her forehead with a red marker.
The most outrageous thing is what it has in its hands.
There was a dead rat lying there.
The mouse's tail was stiffly sticking up; it had been dead for a while.
"And you, little dart thrower."
The Joker sighed, his tone full of disappointment and regret.
"Accurate? 100% accurate? Ha! That's something only machines can do! Are you a pre-programmed ball-throwing machine? Or one of those NPCs that just runs according to a script?"
The Joker reached out and flicked the dead rat's tail.
"If all you do in life is throw things into holes, how empty would your life be? Even a well-trained monkey can learn to throw darts if you give it enough bananas."
"You're all too simple. As simple as... as this pencil."
The Joker pulled another pencil from his pocket.
This pencil is brand new, with a sharpened tip.
"It breaks with the slightest touch. No resilience, no struggle, no... that beauty of a soul being torn apart."
The Joker casually tossed the broken pen into a corner and began pacing back and forth in front of the row of mannequins, like a stern examiner inspecting an exam hall.
The leather shoes sank into the floor, which was littered with broken glass and discarded needles.
He continued until he stopped in front of the last model.
This model is very special.
It was dressed in a dark red bodysuit, which the Joker had stolen from a cosplay shop.
He wore a devil's headdress cut from cardboard, the cut was extremely rough, and the two horns were even asymmetrical, with the left one higher than the right, making him look both comical and eerie.
The Joker reached out and gently stroked the rough cardboard mask.
But you're different.
His voice lowered, carrying a morbid obsession.
"You are special."
The Joker leaned close to the mannequin's ear, even though it was just a piece of plastic.
He took a deep breath.
"Ah... I smell it, Little Red Riding Hood."
The Joker closed his eyes, a look of ecstasy on his face.
"That smell about you... that nauseating smell called 'morality.' It's a deep-seated pain, a desire to tear everything apart yet a desperate struggle to endure."
He opened his eyes, his pupils flashing with a crazed light.
"You have rules. You don't kill. You believe in the law, you believe in justice, you believe those absurd rules written on paper can save this quagmire."
The Joker suddenly laughed.
It wasn't a manic laugh, but a low, guttural laugh squeezed from deep in the throat.
"You remind me of an old friend. Really, you're so alike. You both like wearing tight clothes, you both like jumping around at night, you both like putting shackles on yourselves. You're clearly Beast, but you insist on pretending to be domestic dogs."
"It's a pity that old friend is no longer in this world. Since that's the case..."
The Joker pulled a utility knife from his pocket.
"Click."
Blade launched.
"I will transform you into him. Even... more perfect than him."
The Joker's hands were very steady.
The tip of the knife was pressed against the corner of the red-clad model's mouth.
"Zzz--"
The sound of plastic being cut was sharp and piercing.
He drew a long, upward curve at the corner of the model's mouth.
A wound that will never heal.
An Eternity smile.
" Kingpin only wants your life, that's too crude. I want your soul. I want to peel away your hypocritical saintly facade layer by layer and see if you're just a lump of rotten flesh like me inside."
"I'll show you that in this crazy world, the only sanity is madness."
The Joker took a step back.
He looked at the Daredevil model who had undergone "cosmetic surgery" and nodded in satisfaction.
He then opened his arms and bowed deeply to the room full of mutilated mannequins.
"The school bell has rung, students."
The Joker walked to the wall, where a moldy little blackboard hung. He picked up a piece of chalk and drew two parallel lines on the blackboard, then drew a stick figure tied to the railway tracks.
Chalk dust fell in a flurry, staining his fingertips white.
Lesson 1: The Correct Solution to the Trolley Problem.
"If on one side of the railway tracks are innocent citizens, and on the other side are the principles you've upheld your entire life..."
"Dear Little Red Riding Hood, what would you choose?"
Hehehehe... Hahahaha...