Matthew Murdock sat on the creaking old spring bed in his apartment, a curved medical needle in his hand.
There was no anesthetic.
Each time he threaded the needle, the intense twitching of his muscles would cause his brow to furrow deeply, but that was all.
This kind of pain is nothing new to him.
Is that all?
He asked himself.
The Joker was arrested and put in a detention cell.
That strange ninja organization also retreated.
The Joker Gang's Riot continued sporadically in the streets and alleys, but without the madman with the baton, all that remained was a pack of hyenas who had lost their way, unable to cause any real trouble.
Maybe I can finally get a good night's sleep tonight.
Matthew cut off the last stitch and threw the blood-soaked gauze into the trash can in the corner.
He lay down, trying to relax the nerves that had been taut for three days.
The world, in his senses, was gradually returning to its proper tranquility.
The indistinct curses of a drunkard at the distant dock, the contented purring of a stray cat on a street corner, and even the gurgling sound of sewage flowing through the pipes beneath our feet all transformed into the city's unique and reassuring white noise.
He's almost asleep.
Until that voice rang out.
It was very light at first.
The direction is southeast, fifteen blocks away.
15th Precinct.
Matthew rolled over, pulled the blanket over his head, and tried to filter the insignificant sound out of his mind.
The police station is always filled with various noises: the resentful mockery of criminals, the heart-wrenching curses of victims' families, and the vulgar jokes among the officers...
He was used to it long ago.
But something was off about that laughter.
Hehe... hehehe... hahahaha..."
The sound was getting louder.
Not just one person, but ten, fifty, a hundred people!
There was not a trace of pleasure in that laughter, only the pain of tearing vocal cords and uncontrollable madness!
Matthew sat up abruptly, his gray-white pupils trembling slightly.
Then came the sound of gunfire.
It was firing randomly without any pattern.
Amidst the dense laughter, he heard the cracking sound of bones breaking, and the suffocating sound of someone trying to inhale but only able to chuckle strangely.
"No..."
Matthew grabbed the still-dry mask and put it on his head, ignoring the risk of his freshly stitched wound reopening, and jumped out the window into the night.
The doors of the 15th Precinct were wide open.
The two imposing blue lights usually flashed incessantly.
Before even entering the hall, a strong smell of blood hit you.
Daredevil landed silently on the steps of the police station.
There are no defenses here, because they are no longer needed.
A young patrolman knelt on the steps at the entrance.
His hands were gripping his own throat so tightly that his nails dug into his flesh, tearing his neck until it was a bloody mess.
The muscles at the corners of his mouth were torn to his ears by some force, revealing pink gums and menacing teeth, forming an exaggerated smile.
He was smiling.
His eyes were bloodshot, and tears mixed with snot streamed down his face. His entire facial expression conveyed the most extreme terror and pain a human being could possibly express.
But what came out of his mouth was unstoppable, the Batman Who Laughs that seemed to pierce his lungs.
"Haha... cough... ha... help... hahahaha!"
He was calling for help, but every syllable was forcibly distorted into laughter.
Daredevil's hands were trembling.
He had no choice.
I stepped past the patrol officer and entered the lobby.
A living hell.
The once bustling emergency call center was now filled with corpses.
There were uniformed police officers, street thugs who had just been arrested, and even a few civilians in pajamas who had clearly come to report the crime late at night.
They were so entangled that it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe.
In this endless, maniacal the Batman Who Laughs, they frantically scratched, rolled, and tore at each other with their fingernails, their teeth, and everything else they could find!
A thug laughed so hard that his ribs broke and pierced his lung, and pinkish blood sprayed onto the face of a policewoman next to him with each laugh.
The policewoman was smiling too.
She laughed as she repeatedly banged her head against the hard marble floor like a madwoman, trying to stop this madness that originated from the depths of her soul with more intense pain.
The chilling laughter only stopped abruptly when his forehead shattered and blood and white matter splattered all over the ground.
There were no survivors.
In this room filled with the Joker's "jokes," living is a thousand times more painful than dying cleanly.
" Brett..."
Amidst the Stormfront of laughter, Matthew discerned a familiar heartbeat.
The heartbeat had become extremely weak, only about twenty beats per minute, a sign that the heart was about to fail.
He rushed down the corridor leading to the interrogation room.
The slogans scribbled in blood on the walls of the corridor, the characters crooked and illegible: A day without laughter is a wasted day!
At the end of the corridor, Sergeant Brett leaned against the wall.
This usually serious, rigid, and unsmiling old policeman also wore the same smile.
The Glock pistol lay beside him, its magazine empty.
On the wall opposite him, the young trainee detective was pinned there by several steel bars.
A comical red Joker nose was stuffed into his mouth, and his hands were made into a "V" sign, a gesture often used in taking photos.
"Haha... Night... Ha... Demon..."
Brett spotted the red figure.
He wanted to cry, he wanted to roar, he wanted to tell Daredevil what had happened here.
That madman, that devil!
The Joker's henchmen released a green gas.
The thugs hid the capsules in their teeth, and the moment they bit them open, the entire police station turned into a gas chamber.
But Brett couldn't say anything.
The toxins had completely eroded his central nervous system, depriving him of the right to control his facial expressions and vocal cords.
He looked at Daredevil's sorrowful face, but could only manage a desperate laugh from his throat.
"Hahahaha... I... haha... can't stop... hahahaha!"
Brett's face turned purplish-red, a sign of severe oxygen deprivation.
Daredevil knelt down, pressing his hands firmly against Brett's shoulders, trying to do something.
But he is not a doctor.
Even if he is, this is not a problem that can be solved with a scalpel.
"Look at me, Brett, take a deep breath."
Daredevil's voice trembled.
"Ha ha ha ha..."
Brett straightened up.
With a final, high-pitched laugh, his pupils dilated.
Even after losing vital signs, that chilling smile remained on his face.
Apart from Daredevil's breathing, the only other sounds in the entire police station were the faint gasps of a few people who weren't quite dead yet, rising from the piles of corpses.
Here's the latest joke the Joker has delivered to Hell's Kitchen.