Joker tugged at the lapels of his coat, spinning around twice on the spot to show Batman his new outfit. Excluding the bomb, it was indeed a new suit, completely different from the one he wore on stage last ti.
But as he finished his turn, he found that the scene he had anticipated never took place.
In sight of Joker with explosives, Batman would normally retreat quickly, making tactical defensive moves, and then shout out, "Joker! Stop your evil plan!"
However, this ti Bruce looked up at him. When Joker locked eyes with him, they both hesitated for two seconds.
Joker glanced down at himself, then back at Bruce, and then down at himself again, as if suspecting he was experiencing so kind of illusion.
He let go of his coat, wiped his nose on his sleeve, sniffed hard, and said, "No, that's not right. You're not Bruce. You are Batman... You are Batman right now. I can sll the scent of tornt..."
Joker scrunched up his face, sidling up to Bruce, sniffing intensely. "Yes... Yes... That scent of fear from the bat; a blend of blood and stench. I could sll it from two kiloters away. No one else in Gotham could possibly have this scent..."
Suddenly, Joker leapt back, yelling at Bruce in a hoarse voice, "Batman! How could you do this?! Why aren't you in your battle suit? Why are you at the hospital entrance and not on a rooftop?!"
He ripped open his coat once again, shouting at Bruce, "Look at ! I've got plenty of bombs! Enough to blow half of Gotham sky-high!"
With spittle flying from his mouth, Joker wildly gesticulated, describing the cloud of mushroom debris post-explosion to Bruce.
He swallowed, limping over to Bruce, thrusting the bomb into his face, saying, "Do you think this is a prop? No! Sll the gunpowder, this is fresh off the assembly line, the most delicious big bomb!!"
Yet, Bruce seed completely lost in his own thoughts. He had been like this since he stepped out of the hospital, a typical state of stunned paralysis triggered by post-traumatic stress disorder.
Instances or distressing experiences can trigger the symptoms of PTSD. Saddled with PTSD, patients oftentis lapse into a catatonic state, displaying signs of wooden depression and re-experiencing the trauma.
Having just left the hospital, Bruce recalled his return to the desolate Wayne Manor, an experience he was loathe to relive because it reminded him of the day his parents died.
The weather in Gotham was fairly consistent; overcast during dayti with occasional rain at nightti. Although Mr. and Mrs. Wayne had died on the spot, their bodies were still transported to the hospital for autopsy. Young Bruce, after leaving the hospital, sat blankly at its entrance.
Simply considering returning to Wayne Manor, to be confronted with those familiar scenes, missing two key figures – his parents – was heart-wrenching.
Death is a part of life that everyone inevitably faces. However, the sequence of events, from hospitalization to resuscitation attempts, to the doctor's declaration of death, then the issuing of a death certificate, and so on, still remained etched deep in his mind, serving as a stark reminder of Bruce's losses.
Ti would be the panacea for such a state of stress, but Joker was completely oblivious to what was occurring. He suspected that he was dealing with an imposter of Batman.
He quickly slipped off his coat, gave it a quick shake, crumpled it into a ball, and held it out to Bruce, saying, "Look! A bomb! Repeat after , bomb——!!"
"Don't you recognize it? Did you forget? The three workers who died in the chemical plant explosion, and also the garage owner I blew up, don't you rember?"
Stunned by Bruce's lack of reaction, Joker's face was etched with disbelief.
Taking a deep breath, he stood in place, hands on hips. Suddenly, as if an idea had struck him, he excitedly bounced on his feet and said, "Oh, I get it, it must be about the clothes. Wait for !"
Then, Joker whooshed and disappeared into a side alley, by the hospital. After a while, the sound of a truck could be heard. When Joker ca running back, he had changed into another suit.
"Batman, look, this is the suit I often wore before, you should recognize it now, right? It's , Joker! The world's greatest cody performance artist, Jack!!"
Joker took a deep breath, swallowed hard. Then, taking hold of his coat corner, he presented it to Bruce, "Look at this, there's blood on it... Whose blood was it? I seem to have forgotten."
Then, Joker crouched down, moving his face close to Bruce, looking at him with expectant eyes, "Do you rember now?"
Bruce moved his head slightly, taking a glance at him, but then turned away again.
Joker pursed his lips, pulling them back to expose his teeth in a grueso grin.
He squatted down half way, stomping his foot angrily on the ground before running off again. After a while, he returned, wearing the kind of work clothes a truck driver would typically wear.
"Now you should recognize , right? This is the outfit I wore the first ti we t! Look at !"
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