The night in Gotham isn’t pitch black; black is nothingness. When it’s at its peak, it can make a person stop thinking and simply enjoy the mont of tranquility. Gotham’s night is a deep, rich blue, and the light from those skyscrapers flickers like distress signals, leaving people restless.
Batman stands atop the building, his cape bearing traces of struggle in the fierce wind and rain. The signal light from the distant building flashes repeatedly, raindrops falling off his mask. The city in his eyes is blurred, like the lingering shadow of a dream over the past twenty years. Now, he no longer wavers over the light or darkness here, but understands more deeply than anyone that what’s gone will never return.
Suddenly, a blinding light pierces the city, and a giant bat silhouette appears in the sky. The Dark Knight leaps down, squeezing through the narrow spaces between countless skyscrapers, a desperate run through the steel jungle. When a man attends a eting he doesn’t want to, the boundaries between coming and going are no longer clear.
The silhouette seen under the Bat Light makes him hesitate for a mont. Except for the Joker, it’s been a long ti since soone dressed so splendidly to et him. After all, he isn’t a hero, just a monster in a bizarre city.
When that silhouette turns around, Batman’s pupils contract sharply, but he doesn’t call out his na. He understands that it’s not the Schiller he knows; it absolutely isn’t.
The person in front of him seems too dangerous, his rain-drenched hair clinging tightly to his cheeks, gray eyes sunk deep in their sockets, the whole person like a silver knife piercing the rainy night. The gigantic city hangs upside down behind him, the pouring rain a cascade of blood, evoking not the last stroke of an ending, but the bullet marks left by a starting pistol.
Batman approaches him. As he stands still, the puddle slices his reflection into segnts, making him appear taller and straighter, as if the him from decades ago returned here. The dangerous signal makes his blood boil again, in this fleeting mont, he feels the illusion of still being a hero.
"Why are you here?" he asks.
"That’s not important. I just want to tell you sothing." Schiller’s expression looks serious, yet his tone seems casual, "Lex Luther has gone mad. The team he sent to kidnap Martha Kent, Superman Clark Kent’s mother, left tropolis three hours ago, heading for Kansas State. Your ti is running out."
Batman’s breath catches for a mont. The voice from the other side cos through the rain again: "To tell you this news, I broke out from the police station. So, afraid there’s no ti to explain what’s really going on. Batman, let’s make a bet—if the strength you have left can only save one person, that person would surely be Clark Kent."
Accompanying his words is the sharp sound of sirens. The state police helicopter has arrived, countless spotlights and gun barrels aiming here. The shouting voice becos increasingly distant, and in Batman’s mind echoes Clark Kent’s words: "No matter what kind of person I beco, justice or evil, it will change the world."
Batman also hears his own response. He admits that Clark Kent will be the person to change the world.
Stop him?
Why?
Batman gazes at this city. Why stop Clark Kent?
He has no reason to do so, nor will he do so. He knows this world isn’t good enough, and he believes soone needs to change it.
Everything he’s done isn’t to stop Clark Kent; it’s precisely to help him, help him beco the true Clark Kent.
Batman closes his eyes and leaps from the rooftop. In that mont, he feels like an exhausted antelope, the circling helicopter akin to vultures drawn by the scent. The one that killed him wasn’t the lions or cheetahs chasing the herd, but a younger version of himself.
"Click," the blinding light turns on. Clark slightly tilts his head, first raising one eye, then focusing both eyes in the sa direction, a habitual move. Normally, when he’s in a bad mood, he looks at people this way.
"Go in, Mr. Rodriguez. I really didn’t expect that in the new year, we would encounter the two most troubleso criminals so quickly. Don’t try any tricks, or we’ll make sure you pay for it."
Clark looks to the side—he’s separated from the adjacent cell by only a transparent glass panel, allowing him to see the situation inside clearly. He sees a man in a suit, slender in figure, sitting in a chair facing the sa direction, that side profile sowhat familiar.
Clark looks at the black-haired, gray-eyed man in shock, the other also turning to look at him. But upon seeing those gray eyes, Clark forgets to call out his na, just remaining stunned.
No, he doesn’t actually know him. Clark thinks, he only saw his counterpart in Battleworld. Each counterpart is different, just like he’s seen other Wonder Won in Battleworld, but has never t this universe’s Wonder Woman, doesn’t know her at all.
He knows, Schiller Rodriguez isn’t a simple character either. Otherwise, why would the military have imprisoned him alongside himself?
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