In The DC World With Marvel Chat Group

When Schiller saw the despondent look on Bruce, his entire countenance shrouded in gloom, he knew that the conversation with Catwoman probably hadn't gone well.

"You two didn't get into another brawl, did you?" he inquired.

Bruce replied, "It's worse than that."

"Well then, which hospital room is she in now?" Schiller asked.

"I mean, Gotham's situation is worse than I imagined," Bruce explained.

"There's a group of bad guys here that you can't really blame," Bruce said. "In this environment, they're doing the best they can."

"I think you're starting to realize that being Batman isn't as simple as you thought," Schiller remarked.

"Indeed," Bruce admitted. "I used to believe that with my armor, bulletproof helmet, sharp Batarangs, guns, and bullets, what gang could I not handle?"

"Guns do have their uses," Schiller conceded.

"I can't tell Selena, 'You're wrong,'" Bruce sighed, covering his eyes. "In reality, she's been doing a good job."

"Jonathan probably doesn't see it that way. What if I told you that Jonathan also grew up in an environment like this, and his crimes were a result of no one guiding him? What would you think?" Schiller asked.

Bruce hesitated, realizing that he had been biased in favor of Selena. Many of the gang members he had punished were similar to Catwoman, just not as fortunate. Their families and pasts were all messed up, and they worked for the gangs not because they were inherently evil but simply to make a living.

Breaking free from their socioeconomic constraints was much harder than he had imagined, especially in Gotham. This realization left Bruce feeling somewhat despondent. He finally understood why Schiller had said he didn't understand Gotham. Because anyone who wanted to save Gotham didn't truly understand it. Here, everyone was a bad guy, yet there wasn't a single bad guy. In this horde of walking dead, there was no one to be saved, nor was there anyone who was born to be eliminated. There was no mastermind; everyone was the mastermind.

Bruce's path to becoming a hero was vastly different from what he had initially envisioned. He thought that by capturing enough criminals, extracting information from them, and then tracing back to the few tumors that had always been plaguing Gotham, he could ultimately make the city better. But now he realized it was an abyss. When he removed one set of tumors, another appeared. Nobody could endure such a drain, not in terms of wealth or physicality. Harvey believed that it wasn't just about reaching the finish line, but for Batman, he didn't even have a finish line.

Bruce now understood that his struggle with Gotham would consume his entire life. He realized that wealth, equipment, and combat skills alone couldn't make him a true Batman. His greatest enemy wasn't the criminals; it was his own potential to give up. His biggest challenge wasn't how cunning his adversaries were; it was whether he could remain resolute enough to dedicate his entire life to an unredeemable city's endless battles.

It was like an ordinary person spending a lifetime trying to make the sun rise in the west.

Batman stood on the rooftop of Gotham Central Building, the wind howling around him. Underneath his feet, countless ordinary criminals were like a colony of ants. From here, he could see everything in Gotham clearly.

Batman had thought Gotham lacked order, that it was pure chaos. But now he realized that not only did it have order, it had a more robust one than anywhere else. If it were just chaos, he could rebuild order. But now, he couldn't even disrupt Gotham's existing order.

After a while, Batman heard footsteps behind him, and Catwoman approached with her hands behind her back.

When she saw Batman turning around, she smiled and took out a gem, handing it to Batman with a mischievous grin. "I picked a beautiful little gem from my collection for you. Of course, I couldn't give you the biggest one, but I think this one is quite nice."

Before Bruce could say anything, Catwoman continued, "Yesterday, I talked to Maggie. She said I should apologize to you. No matter what, I shouldn't have used a knife on you."

"I've never apologized to anyone before. If someone tries to hit me, I hit back. But you've been good to me, even going for a joyride on a high-rise building with me, and I ended up stabbing you. That doesn't seem right," she admitted.

She blinked her beautiful big eyes, and those brown eyes shone in the Gotham night like stars. "I can tell you're troubled. I hope this gem can make you feel better."

Batman glanced down at the gem in his hand. It was a finely cut triangular red gem, somewhat resembling his emblem, and it sparkled even in the dim light.

For the first time, Batman felt that this wasn't just a meaningless mineral for humans.

Batman asked, "Do you want to hear my story?"

Meanwhile, Schiller was on the phone, saying, "Released on medical grounds? How did he get approval for that? Although I don't want to blame you, the Gotham Police Department is really playing a farce..."

He paused, realizing that the Gotham Police Department had already sunk to unimaginable depths.

Then he said to Gordon on the other end of the line, "I hope he stays in the hospital and doesn't come back. You know, I'm not like Batman."

Gordon hung up the phone, sighing. He knew it wouldn't be that simple. Jonathan had finally ended up in the Asylum after a lot of effort, Victor had disappeared, and Lantlos was dead. But the Gotham University dean, using a medical release as an excuse, had managed to avoid prison. He had been in Gotham for so many years, and he still had connections. In the end, he had succeeded in his revenge.

Schiller never underestimated the darkest sides of Gotham citizens. He knew the dean wouldn't give up so easily.

Sure enough, the next day, just before Schiller was about to leave the office, a frantic girl rushed in. She was the same one who had complained to the school when Christine went missing, and she was a close friend of Christine's.

"Christine has gone missing again?" Schiller asked.

"It's worse than that," the girl said anxiously. "Since that time, Christine gave me a safety code. She told me that if I ever received that code on my mobile phone, it meant she might be in danger."

Schiller hurriedly gathered his things. "When did this happen?"

"Just three minutes ago! The phone rang, but there was no response on the other end!"

Schiller reassured the girl and then called Bruce on the phone. "Bad news, Christine is in trouble again. I don't know if Gordon informed you, but the dean was released on medical grounds. If he wants revenge, Christine would likely be his first target."

Bruce rushed back to Wayne Manor, donned all his Batman gear, and headed out. He had advised Christine to testify against the dean, so he felt compelled to rescue her, despite his personal feelings.

Unfortunately, this time, the dean had become more cunning. He didn't use low-level gang members; he hired professional kidnappers who left no traces. It seemed that the dean merely wanted revenge, not to use her as leverage. But this indicated that Christine was likely in an extremely dangerous situation.

After a while, Batman received a call from Schiller. "The Red Crows gang used to operate on the same street as the drug den you destroyed..."

Bruce didn't have time to ask why, as Schiller abruptly ended the call. Batman sped through the night in a regular sports car since he didn't have the Batmobile. Getting from Wayne Manor to the East District would take some time, and Christine could be in danger at any moment. Despite his feelings toward her, he didn't want to see an innocent person come to harm.

Batman gripped the steering wheel tightly, acutely aware that he needed a better mode of transportation. Suddenly, an unexpected call came through. Catwoman's voice echoed on the other end, "Hey, I think I just spotted your girlfriend who's always waiting for you on the streets. What's going on? Why are they heading towards Maple Street? It's dangerous there..."

"She's been kidnapped. Please, help me save her! No... I mean, can you keep an eye on them? Watch from a distance and then call me. Wait, no, don't follow them. Just tell me where they're going," Batman urgently responded.

"You sound like you need help," Catwoman remarked.

Batman seemed impatient as he replied, "It's none of your business. Just stay out of trouble tonight."

He hung up and sped towards Maple Street. After a while, Batman arrived at the end of Maple Street, which was once the stronghold of the Red Crow gang. He had dismantled a poppy manufacturing den here before. Batman's memory served him well as he continued down the right side of the street and turned into two alleys.

Upon reaching the end of one of the alleys, he heard intense fighting and gunshots coming from inside. Batman quickly found the back door and forced the lock open. Inside, he discovered a group of thugs lying in disarray on the ground, all in agonizing pain, seemingly incapacitated by joint strikes.

Entering the living room, he saw seven or eight masked kidnappers also lying on the ground. A whip whizzed by, narrowly missing Batman.

Catwoman turned around and said, "Thank God, the girl is unharmed."

Batman's gaze shifted to Christine, sitting on the sofa, her clothes slightly disheveled. If Catwoman hadn't arrived in time, things might have turned out differently.

Then, Catwoman sniffed and frowned, saying, "Wait, why do I smell gasoline? Is your car leaking? No, this is bad! It might be Molotov cocktails. Hurry, get out of here..."

Before she could finish, the glass at the front door shattered, and numerous Molotov cocktails, wrapped in cloth, were thrown inside.

A fierce fire erupted with a whoosh, engulfing the abandoned hideout. The place was filled with flammable items like fabric sofas, curtains, and more.

Soon, the fire raged out of control. Bruce, carrying the unconscious Christine, reached the back door, only to find it blocked from the outside with heavy objects.

Clearly, this was a premeditated trap.

While Batman's suit was fire-resistant, the growing blaze posed a danger to both Christine and Catwoman. Fire-resistant clothing did not protect against smoke inhalation, and the thick black smoke made it almost impossible to see, causing everyone to cough repeatedly.

Suddenly, a clear "clang" came from the right side, as if something had fallen. Catwoman reacted swiftly, using her whip to retrieve it. To her surprise, it was a fire extinguisher!

Without questioning its origin, Catwoman grabbed the extinguisher and shook it vigorously. Batman said, "Let's go to the spot where they threw the Molotov cocktails. There should be a vacuum there!"

Batman led the way with the extinguisher, while Catwoman supported Christine.

Indeed, the person who threw the Molotov cocktails had aimed well, causing them to land in the center of the hall rather than near the door. Besides a small carpet near the entrance, there was nothing flammable in front of the door. Batman used the extinguisher to put out the flames that came their way, and they pushed forward.

When they reached the door, Batman shot the lock with his gun and then began to pound on the iron door with all his strength.

The person who had thrown the Molotov cocktails seemed to have left in a hurry, and the front door was not as securely blocked as the back one. After several hits, Batman managed to create a gap.

However, this also meant that air began to circulate, and the fire grew larger. Catwoman was on the verge of passing out from smoke inhalation, and Batman could feel her hand slipping from his shoulder. If she lost consciousness, both she and Christine would be in grave danger.

With all his strength, Batman gave one final powerful push, and with a resounding "bang," the door swung open. The three of them escaped just in time. Catwoman gasped for breath, and by now, both Batman and Catwoman were covered in soot from the fire.

After dropping Christine off, Batman, driving, asked Catwoman in the passenger seat, "Why did you rush in to save Christine? That was very dangerous, wasn't it?"

Catwoman was still excitedly inspecting the interior of the luxurious car, clearly not having experienced such opulence before.

Clearing her throat and calming her excitement, she eventually replied, "Well, I had a lot of reasons to earn your praise just now. Like wanting to learn from you to be a better person, or that deep down, I am a righteous heroine. Or maybe I couldn't stand seeing those kidnappers hurt innocent people..."

Then, Catwoman looked at him, and when Batman felt her gaze on him, he once again sensed his heart racing.

"You don't want me to do bad things, but I really love those gems. So, can I do one bad thing and then one good thing? Wouldn't that work?"

"...Well, I just wanted to make you happier," Catwoman shrugged.

"I know I can't be a great hero. I just like stealing things; it's a habit I've had since I was a child. I don't have a grand reason for it. Maybe that girl who's always waiting for you on the streets is better than me, after all. She's educated, beautiful, innocent, and has never done anything wrong."

"But this is who I am. I don't dwell on those things. I just do what I want. You can consider me a criminal or an irredeemable bad guy, but I am who I am—a cat."

Batman loosened his grip on the steering wheel slightly. He wasn't sure if this was the answer he wanted.

But he knew that the romance, liveliness, and sincerity he saw in Catwoman weren't the reasons he loved her. A bat could never truly love a cat; he was simply envious of her freedom—something he, as the Dark Knight, could never attain.

He had made up his mind to confront this irredeemable city.

As he watched the luxury car slowly come to a stop at an intersection, Schiller on the rooftop communicated with the symbiote in his mind, "...No, we can't go down. What's about to happen is not suitable for young children to see."

The symbiote let out a dissatisfied growl.

"Yes, I know you did great just now, fetching the fire extinguisher from the coffee shop across the street corner and throwing it in there accurately!"

"But what's happening inside the car is just the meaningless human reproductive process. You symbiotes don't need that process; you just need to shed."

The symbiote fell silent, and Schiller wasn't sure if it understood.

Schiller shifted his gaze away from the luxury car and looked at the dimly lit night of Gotham.

Perhaps this city was beyond redemption, and perhaps Batman was just an ordinary man feeling despair and confusion. He thought.

But Batman was not alone; he would never be alone.

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