Gotham.
Wayne Building.
Drizzle fell from the sky. In the thick cloud cover overhead, thunder flashed repeatedly, like a light bulb wrapped in a blanket, flickering brightly.
Crack.
A bolt of lightning suddenly erupted from the clouds, illuminating all of Gotham in a pale light.
It also lit up a thin figure standing atop Wayne Building.
He wore a long purple tuxedo and pants, white gloves on his hands. His face was pale, as if painted, lips dyed a deep scarlet. It was hard to tell if the color ca from torn flesh at the corners of his mouth or crimson lipstick. Algae-green hair fluttered wildly, reflecting the madness in his eyes.
The Joker stood atop the head of a gargoyle. The wind howled, whipping the back of his purple tuxedo. He grinned maniacally.
That image, caught in the mont of lightning, was shocking and eerie.
He stood atop the Wayne Building, over 100 ters above the ground, perched on the gargoyle's thin head. His slender figure braved the strong wind, his coat flapping, looking like he could fall at any mont.
In the next flash of lightning, on the opposite side of Wayne Building, a black figure extended his arms, hovering in the drizzle, perfectly positioned.
A grappling gun appeared in Batman's hand. He aid at the top of the Wayne Building, a place more familiar to him than anyone else, and fired the hook at another gargoyle.
The hook latched onto the gargoyle's arm. Batman quickly pressed another switch on the grappling gun. With a sharp recoil, the cable reeled in, and Batman launched forward in a high arc. Like a precision chanism, he swung through the air, landing atop the gargoyle. His cape billowed in the wind as he faced the Joker.
"I've been waiting for you, little bat!"
The Joker placed his right hand on the gargoyle's knee, letting the drizzle and cold wind slap his face. His purple tuxedo fluttered behind him, and he suddenly laughed, as if he had thought of sothing amusing.
"You should know, even if my real identity is exposed, there are countless ways to still be Bruce Wayne or not be Bruce Wayne."
Batman's voice was calm. His eyes were steady as he watched the Joker cautiously, prepared for anything.
"You're not getting away, Joker."
The wind howled behind them, blowing both the Joker's purple coat and Batman's black cape.
Suddenly, the Joker stood upright, spread his arms wide, and stared ahead in the wind and rain. His face turned solemn, lips pressed shut.
"You're right, little bat. I choose to die."
"The ga is on!"
The Joker grinned and fell backward.
Even though Batman had been watching him closely, he still failed to stop the Joker from toppling off the ledge.
The gargoyle's location on Wayne Building stood over 300 ters above the ground. A fall from that height would turn any normal person into a pulp.
As the Joker plumted backward, his eyes remained shut, but the sa playful smile stayed on his face.
Anyone else would die from that fall.
The Joker would not.
By the ti Batman reached the gargoyle the Joker had stood on, the madman was already halfway down. Suddenly, his purple tuxedo unfolded like wings, catching the wind and slowing his descent. A small parachute popped out, further reducing the impact, and he glided toward a nearby Joker-thed van.
Once safely on the ground, the Joker turned his head playfully, raised two fingers to his temple in a mock salute toward Batman, then climbed into the van and drove away from Wayne Manor.
Even though Batman instructed Alfred through the comms to track the vehicle, the Joker still managed to disappear.
After searching Gotham thoroughly, Batman finally returned to Wayne Manor in the dead of night. He pushed aside the large clock and entered the Batcave.
Batman removed his cowl, water dripping from his chin and neck from the lingering drizzle. He sat heavily in front of the monitors, reviewing surveillance footage.
"Sir, you have a press conference tomorrow to dispel the rumors about Batman's true identity," Alfred said as he approached with a bowl of warm ginger soup.
Batman continued to stare at the screens, searching for clues to the Joker's location. Without looking back, he replied, "Alfred, I don't have ti. The Joker is clearly trying to buy ti. Handle it for ."
"You must make ti, sir. All of Gotham is in turmoil over this. If you don't want Wayne Manor bombed by every villain who's ever had a grudge with Batman, I suggest you spend ten minutes making a brief clarification at the press conference."
Alfred stood tall, bowtie and tuxedo immaculate, the very image of a British butler.
"You need to calm the public unrest."
He added firmly.
The situation had escalated too far. Regardless of how Bruce felt, he had to make a public statent.
Bruce stared at the screen a while longer, then frowned.
"Ten minutes?"
"Yes."
"Fine. Also, give the full list of Joker's surviving henchn."
...
The next day.
Wayne Building, Convention Center.
The hall was packed with reporters from across Gotham—Gotham Daily, Gotham Evening News, Gotham Weekend, People City, Lace Magazine, Playboy, and even niche publications like Education News, Military Tis, Student Weekly, Academic Journal, Financial Herald, Agricultural Monthly, and Travel Digest all sent their top journalists.
Even Midtown Daily from Central City dispatched a glamorous reporter. And naturally, Daily Planet from tropolis sent a seasoned male reporter.
The topic of Bruce Wayne possibly being Batman was so explosive that no outlet could ignore it. Everyone wanted the inside scoop.
Was it true? Was it false? Or was it a cover-up?
Every reporter could sll a headline.
"Now, Mr. Bruce Wayne will make a statent," Alfred said, stepping aside at the podium.
Bruce Wayne, dressed in a tailored suit, entered casually, whistling as he walked in. He glanced at the female reporters who stood up upon seeing him, flashing a charming smile.
Reporters imdiately raised their caras. In the short walk of just over ten ters, Bruce struck dozens of different poses for the dia, even flirting lightly with a few of the won, showcasing his carefree playboy image to the fullest.
When he reached the podium and faced the crowd of reporters, he began to speak.
"I can't rember when I last had a press conference, so I guess I'd better read from the script this old man gave !"
Bruce stiffened his shoulders and spoke with mock helplessness, pulling out the statent Alfred had prepared.
"Soone suspects I'm Batman, the Dark Knight who haunts the night."
"They think I've been secretly fighting Gotham's dark underbelly…"
Before he could finish, a female reporter raised her hand abruptly and interrupted.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Wayne. Do you think we'll buy that? Based on physical comparisons, it's almost a perfect match. I've even reviewed all the actresses you've spent the night with and found so impressive physical data. Mr. Wayne, you're in excellent shape. That's fantastic…"
"Of course, you can question Wayne Enterprises' statent. Thank you for the complint on my physique, but don't throw around baseless accusations implying I'm a bat…"
"I never said you were Batman."
"Didn't you? It sure sounds like sci-fi. I'm no superhero. If I were Batman, I'd definitely be using those skills to chase after beautiful won. I'm hardly hero material, what with all my personality flaws…"
Suddenly, Bruce swept his gaze across the room, scanning the reporters with a sharp look.
Alfred leaned in and whispered, "Stick to the script."
Bruce looked down at the statent in his hand, paused, then lowered it.
"Actually…"
He paused again, eyes still on the script.
Then he set it down.
"I am Batman."
(To be continued.)
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