[I spent three days on this. I already feel like an Arkham patient, ll]
«The Joker Took a Vacation»
It was a sunny day. The sky was blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Warm weather. The city was breathing. It was alive. Birds perched on tree branches, spreading their wings to preen, stretching their necks, curiously eyeing the passersby.
People bustled here and there, living their days as if each one might be their last. Who knew when someone might decide to rob them? But nothing could ruin this warm, golden day.
On the sidewalk stood a boy holding newspapers. He waved one in the air, calling out to anyone who’d listen.
“Fresh news! Joker released from Arkham Asylum! Fresh news!” His thin voice tried to outshout the passing cars.
A man approached and took a paper. His face darkened the moment he saw the bold headline on the front page.
“JOKER IS WELL!” the headline screamed.
A photograph showed doctors shaking hands with the insane clown. His grinning face said it all. The mischief in his eyes was unmistakable.
“The notorious criminal has completed his full course of treatment and has been declared fully sane,” the man read aloud, eyes widening, “As a result, it was decided to release him from the hospital.”
He chuckled nervously, then crushed the newspaper in his hands, scowling.
“Nonsense. Even if he’s sane… those people there have all gone mad themselves.”
And everyone who read that news was already mentally preparing their wills. Everyone remembered who the Joker was and what he represented. Peaceful days were over. Chaos was about to return. Somewhere in the distance, a child’s cry could even be heard.
While Gotham’s citizens discussed the shocking news, showing their outrage in every possible way, a familiar face appeared on a huge screen playing some random video.
A pale man with an unnaturally wide grin. Madness in his eyes. Dressed in a bright purple suit. He sat in a chair against a backdrop of a blue sky with crooked clouds.
He was everywhere. On every screen, every monitor, every TV. Just sitting there, silently staring at the people of the city.
“My dear citizens of Gotham!” he finally spoke, “It’s your ever-beloved Joker here! But don’t celebrate too soon. I know you’ve missed me, my most respected audience. I’ve come to you with some news.”
He paused. Theatrically, he pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and blew his nose loudly, brushing away tears that had appeared.
“You know… after all these years of my life, I’ve realized something. I’m tired! Tired of being the evil jester. Tired of making grand criminal schemes. Tired of taking over this pathetic city. So I decided – why not undergo the treatment those kind doctor-uncles offered me? Ha-ha! And I did it! Surprised? I believe you are. Now I’m… normal. Cured of my affliction. I see the world differently now.”
A cardboard halo descended over his head, and identical wings sprouted from his sides. Joker folded his hands in reverence, like he was praying.
“I’m practically a saint now! I wouldn’t even hurt a baby!” He cooed theatrically at the child handed to him, then returned his gaze to the camera, straightening the lapels of his jacket. “And so! I have an announcement: I’m leaving! Yes, you heard that right! I’m leaving! On vacation. Indefinitely. Oh, as much as I love Gotham, it’s time for me to move on. You see, there’s so much I want to try now, being completely healthy and a respectable citizen. Go to the sea, for instance! Ha! I’ve never been there all this time. I’ll go… hmm… to Hawaii! I’ll run on the warm sand and swim in the salty water! I’ll leave, and you won’t see me. Maybe ever again. Who knows? Me? Personally, I have no idea! Ha-ha!”
From the side came loud sobbing. The camera panned away from the main speaker and showed the masked clown henchmen, theatrically sniffing and wailing.
“Don’t go, boss! What will we do without you?” they cried in unison.
“Oh, boys. I’ll miss you too. But your tears won’t change my decision. As sad as I am to leave you, my vacation awaits!” Joker jumped out of his chair.
With a swift motion, he tore off his suit. Now the clown stood in a bright Hawaiian shirt, beach shorts, and flip-flops. He put on sunglasses and brushed invisible dust from his shoulders.
“Goodbye, Gotham! We’ll meet again! Ha-ha!” He grabbed his suitcases and started to leave the frame amid the loud sobbing of his henchmen.
A deathly silence fell over the city streets. The world seemed frozen. Shock. No one could believe their ears. He’s leaving? Just like that?
Watching all of this was the Dark Knight. Standing on a rooftop in the shadows, he absorbed every word of this madman. His face was darker than a storm cloud. His hands clenched into fists unconsciously. Something boiled inside him. Anger? Disappointment? Perhaps both.
“Master Bruce,” a hoarse voice crackled through the earpiece.
“Alfred, I need you to urgently check every available piece of information on the Joker. I don’t trust him,” the man growled, his gaze burning into the screen that had returned to its usual view.
“That’s exactly why I contacted you, sir,” the voice replied, pausing briefly. “I’m afraid… he’s not lying. All the documents are legitimate. Commissioner Gordon even signed off on the paperwork for escorting the Joker to the airport. And yes…”
A moment of silence hung in the air. Alfred struggled to find words to convey what came next. Even he was rattled by this situation.
“I’m afraid you’re now legally prohibited from approaching him. The court has issued a restraining order. Since, according to the documents, he is no longer considered a criminal, if you’re seen near him, you will be arrested. And any attack on him will be considered an attack on a civilian,” came a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe it. How did this madman manage to make the law work in his favor?”
Bruce remained silent. Long, cold silence. Every attempt to find a solution, to trap the clown in a padded cell, shattered against one simple fact: the law is on his side.
Could it be that he really proved what he had been claiming all these years? The futility of order itself? No. Batman’s pride wouldn’t even allow him to entertain the thought that this clown had won. It would not happen. Never.
“This isn’t over. He’s planning something. Started another game. And if he wants to play, I’ll give him one. Alfred, start tracking all suspicious activity. We need to be ready for his next move,” Bruce said, his jaw tight.
“As you wish, Master Bruce.”
With a sharp movement, he spread his cape. A step. And he was already diving from the rooftop. The dark silhouette cut through the air. A shadow fell over the city. Accepting Joker’s vacation would mean admitting defeat – and that was out of the question.
At night, the air grew colder. The wind rose from the darkest corners, howling its own ode. It disturbed the leaves on the trees, the birds perched on the branches. Rustled trash across the streets. It was the only one who knew all the secrets of this city. Witness to everything.
In the dark sky, among the heavy gray clouds drifting slowly across the star-strewn canvas like massive ships, a signal lit up. It shattered the darkness with its light. It wasn’t calling – it was screaming.
Commissioner Gordon stood on the roof of the police station. His coat flapped in the wind. The man gazed into the distance, over the city he loved so dearly. Confusion etched across his face. His hand reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes – but froze. Behind him, a sound. Gordon would recognize it anywhere. He pursed his lips, closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. But before he could speak, a cold voice broke the silence.
Gordon turned. Scratched the back of his head, then shook it.
“He shouldn’t be. I personally escorted him to the airport,” he said wearily. “Let’s hope that bastard never comes back.”
Batman said nothing. He simply watched the man before him. Gordon cleared his throat awkwardly into his fist. The silence from the figure across from him was… unnerving.
“So… I called you to serve you a court order. As a police officer, I’m obliged to inform you of the new situation,” James said, handing over a sheet of paper. “If he does come back – which I hope he doesn’t – you’re not allowed to approach him. At least, not until he does something first. I have no idea how that freak managed to fool the doctors and the judges and get this ruling. But right now, that’s how it stands. What happens next? I don’t know. Either he’s truly cured… or he’s completely lost it. I know you hate him. I’m not thrilled about his existence either. But I strongly urge you: don’t do anything that would force me to arrest you. That’s the last thing I want in this life.”
“I know,” Batman replied curtly.
“How do you…? Never mind. I guess I should stop being surprised,” Gordon said, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m counting on your… prudence.”
“That’s all, or is there more?”
“For now, yes. Nothing serious. Just a petty theft. We’ve already caught the thief. When bigger fish appear, I’ll let you know.” The commissioner turned away, lighting a cigarette. “By the way…”
As he turned back, all he saw was emptiness. Batman’s teeth clenched the cigarette. James exhaled irritably, yet with understanding.
“I hate it when he does that.”
The cave was quiet. Occasional drops of water falling onto the rocks broke the silence. In the corners, bats stirred, occasionally letting out sounds of life.
The man sat in front of his computer, silently staring at the document in his hand. He wanted to tear it up – but he couldn’t. Bruce read each line over and over, searching for any inconsistency. But it was pointless. This was an official document. There could be no mistakes.
Wayne ran his eyes over the judges’ names. He knew every single one of them. And as far as he remembered, none had ever been involved in any form of corruption. His lips pressed together. A vein throbbed at his temple.
Footsteps echoed from the side. A man in a perfectly pressed suit descended the stairs, carrying a tray with a porcelain teapot and cup. He approached the table and carefully set everything down.
“How long have you been sitting here like this, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked.
“I haven’t counted. Maybe about an hour,” Bruce replied, eyes still fixed on the document.
“Not planning on stepping outside for some fresh air, sir?” the butler raised an eyebrow.
“Too clean,” Wayne murmured to himself.
“Pardon?” Pennyworth asked.
“Too clean. He deliberately made sure that one of the most honest judges would oversee his hearing. As if he knew I’d come asking questions,” Bruce frowned.
“Yes… He really planned this carefully. Have you already seen the medical report regarding his release from Arkham?” Alfred squinted. “I can’t even imagine what he had to do to convince the doctors that he was sane.”
Bruce scratched his chin thoughtfully, then began typing on the keyboard. Documents appeared on the large monitor. Every doctor, without exception, claimed that the clown-psychopath had shown satisfactory results during treatment.
“How strange. Even though Arkham dislikes him… somehow everyone suddenly changed their minds about him,” Alfred said, folding his arms across his chest.
Bruce silently stood and made his way toward the Batmobile. Pennyworth watched him go, offering only a brief remark:
“Shall I expect you for dinner, sir?”
No answer came. Alfred sighed heavily, shook his head, and then smiled softly.
Outside, the rain had begun. Drops drummed rhythmically on the rooftops. As if a thousand tiny drums had come together to perform a concert on Gotham’s streets.
With each passing meter, the sky darkened and the air grew heavier. Nature itself seemed to shudder at the mere mention of the asylum. Only crows were present here. Scavengers. In common parlance, harbingers of death.
A black-feathered bird landed on the sharp tip of a fence. Its eyes gleamed in the moonlight. Its beak opened. It froze, intently watching the dark silhouette. It raised its wings, spreading them wide. Then, without taking its gaze away, it let out a loud, prolonged caw.
He slipped by like a shadow. Fast. Silent. The guard didn’t even understand what it was. Blamed it on a rat. There were plenty of those here.
The ventilation hummed through the corridor. The bulbs buzzed. Flickered. Sometimes the lights stuttered. The whole building was wrapped in a dim half‑light. It was forbidden to turn them off completely, even at night. Supposedly, this system helped prevent escapes or riots. But did it really help? A question with no answer.
A guard with a flashlight made his nightly rounds. The sound of his steps echoed through the entire building. He coughed every now and then – a dry, tired cough. Maybe he was sick, or maybe he just smoked too much. He swept the beam of light across the rooms where patients were kept. Some were asleep. Some stared at the wall. Some muttered something incomprehensible under their breath.
Whenever the flashlight passed over the small padded cells, a few patients shot him contemptuous glances. There were even those who approached the glass and simply stood there, staring. For a long time. Piercingly.
The man yawned as he nearly reached the end of the corridor. He stretched, shook his head – and suddenly heard a wild scream. The guard jerked in surprise and, with a bit of clumsy urgency, ran toward the sound.
When he reached the room, he bent slightly to catch his breath, then looked inside. The patient had curled up in the corner. He was quietly crying. His lips moved as though he was reciting some kind of prayer.
“What happened?” The guard asked hoarsely.
“B-Batman… he… he came for me!” The patient grabbed his own hair and screamed again.
“Here we go,” the man muttered tiredly. “There’s no Batman here.”
“But I saw him! He… he’s the devil! His eyes! They were burning like blood! And his teeth! He’ll eat me alive!” The patient sobbed, crawling toward the glass. “Help me! He wants to kill me!”
“Calm down. I’ll get the doctor, he’ll help you,” the guard said, scratching the back of his head and nudging his cap back into place. “Just stop yelling. You’ll wake everyone up.”
“But Batman! He’s here! He’ll kill us all!” The patient refused to quiet down.
Suddenly, everything around erupted. The moment that name was heard, the patients immediately grew restless. Curses and threats flew from every corner. People screamed, demanding to be let out so they could take revenge. The guard lowered his head and ran a hand over his face.
“Quiet, everyone! There’s no Batman here! This guy’s just hallucinating!” He shouted.
But the unrest didn’t stop. The patients continued to demand their release. The man rolled his eyes, grabbed his radio, and called for the entire staff to quell the riot.
Orderlies in shirts, doctors with medications, guards with batons – all rushed to the ward where the patients were rampaging. Some tossed playful remarks back and forth. One even pressed his hands to his face, mimicking the famous mask of the Dark Knight. But the others shot disapproving glances at the jokers, immediately silencing their antics.
Once the riot was under control, everyone returned to their posts. The shift wasn’t over. Work didn’t stop.
In a quiet office, where the only light came from a desk lamp, a young doctor studied some records, muttering to himself.
“How strange. This patient had been showing decent progress in his recovery. I even managed to curb his hallucinations, reducing them to a minimum,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “So what could have triggered this? A shadow? A dream?”
A rustle came from behind. Barely audible. From the dark corner of the office, a piece of cloak appeared on the floor. The psychiatrist glanced briefly toward the source of the sound. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head – and then froze as a large figure emerged from the shadows. The eyes on the mask seemed to glow. The doctor’s lips trembled. He took a step back.
“Joker,” came the cold voice.
“H-h-he… he’s n-n-not here,” the doctor stammered. “H-he… he left Ark-k-ham. H-h-he has… sp-p-papers. H-h-he’s s-s-sane.”
The psychiatrist’s eyes darted nervously. His shaking hand fumbled under the desk, trying to find something.
“I know. I need the records of his treatment course.” Batman advanced slowly.
“O-o-of course! I… I… I was his tre-treating physician. M-m-mister J… Joker showed ex-ex-excellent results.” He began frantically searching the drawers. “Y-y-you know, he’s a very… edu-educat-ted man. I was ex-ex-extremely surprised when he started speaking in Fr-Fr-French, and also quoting some… well-known works.”
The psychiatrist pulled out a pile of documents, hastily trying to shove them aside. The papers fell to the floor, scattering. He gasped, then began quickly gathering them, the sheets crumpling and slipping out of his hands. Sweat formed on his forehead. He continued, but was abruptly stopped.
“Records,” Batman said flatly.
“Y-y-yes. J-j-just… one… one se-se-second.” The psychiatrist abandoned the documents and continued rifling through the drawer. “P-p-pardon me. I… I… sometimes… w-w-when I’m nervous…”
“There’s no need to apologize for that.” The other watched every movement carefully.
The doctor lifted his head. His face was awkward, lips pressed tightly together. He took a step back, then, with a trembling hand, held out a journal. He squinted instinctively as the dark silhouette drew closer.
“Th-th-these are all the r-r-records for the l-l-last two mo-mo-months of my w-w-work with M–M–Mister J… J… Joker. I ke-ke-kept them ev-every day during t-t-therapy. P-p-please. Take it and g-g-go. You can k-k-keep the journal if y-y-you want…” He glanced nervously toward the door. “Y-y-you’ll sc-sc-scare the patients.”
The Dark Knight said nothing. He carefully flipped through the journal, reading each entry. His eyes scanned the lines quickly.
“M-m-Mr. Joker had m-m-many psychiatrists w-who worked with him. Go to th-th-them. B-b-but, p-p-please, l-l-leave this pl-pl-place.” The doctor continued backing up.
His fingers nervously gripped the edge of the desk while his feet shuffled along the floor. His body moved slowly toward the wall.
A knock. The psychiatrist whipped around. A colleague’s face peeked from behind the door.
“I heard a strange noise. Is everything okay?” The woman tilted her head.
“Y-y-yes. Ev-everything’s f-f-fine. D-d-don’t w-w-worry. It’s a-a-all okay now.”
The woman squinted as she looked around the office, where only the nervous doctor remained. She noticed the papers scattered across the floor but said nothing, merely shrugged, and then left.
Bruce sat in the Batmobile, silently staring at the journal in his hand. Why had he even taken it? He didn’t need it. A gloved hand brushed over his face, as if trying to erase the weariness.
His eyes nervously scanned the sky through the windshield. Silence. No one was calling him. It started to get tense.
“Alfred,” he said shortly.
“Yes, Master Bruce?” Came the hiss through the speaker.
“Joker found the most pliable doctor in the asylum and leaned on him. Now I’m not surprised he got a clean bill of health so easily.”
“A truly terrible man,” Pennyworth sighed. “Are you returning?”
“No. I need to make a patrol. I have to make sure he really left and isn’t hiding somewhere.” Wayne gripped the steering wheel tightly.
The rest of the night passed relatively quietly. Nothing happened – except for a minor incident. A man had tried to steal a woman’s handbag. Just as Batman prepared to leap into action, he saw that the thief had already been stopped by patrolling officers. Apparently, Gordon had put extra effort into the patrols in case another madman with his own twisted schemes appeared. But Bruce wasn’t exactly satisfied with this arrangement.
Time passed. Days turned into weeks. With each new date on the calendar, the situation in Gotham remained unchanged. Every nightly patrol ended in nothing. And inside, an unfamiliar anger began to simmer. Tension grew.
The cave was dark. Even though the sun shone high in the sky, flooding the city with light, here there was only gloom.
Bruce had long since stopped keeping track of time. He sat in front of the computer monitor, watching. Tracking every move of criminals. Every dark corner. His eyes had lost all their life. They were empty. As if a corpse were sitting there instead of him.
The dead silence was broken by footsteps. Alfred descended the stairs, tray in hand. As he approached, he nearly dropped it. Before him now sat not Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, but a middle-aged man who had long forgotten what a razor was.
“Oh, my God,” Pennyworth muttered. “Master Bruce, how long has it been since you looked in a mirror?”
There was no answer. The man’s brows furrowed even deeper, but he didn’t turn toward his companion.
“You know, sir, you really should get up from that desk and stretch your legs. Otherwise, I have a feeling you’re about to grow roots into that chair,” Alfred said, showing his clearly displeased face for the first time in a long while.
“I don’t have time for that right now, Alfred. I have to-” Bruce didn’t get to finish; he was cut off.
“You will get up right now, take a shower, and then go to bed. Preferably for at least a full day.”
“You don’t understand. Crime doesn’t take vacations. Just because everything is quiet right now doesn’t mean I can relax. I need to stay completely focused. This is the calm before the storm.” Bruce rubbed his face with a hand.
“I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t understand, sir. You haven’t been to the manor for almost three weeks. I strongly suggest you get up right now and go to bed.” The butler folded his hands across his chest.
Wayne opened his mouth to argue. To say he didn’t answer to orders. He was about to speak the first words when he met Alfred’s gaze – unyielding and very annoyed. Bruce pressed his lips together quickly. Not that he feared his butler. He had just very rarely seen him this displeased. Usually, Alfred forgives everything because he understands. But when Pennyworth gets angry, it means it’s time to stop. Wayne licked his dry lips, rubbed his eyes, and exhaled loudly.
“Fine. You’re right. I really should get some sleep.” Bruce yawned and stretched, slowly standing up.
“I take it you’ve been sleeping here all this time, correct, Master Bruce?” Alfred quickly scanned the cave with his eyes.
“Something like that.” Wayne yawned again.
“Excellent. Now, to bed. Immediately.” Pennyworth gave a politely annoyed smile.
Bruce didn’t argue. He simply climbed the stairs under the watchful gaze of his butler.
A good sleep always restores – and this time was no exception. The moment Wayne crossed the threshold of his bedroom, he collapsed onto the bed like a stone. Change clothes? Take a shower? Finally shave? No. All Bruce wanted right now was to sleep. And the instant his head touched the mattress, his mind plunged into a dark abyss. Not a gradual descent into slumber with philosophical musings about life and plans for tomorrow, but an immediate blackout. As if someone inside had pulled the emergency brake and switched his entire body to a minimal recovery mode.
Alfred carefully drew the curtains to block any sunlight from entering the room. He opened a window to provide fresh air, so the master of the manor wouldn’t suffocate in his sleep. He brought a carafe of water and a glass, placing them on the nightstand beside the bed. And he checked the bedroom every two hours, just to make sure Bruce was still alive.
Eventually, the man opened his eyes. Well, sort of. With hoarse rasping, he sat up in bed and rubbed his face. His appearance was, to put it mildly, a mess. A chaotic nest of hair on his head. Stubble that had grown into something like a beard. You wouldn’t think this was Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.
“You’re awake, Master Bruce?” Alfred placed a plate of broth on the nightstand. “Good morning.”
“Yeah…” The other croaked, still trying to pry his eyes open. “How long… have I been asleep?”
“About three days, sir. But if we’re being precise, two days and six hours.”
The man drew a noisy breath and lowered his head. Inside, he had already started cursing himself for letting his guard down. Two nights away from the city. What if he’d missed something crucial?
Bruce suddenly sprang from the bed. His eyes darted around the room. He patted his waist, trying to find his belt.
“No, sir. The commissioner hasn’t called you while you were asleep,” Pennyworth sighed. “I would have woken you if he needed you. You know that.”
“Yes… right.” Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Then I’ll take a shower.”
“Of course, sir. Long overdue for a shave. Shall I prepare the bath for you?” Alfred stepped aside from the doorway.
“No. Not necessary.” Bruce waved his hand, then paused. “Coffee. Some coffee would be good.”
Soon, the man stood in his office, reading through some documents. He didn’t even notice how quickly Bruce Wayne had vanished. Of course, he had people who could handle his company’s affairs. But that didn’t change the fact that the mail was piled high with letters waiting for responses.
The door opened. Alfred stepped in, carrying a tray. On it lay an envelope – milky-white paper with a large seal. He approached the man reviewing the documents.
“Master Bruce, you received an invitation yesterday to a charity gala.”
Wayne cast a brief glance at the envelope but didn’t take it. He continued reviewing all the documents on his desk.
“For the occasion?” He asked, dryly.
“The socialites wish to celebrate Gotham’s resurgence over the past month. Everyone’s talking about it,” Pennyworth said, giving Bruce a meaningful look. “I believe you should attend this event. You’ve done much for this city, sir. Moreover, you haven’t appeared in public as Bruce Wayne for a long time. Rumors are spreading – some even think you’re dead. It would do no harm to dispel them.”
Bruce gazed out the panoramic window at the garden. His fingers unconsciously clenched the envelope. Something inside pricked painfully. But he quickly pushed the feeling aside. He frowned slightly. Gotham is flourishing. Somehow, those words wouldn’t leave his mind. For so many years, he had fought for peaceful days to come to this city. So why? Why did something inside ache so much now? Where was this growing sense of emptiness coming from? Shouldn’t he be happy right now?
“Alfred, please have my evening suit ready. I want to see the faces of those who thought I was dead,” the man said, letting out a small chuckle.
“Of course, sir. I’m glad to see you in the mood for a joke,” the butler replied politely, bowing before leaving the office.
Wayne, however, remained at the window for a long time. It was difficult to describe what was happening inside him. He himself didn’t fully understand what exactly was going on.
The grand hall was brightly lit. People in expensive, high-fashion clothing. All of Gotham’s well-known faces gathered in one room. Each of them wore their own mask.
The socialites loved events like this. Charity was, more often than not, just for show. Usually, such evenings served as an opportunity to boast about one’s achievements. It had always been that way.
Bruce passed through the main entrance into the hall. He adjusted his shirt cuffs. He didn’t look around the room. Instead of scanning familiar faces, his gaze fell on the buffet. He quickly ran his eyes over it and noted that the menu was rather unusual tonight.
“Bruce Wayne!” A surprised voice called out from a small cluster of people.
Everyone immediately turned around. Bruce awkwardly adjusted his jacket and forced a polite smile.
From the crowd, a rather heavyset man in a tuxedo approached him. He hurried over and extended his hand for a greeting. Bruce responded in kind, shaking the offered hand.
“You never cease to amaze, Mr. Wayne. It’s a great honor for me. I’m glad you could attend this modest evening,” the man said, pulling a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket to wipe his brow.
“I’m pleased to meet you as well, sir?” Bruce asked awkwardly, glancing at his companion.
“Gregory Crossman,” the man introduced himself.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Crossman,” Wayne replied politely with a nod.
“You disappeared so suddenly, Mr. Wayne. Everyone began to worry that something might have happened to you. But I’m glad you’re here with us tonight,” the man said, letting out a throaty laugh.
“Well, you understand… work. It always demands more than you can give,” Bruce said with a slight smile.
“Exactly! Ha-ha! Work is like that. You forget about yourself entirely! Especially when you’re such a workaholic, like you, Mr. Wayne!” His companion laughed again, turning back to the people around him.
Bruce said nothing. He merely gave a polite nod, as if it were a fine joke. Then he exchanged a few more words with the man, keeping the conversation brief and gradually stepping away.
The evening continued. Time seemed to crawl unusually slowly.
People periodically glanced at Bruce and whispered among themselves. A few young women flirtatiously cast glances in his direction. But he simply stood at a distance, lost in thought. Only now did he notice that Gotham truly was beginning to change. Not that events like this signified the city’s stability – but tonight, there was something different in the air.
In the crowd, he spotted the familiar silhouette of a red-haired lady. His body tensed instinctively. She? Here? What was she up to? His hand automatically reached for his ear, where the earpiece rested, to call Alfred and discuss their next steps.
But the familiar lady was laughing, greeting someone, and clearly showing off the ring on her hand. His hand tightened around the glass. A soft crunch. Had he really stopped noticing such obvious things? Gotham had changed. And he hadn’t. His jaw clenched. Inside, everything boiled with his own ego. How could this be?
“Ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice rang out from the stage. “I am delighted to welcome all of you to this momentous evening! We all know very well that over the past month, our city has undergone tremendous change. It is literally blooming before our eyes! The streets have become safer. People are happier. At last, we can breathe easy, without fear of attack or robbery. Our efforts have finally paid off. And, as you all know, our esteemed mayor has decided to open tourist routes. I believe this is a clear sign that Gotham is embracing the power of freedom! So let us raise our glasses to celebrate this joyful news! Cheers!”
The crowd applauded, raised their glasses, and began congratulating one another. It truly was a major victory for the city.
But Bruce did not share the general enthusiasm.
On the balcony, the air was cool. The wind blew sharply. He rested his elbows on the railing and lowered his head. He ran a hand over his face and inhaled the night air with a noisy breath. He had truly fallen behind this life. Stuck on a single step.
No, he was glad. Finally, his dream was coming true. He had fought for so many years to make this place safe. But for some reason, he felt no joy. It was as if a part of his life had been taken from him. His identity. And in the most brazen way – without permission, without explanation. Just ripped away. Who could have imagined that it would turn out this way?
A familiar signal suddenly lit up in the sky. Wayne flinched instinctively. His brows immediately furrowed. His torso straightened. His hand clenched the earpiece in his ear.
“Alfred, get the suit ready,” the man said dryly, quickly leaving the balcony.
Gordon stood on the rooftop, looking out over the city. The flickering lights. The passing cars. Life continuing on its usual course. He adjusted his glasses.
“What happened?” a muffled voice asked.
“Long time no see. A month?” the commissioner turned to face his companion. “The thing is… nothing really. Here’s a package for you.”
He held out a small box with a stamp. Batman eyed it suspiciously, but took it anyway. Opening the lid, he found a magnet and a postcard.
“Funny, isn’t it? He definitely enjoys mocking people,” Gordon shook his head.
The magnet showed a Hawaiian beach with palm trees, the sea, and coconuts. A bright and beautiful landscape. The postcard, however, was a photograph of the clown’s bare feet in the sand, lying in front of the sea. Batman clenched the photo, then turned it over. In crooked handwriting, a message for the masked hero read:
“Hi, Bats! It’s been a month that I’m chilling on a sunny beach. And you know what? I’m having fun! A lot! For the first time in years, I’m really relaxing. All those endless chases and games – so tiring! You wouldn’t believe how much there is here! Tons of cocktails! Beautiful people in swimsuits! There are even contests! And yes, of course, I won one of them. Maybe you should take a vacation too? Nah. You’re way too boring for that! Anyway, I’m living it up here to the fullest! Enjoy sulking away in your Gotham, Batsy!”
Beneath the text was a red lipstick kiss mark. Batman felt a vein pulse on his temple from irritation. He had left. And he even had the nerve to laugh at him. Just like always.
Gordon watched the Dark Knight, who was holding the photo in his hand. For a moment, it seemed he might throw the box against the wall with all his strength. But Batman silently placed everything back and slammed the lid shut with particular force.
“Ahem. I didn’t call you here just for this,” the commissioner interrupted the awkward silence. “You probably already know that Gotham has changed a lot over the past month. Everything’s quiet. Maybe too quiet. Right now, there’s only minor hooliganism in the streets. And you know, I think there’s no need for me to stay in my position anymore.”
The man paused. He awkwardly scratched the back of his head and coughed into his fist.
“Time is moving on. I’m not getting any younger. I can already feel how hard it’s becoming to get up in the mornings. You understand, age.” He glanced toward the city. “I’ve decided it’s time for me to retire. They’ve been offering me for a long time, but I kept thinking I wasn’t old enough yet. But now… my guys manage perfectly well without me. I feel like Gotham doesn’t need me anymore.”
“Jim, no. This city needs you. You’re its hero. The police couldn’t manage without you.” The Dark Knight took a sharp step closer.
“Batman.” The man chuckled to himself, lowering his head. “The world is changing. Gotham is changing. It’s time for us to change too. Maybe now is the right moment to hand in my badge. Think about my family. Do something more meaningful. Because of my work, I’ve missed some important moments in Barbara’s life. I want to make up for it. Finally be a good father in the eyes of my children.”
Silence. Batman found it hard to open his mouth. The air felt heavy. Words were stuck in his throat. For the first time in his life, speaking felt this difficult.
“I’m telling you this as a friend. At least, I like to think that over all these years I’ve managed to become your friend.” The commissioner sighed. “You know…”
He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, gathering his thoughts. He pressed his lips together and let out another heavy sigh.
“I’m certainly glad that crime has dropped in Gotham. That the city is finally enjoying peaceful days. But on the other hand…” Another pause, “I have this feeling, like something important has been taken from me. Something that gave my life meaning. My drive. It’s as if the criminals in this city were the very thing keeping me afloat, and now… now they’ve all gone underground. Every last one of them. I don’t know if they just suddenly got tired of crime, or if it’s you scaring them so much. But I feel like I no longer have a place here. At least, not in the position of police commissioner.”
“You can’t just give up like that,” his companion finally managed to say.
“Ha… give up. I’m afraid I have no other choice. If Joker’s plan was to make us feel useless in this city, then he succeeded. I’m afraid we lost to him.”
Those words pierced Batman straight through the heart, like the strike of a sharp knife. He couldn’t lose to some clown. No. That was simply impossible. Their game is eternal. Everything can’t just end like this.
The Dark Knight nervously clenched his hand into a fist. So many years they’ve chased each other. All those years they found ways to clash in battle. And now? What is this even?
“I hope we’ll see each other again, Batman. But I’m afraid this is the end for now.” Gordon fell silent.
He turned and walked to the edge of the roof. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, gazing at the city at night, which had its own peculiar beauty at this hour.
Bruce sat in his cave in complete silence. His hands were clasped together and pressed against his face. He stared at the box he had received from Gordon. The court order barring him from approaching. Everything had changed too quickly. Too unexpectedly. He slowly lifted his eyes to the monitor. There were photos of criminals who had decided to step back from their activities along with Joker.
“You’re back, Master Bruce? How was your meeting with Commissioner Gordon? Is he alright?” Alfred set a cup of tea beside Bruce.
“You knew, didn’t you?” The man almost whispered.
“Knew what exactly, sir?” Alfred asked.
“That soon the tourist routes will open. That Gordon plans to retire. That Gotham has changed.”
Alfred closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
“Yes, sir,” he replied quietly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wayne asked dryly.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Master Bruce. You’re already carrying so much as it is,” Alfred said, bowing his head guiltily, “Please forgive me for that, sir.”
“Don’t apologize, Alfred. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Bruce wasn’t angry. No. He simply didn’t have the strength to be angry at anyone but himself. He was an idiot for not seeing such obvious things. Gotham had been living its own life for many years. It had never asked Bruce to become Batman. It had merely allowed him to play the hero a little. And now, when Wayne’s ego made itself known, convincing him that he was needed here… the city had simply hinted that he was nobody. Never had been, and never would be.
“They’re all gone. Not just Joker. Everyone,” the words suddenly slipped from Bruce’s lips.
“Perhaps they’re just waiting for the right moment,” Alfred shrugged.
“No,” Wayne opened the files on the computer, “Oswald Cobblepot opened a legitimate club and vanished into it. There’s been no suspicious activity from him in the past week. Harvey Dent finally decided to confront his problem. He found a psychotherapist and started working with him. Now he’s teaching law courses. Edward Nigma struck a deal with a major toy company. His face is now on billboards advertising children’s puzzles. All the big names of the criminal underworld have simply vanished.”
“Master Bruce,” the butler paused briefly, “I don’t like saying this, but I think it’s time for you to step down. Gotham doesn’t need Batman right now. It needs Bruce Wayne. A billionaire philanthropist who can help the city grow. I don’t deny the contribution Batman has made, but at this moment… what the city needs is not a masked vigilante at night, but a man of your caliber.”
Bruce remained silent. He understood perfectly well that Alfred was telling the truth, but he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to admit his defeat. Yet all the facts were undeniable. That clown had proved what he wanted. He had truly broken Bruce.
“Sir, think back – when was the last time you walked through a park? Not during a chase, but just to breathe and enjoy nature. When was the last time you went on a date or met someone? Master Bruce,” Pennyworth’s eyes were full of sorrow, “I think it’s time to finally take off the mask. To start moving forward. It’s time to change, sir.”
“I can’t just… give up. Walk away from everything I’ve been,” Wayne rubbed his face with his hand.
“You’re not giving up, sir. You’re simply keeping pace with Gotham. I can’t watch you slowly wither away here. And I won’t let you rot in that bat suit,” the butler looked at his companion, “Forgive me, Master Bruce.”
Wayne drew in a trembling breath. Slowly, he turned his head and met the eyes opposite him. Alfred saw the pain. The emptiness.
“I’m sorry, my boy…” He whispered.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Bruce’s voice croaked, “Maybe it really is time for me to start changing something in my life. If Gotham is getting back on it's feet, then maybe it truly doesn’t need Batman anymore.”
Bruce rose from the desk. Took his mask in hand and walked toward the mannequin behind the glass. His hand trembled. It was hard to force himself to do it.
“Will I regret my choice?” Wayne asked softly.
“That’s for you to decide, sir.”
That was it. Now life would begin anew. A clean slate. New tasks. New adversaries. Bruce would literally have to learn to live in a new rhythm. At the very least, force himself to adapt to the new reality.
Instead of a mask and cape – business suits. Instead of Batarangs – documents. Instead of fights – negotiations. A man’s life had become an office routine. At night he still didn’t sleep. He stayed late at the office, even though his days were filled with endless meetings. He tried to immerse himself completely in paperwork. Dissolve into the documents. Do everything just to forget. Completely.
The walls of his office pressed in on him. The air was suffocating. Even an open window didn’t help. Every time he turned on the lights, he used only the minimum, simply because he wasn’t used to bright lighting. Fox even joked that Bruce was turning into a vampire with all the dimness in his office. Small conflicts sometimes arose when Lucius brought up new developments. Of course, they never ended in an actual scandal. But Wayne constantly found himself irritated by any mention of Batman in his presence. Trying to keep a composed face became more torturous than any hell.
Among the staff, rumors began circulating that their boss had grown too tense lately. Some even suggested that he had quarreled with his friend in the mask. In response, many would just twirl their finger by their temple.
“You’re early today, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, brushing dust off a vase with a duster.
“Surprisingly, there was less work than usual. And tomorrow isn’t such an important day,” Bruce replied with a low chuckle.
“Good heavens. Seems the world itself is hinting that it’s time for you to get some sleep, sir,” the butler said, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“You say that as if you expected me to start sleeping at night,” the man said, removing his coat and hanging it on the rack.
“I hoped,” Alfred sighed. “By the way, Master Bruce, you’ve received an invitation to a charity auction today.”
“An auction? A special occasion sale?” Wayne headed toward the staircase.
“As you know, Gotham has begun actively welcoming tourists to its streets. The mayor has arranged for some of the most influential foreign figures to be invited. They intend to sell several historically significant items to private collectors. The proceeds will go toward the city’s needs,” Alfred said, approaching with the envelope in hand.
“Sounds fine. But why involve me, if the auction focuses on foreign guests?” Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The thing is, you are one of the most influential people in Gotham. Your family is historically important for the city. Many collectors and historians have stipulated that they will only attend if you are present at the auction,” Alfred carefully adjusted his jacket.
“Very well. If the money will help develop the city, I’ll make my contribution as well.”
“Shall I make sure there’s room for the new artifacts?”
The charity auction was being held at the Monarch Theater – a theater steeped in history. Not only Gotham’s history, but also the battles of the Dark Knight. Something always seemed to happen here.
Bruce walked through the familiar corridors, lost in nostalgia, remembering how he used to run through these halls. A pang of melancholy rose in his chest. Unconsciously, he stopped near a doorway, his gaze falling on the main hall. Instantly, scenes flashed before his eyes: saving people, shielding someone with his own body, and finally stopping the Penguin.
“Mr. Wayne,” a voice spoke from behind him. “My name is Eliza Marken. I’m here to write an article about the Wayne family. If you don’t mind, I have a few questions for you.”
“I’d be happy to answer them, Miss Marken,” Bruce replied politely with a smile.
“You’re called the Prince of Gotham. Is that really your title? How did it come about? Did your family have any ties to the rulers?” The woman took a notebook and pen from her bag.
“That’s just a popular formality. I’m no prince, of course. My parents did a lot for this city. They loved it. They wanted the people here to live happily,” Bruce said, instinctively averting his gaze.
“Ah, so because of your help, the people unofficially dubbed you their prince. I’ve heard you’re very active in charity and participate in the city’s life. Do you continue your late parents’ work? Were your ancestors truly the founding fathers of Gotham, Mr. Wayne?” The journalist squinted.
“I don’t think my ancestors actually founded the city. But they did a lot for it. There were many families working to develop Gotham,” Bruce said, nervously adjusting his tie.
“You have a remarkably modest nature, Mr. Wayne. That’s rare. Rumors about your big heart weren’t false,” Eliza said, laughing coquettishly.
“I just love Gotham. It’s my home. I’ll do everything I can to protect it.”
“How noble of you, Mr. Wayne,” she said, jotting something in her notebook. “Tell me, Mr. Wayne, is it true that you know the famous masked hero?”
“Miss Marken! There you are. I was looking for you,” their conversation was interrupted by a hurried young woman. “Please, don’t stray too far. As your attendant, I’d hate to lose you. Oh, Mr. Wayne, forgive me…”
“No need to apologize,” Bruce said politely with a nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I must take my leave. I have some matters to attend to.”
“Wait! Mr. Wayne, I still have questions for you!” The journalist tried to stop him.
“Miss Marken, please, come along. You are already expected,” she said firmly.
Bruce quickly left the women behind, slipping through the doors into the hall. He was visibly nervous. The sudden stuffiness even made him loosen his tie. It was rather unexpected to run into journalists so quickly – journalists who had come to ask him about Batman. Then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have been surprising. Rumors had a way of spreading fast.
People were already gathering in the large hall. Foreign guests mingled with locals. Everyone was talking, sharing experiences and stories. Some even managed to make deals. The atmosphere was festive.
Wayne ascended to the balcony, where his seat was. He had deliberately chosen a spot in the corner to avoid drawing attention. The organizers had begged him to sit closer to the stage so that people could see him, but Bruce remained steadfast. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk tonight. And there would always be a chance to make his mark later.
Below, the auction organizers were bustling about. Someone whispered in a colleague’s ear, then pointed toward the balcony where Bruce sat. The person who received the information straightened up and nodded vigorously.
Soon, the lights dimmed smoothly. Spotlights focused on the stage, where the auctioneer was already standing. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket and bowed politely.
“Ladies and gentlemen! I am delighted to welcome you all to our charity auction! Today, we will be auctioning several items rich in Gotham’s history. All proceeds will go to the needs of the city,” the auctioneer announced from behind the podium. “Let the bidding begin!”
The gavel struck the table. Applause erupted in the hall. People eagerly awaited the first lot. Events like this were a kind of Hunger Games for the wealthy.
Lot after lot. Bid after bid. Artifacts were taken from the podium by their new owners for large sums. People outbid one another, offering more. Some even jumped from their seats to call out a higher price.
Bruce watched with a bored expression. He occasionally raised his hand to place a bid, but he had no intention of competing seriously. He wasn’t interested in the items at all, despite owning an impressive collection himself. There was simply nothing here that could pique his interest. For the most part, he just sat, lost in his own thoughts, observing the hall. Remembering. Nostalgic.
“And the next lot – the Joker’s cane! Gotham’s infamous and dreadful villain. Rumor has it, it contains a piece of his madness. Starting price: ten thousand dollars!” The auctioneer struck the gavel.
For a moment, silence fell over the hall. People began whispering to one another. The atmosphere turned oppressive because of the lot presented. The locals were extremely displeased. Some even voiced their outrage. They clearly did not like that the authorities were trying to sell the items of a mad clown instead of simply destroying them. But the foreign guests? They were thrilled. From their side, the bids rose sharply. And while those who had faced the madman’s terror tried not to even look at the stage, the guests were fueling the excitement. Opinions were divided. Some wanted to touch the tragedy, while others cursed themselves for even attending.
Bruce tensed. Automatically, he straightened in his seat and leaned slightly closer to get a better look at the stage. Something ignited inside him. He had to buy that cane. Wayne himself didn’t know why he needed it, but something inside screamed that he did.
“Three hundred thousand dollars – one! Three hundred thousand dollars – two!” the auctioneer built the tension.
“One million dollars,” Bruce announced loudly, rising from his seat.
A deathly silence hung over the hall. The spotlight fell on the man. Everyone turned sharply toward the source of the voice. No one expected such a turn of events.
“One million dollars – one! One million dollars – two! One million dollars – three! Sold to Mr. Wayne!” The gavel’s strike echoed through the hall like a gunshot.
A commotion erupted in the hall. People looked at Bruce with disappointment. They openly criticized his action. Why did he want that cane? Why had he even done it?
The man stood, staring at his lot. His blood boiled. Venomous rage spread through him at lightning speed. He knew that item better than anyone in the room. He had seen with his own eyes what the Joker had done with that cane. He wanted to crush that damn cane himself.
“So. So. SOOOO!” came a venomous hiss.
The doors to the hall suddenly flew open. Light from behind fell on a figure. The man began to stride leisurely between the rows of seats. People instinctively pressed back into their chairs, turned away, and hid their heads...
He’s back? To be continued...
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