On that night, the rain in Gotham was exceptionally cold, bringing a chill of fear that made people shiver from head to toe.
A figure stumbled out of a dark alley, leaning against the wall as he vomited. After a bout of coughing and spouting off gibberish, he finally moved to a step. Under the streetlight, the haggard face of Constantine was revealed.
He belched, leaning against the freezing wall, a dreadful stench emanating from him. Judging by the two shoe prints on his coat, he must've been kicked out for lack of money to buy more weed.
His cravings persisted, but his shaking hands couldn't strike a match to light a cigarette. After a few failed attempts and wasted matches, Constantine sighed and put the cigarette back in his pocket.
Suddenly, he saw a spark of fire appearing at the other end of the wall, extending towards him.
Constantine's eyes lit up immediately. He took out a cigarette, leaned forward, and lit it with the offered fire. He took a satisfying puff, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and said, "Thanks, mate."
The next moment he was almost leaping up in shock because the face appearing across the wall was Bruce's, painted in Joker's makeup.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Constantine exclaimed: "If I hadn't activated my Spirit Vision, I'd have thought you were that lunatic! …Wait a minute, you're not him, right?"
Activating his Spirit Vision again, Constantine examined Bruce's soul from top to bottom, then breathed a sigh of relief. "Phew, thank God you're not him… Wait, why are you wearing this makeup? Is it Halloween today?"
He racked his brain, still heavy with his cravings. He remembered that April Fool's Day had definitely passed, and he hadn't offended Batman recently.
Constantine squatted across from Bruce, examining his face closely.
He found that the makeup didn't seem to be painted on. Bruce's face appeared to have been soaked in some chemical, his skin wrinkled and turned into an unhealthy pale color. His lips had become unusually red because the skin had peeled off due to the chemicals, causing bleeding.
Narrowing his eyes, Constantine was about to ask when he saw Bruce take out and light a cigar. Then, Constantine recognized the familiar smell.
His eyes widened in what might have been the most shocked expression he ever had before turning into anger.
He snatched the cigar from Bruce's hand, threw it to the ground and stomped on it. He raised his voice saying, "Batman!!! Have you lost your mind?!!! Do you know what you're smoking?!!!!!"
Bruce leaned against the wall and said, "Of course I know. Isn't it the same kind you usually smoke? They smell the same. Of course, I know, here they call this stuff 'drugs'…"
"Can't you see, I'm sick," he coughed a few times before continuing, "I need this kind of medicine, I'm planning to go get more later…"
"You're out of your fucking mind!" Like he'd been stung, Constantine looked at Bruce and exclaimed., "Drugs??? With your genius IQ, do you think this stuff is medicine???"
"You…" He squatted down, hand on his forehead, "Listen to me, listen, Bruce… Listen, kid, the reason I smoke this crap is because I'm a terminal lung cancer patient—terminal, you understand? That means my lungs are nearly gone…"
"If you had Spirit Vision… never mind, you don't have it, but you have to know, I'm dying. This stuff isn't for healing, but for pain relief."
"I'm in pain right now," Bruce spoke in an unusually calm voice, emotionless, "I have a lot to do later, I can't afford to lose mobility, so I plan to recover some strength."
"But this stuff can't rejuvenate you!" Constantine stood up again and spread his hands, "Marijuana will only impair your memory, make you hallucinate, make you want to vomit, make you sweat, make you weak…"
"If you use it for a long time, its abuse can impair your male function and if used excessively, it could lead to shock or even death!"
At that moment, Constantine spun in place, holding his head, "God! How did I end up lecturing someone?!"
His pointed finger trembled a bit, then he looked down at Bruce and said, "Do you really want me to tell you? Do you want me to sound like a sissy and say that it's hell? Happy now?"
"I want to vomit right now, my lungs hurt, I have coughing fits every two minutes. Half of this pain is thanks to this stuff. Satisfied?!"
Through gritted teeth Constantine said, "Batman, good for you! Your recent studies in psychology have really paid off!"
"You knew that if you made yourself a victim, I would have to play the justice messenger and try to stop you?!"
Bruce stood up, trying to pick up the cigar, but Constantine pushed him back hard, and surprisingly Bruce fell easily.