The storm raging in Batman's deep blue eyes never ceased. After Angela left his office in the Wayne building, only Bruce stood alone in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the whole city. Regardless of the time, Gotham always appeared incredibly bustling.
This place was not a City of Sin, it was the largest, most flourishing, and most enchanting city on the East Coast of America, a dreamy metropolis that countless people yearned for, an indispensable part of human urban civilization.
This was the cancer of Earth, the bane of mankind, and Batman's hometown.
Standing by the window, looking at the city, Bruce heard a faint sound behind him. He turned around gently, and saw a silhouette sitting on the sofa against the light. It was another him.
Bruce didn't feel any surprise or wariness, as if his presence was the most normal thing in the world?
Or perhaps, after that night in Crime Alley, the figure had been following him like a shadow, never leaving.
Bruce walked over and sat across the sofa. Two identical figures sat before the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the flickering lights from the many-layered skyscrapers illuminating them into silhouettes. It was not solitary, yet equally lonely.
"I wasn't born today." The Bruce on the right raised his head. His eye sockets had no pupils, no whites, only an undulating black tide that was neither terrifying nor strangely beautiful.
"That female cop said that in the process of continually investigating murders, she understood the criminals and found another self. She was scared and chose to retreat. But you know, she didn't contract a mental illness or experience any hallucinations. What she said was true. She's not alone in this."
The Bruce sitting opposite him also had no pupils, only white eyeballs, paler than any snow in Gotham.
"We should first talk about that night." The Bruce with black eyes spoke, "The night you never talked about to anyone."
The Bruce with white eyes slowly closed his eyes. His hand resting on the armrest gradually clenched, and his chest started to heave, countless fragmented scenes flashed before his eyes.
But it wasn't the alleyway, the rainy night, or the pearl necklace.
He saw his raised hands, saw the pistol's sight, watched how a bullet flew out of the muzzle, and saw how his parents fell.
"Every great detective would certainly be a good criminal." The voice of the Bruce with the black eyes came, he turned his head to look at the bustling city and continued to speak.
"You didn't become a detective just because of that night. You have always been a criminal genius, naturally able to resonate with killers."
"There are too many people in this world who have lost their parents, with horrific circumstances and tragic deaths. Too many children have witnessed the death of their parents, and felt sadness and despair. But in this world, there is only one Batman."
"You didn't start on this path because of your parents' death, your wisdom, intelligence, excessive rationality, and genius creativity were gifts from God, just like those born killers."
The hand of the Bruce with the white eyes which was clenched around the armrest slowly relaxed, and the Bruce with the black eyes stared at him and spoke:
"I wasn't born on that night. From the moment you first saw Thomas's face, from the moment you first remembered Martha's smile, from when the Wayne family happily spent their ordinary days, I have never left."
"I was born with you, and I am part of you. The morbidity you've been evading but will never be able to get rid of."
After the morbid Bruce fell silent, Bruce looked at him with slightly dispirited eyes and said:
"I've seen you many times before, under the cot, behind the door of the kindergarten, even in the castle constructed with toy blocks."
"I hid under the bed, hoping to upset Thomas and Martha with my disappearance. I wanted to suddenly push the door open, to arouse fear in my kindergarten teacher, or to knock over the castle of blocks, making all my peers sob and wail. But each time, I saw you."
"Back then, what we manifested was just ordinary malice. Every child harbors a penchant for mischief, so I didn't realize my difference from others until that night…"
"The moment I saw the gun pointed at me," Bruce's arm started to shake again, and he continued in a trembling tone, "I had two perspectives. I saw the blood blossoming behind Martha, and I also saw, through the sight of the gun, the scarlet blood oozing from Thomas's chest."
"In every subsequent nightmare, I couldn't distinguish where I actually stood, behind them or in front of them. I also couldn't figure out what I was holding, a movie ticket or a gun trigger."
"There has never been a clear dividing line between detectives and criminals," Morbid Bruce began, "In these past years, what's been causing you immense pain is a fact you realized that night. You belong to the same category as the killer who pulled the trigger, or rather, you are more suitable to be a criminal."
Bruce took a deep breath till his shoulders heaved, and then he let out this breath slowly. Morbid Bruce looked at him and asked:
"Why have you never been willing to take lives?"
Bruce stared into his eyes, but Morbid Bruce didn't need a reply. He answered his question himself.
"Is it because you are merciful? No, it's because you dare not, dare not face me, dare not admit my existence. You feel that playing the saint can wipe out the fact that you possess an unparalleled talent for crime in this world."
Bruce slowly closed his eyes, his lips trembled slightly before he re-fixed his gaze on Morbid Bruce and said:
"And today, I am here to meet you because Shiller made me realize a fact. You do exist, you are inseparable, you can never be eliminated, and most importantly... you guide and direct me."
"In fact, you've thought about it before," Morbid Bruce began, "What drives human actions? What promotes human progress? Love? Kindness?"
Bruce shook his head. His action was light, yet it seemed as if he was struggling to push a giant boulder off a cliff.
"It's you," Bruce answered.
"In this decade and more, urging me to continuously learn, improve myself, and invent equipment isn't love and goodwill towards someone. It's hatred, anger, jealousy, fear; it's the inherent evil in humans, and my 'morbid' state."
"Before now, I always harbored unrealistic fantasies of repelling you. I believed if I were strong and determined enough, you would go away someday. And on that day, I would rid myself of past nightmares and would never have to fear becoming a criminal."
"But Shiller made you realize that I will never leave, nor do I need to. I am not your burden or constraint but a sharp knife and a key to another world," continued Morbid Bruce.
"Only by acknowledging and utilizing me can you enter a world ordinary people can never reach. That world is inhabited by a terrifying group of people known as 'born killers'."
Bruce, as if he'd lost all his strength, leaned back in his chair feebly, and continued Morbid Bruce's train of thought,
"Previously, I could continuously evade and deny your existence because I hadn't realized the danger of this group of people."
"The emergence of Morbid Shiller made me understand that unless I confront you, make use of my other powers, and truly delve into the minds of the mad, I will never have a chance at defeating them."
"You want to know me."
"I want to know you."
"You want to accept me."
"I want to accept you."
"You want to love me."
"I want to love you."
"Because…"
"To combat criminals..."
"...Only a criminal can."
"How do you plan to defeat them?" Bruce asked.
"I don't need to defeat them." Morbid Bruce replied, looking into Bruce's eyes, "Shiller is not only teaching you, he is teaching me too. You have a professor, so do I."
"Morbid Shiller's actions have shown me that I don't need to defeat the madmen because I'm already stronger than them. I don't need to hurt them because they are precious lambs."
"Don't be someone's son, be everyone's father."
"When they offer sacrifices to please you, tell them, 'If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it. (Genesis 4:7)'"
The light filtering through the window gradually dimmed until only the dazzling and dreamy neon light remained, and Bruce's voice began to rise in a soft chant.
"Use your gifts."
"Use my gifts."
"Stand high above in the clouds."
"Stand high above in the clouds."
"Preach to them."
"Preach to them."
"Let them obey."
"Let them pay homage."
"Love them, as you would the fragile lambs."
"Understand them, comfort them."
"Whip them, admonish them."
"Get them to walk on earth."
"As in my kingdom."
"Become a father."
"Become...a father."
When the chill of the Batman dart reflected in Batman's blue eyes, it was like a bird caught in a glimpse of the arctic storm horizon.
The blade of the dart shattered the tense atmosphere in the sheriff's office, slashing the artery in Jonathan Crane's neck with an icy backlash.
In an instant, life burst forth from the scarlet and then began to slip away irretrievably.
Gordon, shocked, rushed over to catch the declining Jonathan. He roared at Batman who threw the dart, "Batman, have you lost your mind?!!!!!!!!"
Jonathan, lying on the ground, pushed away Gordon who was attempting to stem his bleeding. He covered his blood-soaked neck with somewhat feeble hands and managed to stammer out.
"Get away!...Let me hear…what he's saying…"
Batman's lips moved lightly.
At that moment, lightning flashed outside the window of the Gotham Police Department. The rumbling thunder followed just like every night when Batman plunged from the rooftop.
Batman's voice was soft, yet it rose above the deafening thunder. His countless unspoken nights turned into a whisper, then a cry.
Jonathan listened carefully and finally heard the words from Batman's mouth.
"... The missing persons case in Morson district."