Yeah... That's fucked up. I took another careful look around the battlefield, finally staring thoughtfully at the shark with its purple-jacketed torso sticking out of its mouth.
I should probably take a good look around and then call Bats. I wonder how they planned to make a "real" Joker out of me. Though, looking at the broken aquarium with creepy mutated piranhas, I suspect that by bathing in chemical wastes stolen from Ace Chemical, and maybe some drugs would be used to enhance the effect. In any case, Mysh is still dealing with the mysterious boss, and he hardly needs my help... Let's not remember the Owl's Court now, because it was so long ago.
After coming to these conclusions, the first thing I did was to deal with Michael, which required breaking the shark's jaw to get the top half of the psycho out of it. It's a good thing it's attached to two relatively fragile cartilaginous compartments called the palatine-squamellar and meckel's (damn, that's a lot of bullshit in my head after reading Harley's notes), and my boots have a steel toe, and I'm not short on strength. A couple of good kicks from both sides, slip the cane as leverage, and voila, the missing part of the pirate version of the Joker was revealed.
Ew, man. My nose caught a horribly foul odor that made me nauseous. I had to remember the interworld to keep from throwing up.
"Ha ha ha ha," a smile creeps onto her face against her will.
I'm wondering, what did I expect when I saw the shark bite the asshole at stomach level? Like, does he have to have perfume inside him?
Okay, the deed is already done anyway, so we giggle and continue the inspection.
Hmm, Cliff's clothes, even though he'd bloodied them too, weren't as gross to rummage through.
So, the standard metal cards with the image of a joker, a pair of snapping jaws with incredibly sharp teeth and a rather powerful spring, a lash in the form of interconnected handkerchiefs with a thin steel fishing line inside them, a grenade disguised as a tennis ball. It's as if I'm searching a mad clown... Oh, yes, because I am. Two sticks of dynamite, a collector's lighter, a locked cell phone. Oh, this is really interesting!
On the inside of my jacket I found a liter polyethylene container filled with a suspicious slurry of bright green color, from which a short tube protruded, connected to a scarlet flower cleverly hooked to my breast pocket. For the sake of interest, I squeezed the ornament, pointing it at the shark's face, and then watched with great amazement as the acid jet instantly penetrated the flesh and bones. How about this? Sticking the metal card in and shooting it with the flower.
~Psh, shh, shh~
"Spit" flew through the obstacle almost without delay, after hitting the predator's long-suffering corpse and beginning to corrode it rapidly.
Holy shit! What kind of reaction speed is this stuff?! Certainly faster than the Tsar's vodka. But it's DC, so you can't be surprised by the disregard for logic and fundamental laws.
By the way, a small mechanism inside the jewelry is also of interest, because the jet shoots out under decent pressure, and even portioned. Heh, if it were otherwise, the user might well get hit himself.
I looked at the metal rectangle that had been melted through and the shark's damaged skull. It's best not to use this stuff on people, but it's good against some tricky locks, unlockable doors, or robots. I cut out the acid packet and the feeder and stowed them in my jacket, for which I had to redistribute some of the stuff from the space pocket in my sleeve, so that in case of a leak I wouldn't suffer too much.
I wondered what Michael would do if he'd been accidentally stabbed in the stomach. This stuff was fucking corrosive, and its properties were very similar to the blood of the Alien from the movie of the same name. I chuckled stupidly as I pictured the clown having to milk the xenomorph for a refill.
~Shurh~
There was a barely audible rustle to my right.
I turn briskly toward the source of the sound, noticing the bandit twitching slightly.
"Heh-heh-heh, who's awake?" I pick up the rest of the cool things, quickly packing them in my pockets. Oh, and the dynamite doesn't fit, and also the mana drain began to feel, hinting at exceeding the limit. I quickly pulled out the first and relatively bulky object from my jacket, which turned out to be a revolver.
"Mr. Joker, don't! I'll tell you everything! I was forced!" The thug panicked, his eyes widening as he saw me approaching.
"Shh," I put the gun to my lips, "no one is going to eat you... Bye.
The man turned pale.
"I'm just kidding," I smile amiably, which makes my interlocutor pale even more, beginning to resemble a freshly risen zombie. - So, stop panicking!" voice becomes serious. - I'm interested in everything you know about this place.
"Gotham Oceanarium was built according to the project of Martin Trevor in one thousand nine hundred and seventy-five. The total area of the premises is fifty thousand square meters. The first exhibit was a great white shark named "Baby". At the moment there are more than twelve thousand inhabitants of the world's oceans in this place... - the frightened criminal gibbered.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I mean, what was that asshole doing here? He didn't just hole up here and break the pumping station, did he?
"Uh-oh, sorry. Mr. Nicholson was always prattling on about some great plan involving," the bandit frowned, remembering, "Joker-prime. On the third floor, a pool of chemicals instead of water was organized. Sometimes people were dunked in it, turning them into your likeness. They probably planned to bathe you, too... - he finished uncertainly.
"Hmm, okay. Hey, how do you even know all this stuff? You know, square footage and all that crap.
"We've been here for five days now, walking around, reading signs while on duty.
"I see... - I stood up, deftly twirling the revolver on my finger, after which I stared thoughtfully at the weapon.
And I still haven't tested the updated ammunition on live targets. I shifted my gaze to my companion, who, sensing the changed atmosphere, began to crawl away, dragging his broken leg. No, peppercorn would be too cruel, the potion of communication with spirits is a limited resource, so let's use a bullet with sleeping gas.
"Don't!" My victim exclaimed in panic as I took aim.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha, don't move. There's a bird coming out!
~Poof~
Quietly the revolver echoed, sending the gift clearly into the forehead of the target.
Yeah, subsonic rounds don't sound very weighty. Now I just wanted a loud "Bang" to end the conversation. Maybe it's worth the trouble to add a voiceover? The ingredients aren't too complicated: bertolite salt, lead oxide, red phosphorus, and resin. Or you could just gut ordinary pistols and take everything you need.
While I was thinking about modifying the ammunition, the gas had already taken effect, causing the bandit's body to shake as if in a seizure. After about thirty seconds, the criminal collapsed, unconscious.
Hmm, it's certainly not a spirit communication potion in terms of effectiveness and speed, but it's still pretty cool. Plus it's a lot easier to get. It's still not easy to synthesize or buy such a gas, which means that it won't be able to extinguish everyone like a machine gun, but it's quite possible to use it occasionally.
After making sure that my guinea pig was sleeping, I whistled a cheerful tune under my nose and went on exploring the vast premises.
The area of the oceanarium was really impressive. A lot of empty aquariums, in which exotic and not so exotic fish were swimming not so long ago. A couple of cages, where they used to keep charming seals and otters (separately, of course). Eh, I would like to go here with Harley and Babs for a date, but seeing the broken pumps and suspicious greenish water in the tanks, I highly doubt that in the next month this place will open its doors to visitors.
During the promenade, I had put away my revolver, replacing it with the familiar cane, and now my steps were accompanied by the quiet tapping of the metal tip against the marble floor.
~Knock, knock, knock, knock~
The sound was hypnotic, putting me in a kind of trance that helped distract me from the sensations of my body. The pain from the crowbar in my stomach had subsided a little, but I knew that if I started using magic, my insides would turn into an agonizing lump. Plus, let's not forget about the injured face. I may have increased regeneration, but I don't have enough to heal the wounds quickly. It's a good thing I'm not bleeding, and I can talk normally.
Hell, Rezhdel was still somehow too quick to go to meet his maker, if only to break his legs or make him listen to the local pops for a couple hours straight, hahaha. Or would the latter have been too cruel?
By the way, I was wrong about the patients not acting in concert. Cliff, Michael, and number one?!
Wait, this is totally crazy. But this psycho doesn't give a damn about teamwork, especially with the other copies. His dream is to get rid of them, and in the most brutal way. On the role of the mysterious boss of the fairly large villains remain only recently escaped Scarecrow and Two-Face. Though it doesn't add up here either. Harvey prefers conventional crime with classic bank robberies, racketeering and the like, rather than creating crazy green-haired mutants. Crane, on the other hand, has his own recognizable style using fear toxin, which is nowhere to be seen here. I suspect that both supervillains are now temporarily holed up in the deepest asshole hole to recover from their escape, and to avoid getting accidentally mauled by any of the under-Jokers.
My thoughts were interrupted by the security room that appeared in my field of vision, which I had been walking toward all this time to unlock the locked doors. Inside the room, it looked like a pack of marauding monkeys had been at play: screens had been roughly ripped out of their mounts, system units had evaporated from their nests, server racks had been gutted, there was piss in the corner, and a fire axe sticking out of the control panel.
What a bunch of assholes, huh? Why couldn't they just limit it to the first three points?
I sighed sadly and pushed the buttons on the remote without much hope, suddenly hearing the sealed doors clanking back into place. Wow, that thing was reliable, and you couldn't even tell by looking at it. Well, now we could go to the pool and get a sample of the chemicals, see if Bats or Harley could figure out how to help the people who'd been hurt.
As I walked out of the room, in the reflection of the broken mirror, I caught a glimpse of a creepy mangled face with crazy eyes, its lips twitching slightly with barely restrained laughter.
Is that me?
I look at myself carefully in the mirrored surface, beginning to realize something.
Holy shit! No wonder that thug was so freaked out. But damn it, I'd summoned the fun memories on purpose, so I wouldn't feel the pain and I'd regain my mental clarity, but instead of a clear head, it was like I was under some kind of fun substance, feeling waves of euphoria all the time.
But that's not how it worked before! I patted my cheeks, forcing myself to focus. So, I had two guesses, either my brain had finally adapted to the System's capabilities, or it was the recent amplification that had gone a little off track.
I wondered why I had decided to raise the fourth start so quickly. I'd already been through something like that, when I'd passed the hundred-point mark and was lying on the floor, unable to even breathe properly. Yes, twenty free points had been used up and turned into five after the conversion, but the pain still lingered.
Exactly!!! Maybe that's what Death meant when she said pie? Hmm, ba-hion is basically a divine energy that performs a small miracle by pumping the right shell, but it seems like it should take some time before the energy is fully assimilated and I get used to the new powers.
Shivers ran down my spine as I imagined that not so long ago I could have thrown in fifty points at once, or even a hundred. I would have burst like a gassed balloon or gone crazy from the pain.
I looked at my reflection in the shards of the broken mirror again. He's a handsome man... Maybe I should try to put some regen on myself.
That's said and done. I sat down in the least dead chair, trying to concentrate as much as possible.
The weave broke, then again. After the fourth time, I looked like a squeezed purple lemon, and my body was shaking a little, as if after an incredibly intense workout at the limit of my strength. The problem was concentration and imagination, and the terrible pain, of course, which the fun memories didn't block out.
Fuck the pain, though. I've been feeling disgusting ever since I came to this world. I was more annoyed by the problem with magic, and if I had magical sight, I would be able to do magic, but with some reservations.
In fact, every time I act randomly, visualizing the weave I need and then filling each of its elements with mana. The only thing is, the fucking crowbar in my stomach hurts like hell in the final stages, so much so that the thought pattern I'd built up collapses and I have to create it from scratch. If I could see the threads of the spell, I could spend a little prana to stabilize the weave, and then, after waiting out the not-so-pleasant "sensations", just continue weaving the spell. But I can't fucking see them!
Hmm, maybe we should try the other side. What did Bats say about prana? It's body energy that can do all sorts of cool stuff too.
I concentrated on the inner hearth, mentally "scooped up" some energy as if it were a spell, and then forced it to move to my cheeks, with the command to speed up regeneration. This action also caused pain, but not as much as when creating the spell, as well as a slight tinnitus and dizziness. It had worked, though I couldn't see any results yet.
Oh, you make trouble out of nothing. I got up from my chair, staggered a little, pulled on my jacket, and headed for the third floor, determined to finish my little adventure.
In the spacious room, occupying three whole floors, I was greeted by a huge auditorium and a large circular pool for performances. Only now it was hardly possible to swim with the dolphins in it, because someone had replaced the water with caustic chemicals of a bright green color, with a smoky, salmon-colored smoke billowing above them.
Why the hell did that asshole send me to the third floor when the pool itself is a level below? You can't even get down from here properly because the stairs are left behind.
Naturally, this would only be a problem for ordinary people. I looked down, staring thoughtfully at the mountain of garbage.
What's with the stupid habit of shitting where you live?
At the last moment, my hearing picks up the whoosh of air being split.
"Huh," I lean in sharply, elbowing the attacker under his breath, wresting the weapon from his hands that threatened to split my skull, and then throwing the bastard over the fence, sending him flying.
His eyes caught the red-and-black harlequin outfit, like the local gangsters, except that the figure was female, and with two blond ponytails.
~Booh~
The piled boxes below bounced back, accepting the live shell into their warm embrace.
"Oh...
A familiar voice... I looked thoughtfully at the metal baseball bat with the faintly visible ligature of runes that I myself had made... Shit!
"Harley, are you okay?!" I panic, and then I run to the girl.
"It's okay! I landed on my head!" I'm fine! I landed on my head!" my assistant said cheerfully, climbing out of the debris. - Mr. J, at first I thought you were just another copy," the joyful whirlwind swept over me, pulling me into a tight hug.
When the first joy of the reunion passed, Harley pulled back a little, looking into my eyes. A gentle touch on my slightly healed cheek.
"It's not an illusion. It's not makeup," her voice was gone, replaced by anger. Suddenly, the iris of her left eye was colored a soft pink. - Who did this?
I could feel the thick, thick mana flowing around us, weighing down on my shoulders. What?! Her reserve is smaller than mine!