The Ventriloquist slumped against the wall.
Holding a gun in his hand, he looked like a helpless prisoner awaiting the inevitable opening of the door. Just by looking at him, no one would ever guess that this balding, elderly white man in his fifties or sixties was the notorious criminal known in Gotham's underworld as the Ventriloquist. Frankly speaking, his trembling, frail appearance didn't exactly scream "dangerous."
Nearby, several hostages huddled together, shaking like quail. They were all employees of the Evidence Lockup. One security guard lay on the floor, gasping for breath, half of his body soaked in blood. He had tried to fight back, but before he could even draw his gun, the Ventriloquist had shot him through the hand.
"Oh, Mr. Sock-sock..." A white woolen sock covered Ventriloquist's left hand. This makeshift persona had emerged when he couldn't find his beloved puppet, Scarface.
"Is it really right to hurt people like this?" The Ventriloquist spoke timidly, addressing the sock on his left hand. "Look, he's bleeding."
"Enough, Ventriloquist, you're too soft," came a voice—his lips didn't move, but the words came from deep within his belly. The sock on his left hand flapped open and closed, as if the sock itself was speaking. The eerie sight sent chills down anyone who saw it.
"Idiot! Without the hostages, how are we going to get Scarface back?"
The sock moved restlessly around him, like a venomous snake ready to strike. "Showing mercy is a waste of time. That fool deserved to get shot. As long as they cooperate, no one else will get hurt. Isn't that right?" the sock hissed.
"But... but..."
"Shut up! Stop wasting time on pointless things. Batman could burst in at any moment..."
The Ventriloquist whimpered in frustration, but he didn't dare argue with Mr. Sock-sock. Instead, he apologized weakly to the wounded guard. "I'm... I'm sorry..."
Bang, bang, bang! Loud knocking interrupted his apology.
Immediately, the Ventriloquist raised his gun, switching into the voice of Mr. Sock-sock. His tone turned dark, savage, and laced with madness, like a beast defending its territory. "I told you! If you come in here, I'll blow their heads off—"
"Knock, knock. It's Batman."
Every hair on Arnold Wesker's body stood on end. He knew that voice—it was definitely Batman. But today, something was off.
Everyone knew that Batman never used the front door. And he certainly never knocked.
Mr. Sock-sock tensed up, his entire body coiled in anticipation. The Ventriloquist flattened himself against the floor, raising his gun, ready to strike. If Batman dared to enter, bullets would fly like fire-breathing serpents, shredding him to—
"Hurry up and open the door. Let Daddy Batman deliver the sweet milk of justice~"
"???"
The bizarre nonsense coming out of Batman's mouth caused the Ventriloquist's brain to short-circuit for a moment, giving Nathan Blake the opportunity to swing open the door without any of the anticipated gunfire.
"Batman, you—" The Ventriloquist snapped back to his senses, but by then, it was too late, my friend.
"Scarface!"
The Scarface puppet was already in Nathan Blake's hand, blocking the Ventriloquist's aim. His fingers froze, unable to pull the trigger.
"You bastard! Let go of me!"
Instantly, a new voice emerged. If Mr. Sock-sock's voice was a crazed hooligan, this new voice was the embodiment of darkness—the Ventriloquist's most sinister persona, the one hiding deep within his soul. It dripped with malice, as if pure evil was about to spill onto the floor.
The Ventriloquist stood up. Gone was the timid, cowering old man. His chest puffed up, his back straightened, as if a demon had taken residence in his small frame. Though his mouth remained closed, his left hand—the sock puppet—opened and closed, his voice resonating ominously through the room:
"Give Mr. Scarface back to us."
"No, don't do it. I've already talked with Batman."
The Ventriloquist froze, his body stiffening. The voice had come from Scarface.
Nathan Blake's mouth remained shut. *What, you think you're the only one who can do ventriloquism?*
As an actor, mimicking others was second nature to Nathan Blake—including their voices.
When they first met, the Ventriloquist should have shot him dead. But he didn't—and now, it was Nathan Blake's turn to take control of the situation.
He had never intended to treat the Ventriloquist using normal methods.
Mr. Sock-sock sensed danger and ordered Arnold to shoot.
"Don't shoot! I've spoken with Batman. You're a good person. It was me who forced you to do bad things, wasn't it?" the Scarface puppet "said."
"No, no! That wasn't me! I'm Scarface, and I'm telling you to shoot! Shoot!"
"Yes, listen to Scarface! Shoot—"
"No, I command you as Scarface to listen to Batman—"
"Stop it—"
Four voices clashed, Nathan Blake's ventriloquism battling against the Ventriloquist's for control of the Scarface puppet.
This was the Ventriloquist's most fatal weakness—his split personality caused confusion, and his ventriloquism was no match for Nathan Blake's. By mimicking the Scarface persona, Nathan Blake's voice alternated with the real Scarface's, utterly confusing the Ventriloquist.
Amid the chaos, Nathan Blake opened his duffel bag with his other hand. Inside were various hand puppets, all kinds of shapes and sizes. Arnold's gaze was drawn to the bag, and he instinctively asked:
"What... what is this?"
Nathan Blake's hand shot forward.
"Damn it!"
In a flash, the Ventriloquist's gun barrel aimed directly at Nathan Blake's chin. But it was too late. The Scarface puppet had already issued a contradictory command, causing Arnold to hesitate. By the time he untangled his muddled thoughts, the sock puppet was already in Nathan Blake's hand.
The Ventriloquist was disarmed.
"No! Mr. Sock-sock!" The Ventriloquist let out an earth-shattering scream.
"What are you going to do to Mr. Sock-sock?" Without the help of his sock puppet persona, the Ventriloquist reverted to the feeble, ordinary old man he had been.
Nathan Blake didn't bother responding. He kicked the pitiful old man into a corner and calmly turned to the hostages. "You're safe now. Get out."
"Yikes—"
The hostages exchanged glances, then screamed in unison. They scrambled for the door, even the wounded guard suddenly finding the strength to get up and, clutching his injured hand, ran faster than a rabbit.
---
Nathan Blake maintained his stoic Batman demeanor until the hall emptied. Then he walked over to the Ventriloquist, holding up the sock puppet. Without a word, he tore it to pieces right in front of him.
"Nooo!!!!"
The Ventriloquist lunged forward, desperately grabbing the shredded remains of Mr. Sock-sock. "No! Sock-sock! How am I supposed to live without you? Sock-sock! Please take me with you, take me with you—"
But before he could finish his dramatic cries, Nathan Blake grabbed him by the collar and slapped him twice across the face. "Stop crying. Look—what's this?"
"Scarface!"
Arnold tried to leap for the puppet, but with a snap, Nathan Blake twisted the Scarface puppet into a knot, then stomped it into the ground until it was nothing but broken fragments.
"Aaaahhhhhh!!!"
"Get up!"
Nathan Blake yanked the old man up again, slapping him hard until stars danced in his vision. The fit Arnold was about to throw was beaten back, forced down. Once Ventriloquist's attention was physically diverted, Nathan Blake tossed him onto the pile of puppets in the duffel bag.
"Forget your old puppets. Try a new one. There are dozens here. Take your pick!"
The Ventriloquist was completely stunned by the "Personality Correction Punches." His vacant eyes roamed over the pile of puppets, still reeling from the loss of his two personas. Dazed, he reached for a puppet, and within seconds, a new voice started to emerge from deep within his belly...
---
Due to his severe dissociative identity disorder, the Ventriloquist has a tendency to create new, malevolent personalities. These personalities act as "protectors," designed to shield his weak, timid primary persona—Arnold Wesker.
However, in the brief span of just a few seconds, Nathan Blake had brutally destroyed his two primary protective personas.
At this point, in his state of extreme fear, with no protector personalities to fall back on, the Ventriloquist would subconsciously search for something—anything—to imbue with a new persona, just as he had done before with Mr. Sock-sock.
But… what would happen if you handed him dozens of new toys?