Capítulo 49: Under the Moonlight
Lincoln March was a fabrication. He didn't truly exist.
The Court of Owls had created him. Brainwashed, he firmly believed he was Bruce Wayne's younger brother, Thomas Wayne Jr., who had died as an infant, living for only twelve hours.
Martha Wayne had often visited Willowwood Asylum during her lifetime. She visited every child she sponsored, and the heart-shaped pin was a symbol of her support. The Court of Owls used this as evidence to convince Lincoln of his fabricated identity.
They manipulated him, telling him he was abandoned by his parents and brother, nurturing a deep hatred for the Wayne family within him.
Their initial plan was to use Lincoln to seize Wayne Enterprises' wealth, but Bruce Wayne's return derailed those plans.
So, they created Lincoln March anew, tasking him with reshaping the city in their image—"You will become the beak of the great Owl!"
However, it was clear that Lincoln March wasn't as docile as he seemed. He genuinely desired control over the city, just like any other power-hungry villain.
Ultimately, the root of his animosity towards Bruce Wayne stemmed from the belief that his brother had abandoned him.
If Adam were to present him with a new narrative—"Your parents didn't abandon you, and your brother never stopped searching for you. It was the Court of Owls who stole you from your hospital bed and ruined your life"—how would Lincoln March react?
....
"Listen, Joker," Scarecrow said, approaching him cautiously. "Batman is deliberately provoking you. He wants you to lose control and fight Bane. It's exactly what he wants."
He spoke quickly, unsure if he could placate the enraged Joker. Madmen like them were creatures of pure emotion. Rational individuals like himself, who studied and weaponized fear, were a rarity.
Despite being a psychologist, Scarecrow had no experience dealing with a psychopath of the Joker's caliber.
"Hahaha..." He heard the Joker chuckle, then erupt into hysterical laughter. "Hahahahahaha!"
With a bang, the Joker leaped up, kicking the drone to the ground.
A nearby henchman didn't react in time and was knocked down. Before anyone else could move, the Joker grabbed the henchman's submachine gun and opened fire on both the drone and the fallen man.
Ratatatatatatatatat!
The muzzle flashes illuminated his pale face as he vented his rage. When he was finished, only a corpse and a pile of twisted metal remained.
Everyone present stood frozen, silent as the grave.
"...Joker?" Scarecrow finally ventured, his voice hesitant. "Your mental state seems... unstable."
"I'm perfectly fine, hahahahaha... what could possibly happen to me?"
He laughed and tossed the submachine gun back to the henchman, then patted his head in a gesture of mock encouragement.
He chuckled darkly. "So, Batman resorts to such despicable tactics to provoke me... a foolish choice."
"Crane," he said, turning to Scarecrow, "don't take me for an idiot. Do I seem like the kind of psychopath who would do exactly what Batman wants and immediately attack Bane in a fit of rage?"
Yes, you are a psychopath. The probability of that happening may be small, but it's definitely not zero, Scarecrow thought to himself.
Of course, he wouldn't voice those thoughts aloud to the Joker.
Instead, the typically taciturn Scarecrow simply nodded and asked, "Okay, what's our next move?"
"Our next move?" The Joker picked up a submachine gun, a manic glint in his eyes. "What else could it be? Our dear Bat has already assumed we won't kill Mayor Carlo today—hahaha, hahahahaha!"
So he's fearless... Then why don't we take the initiative and find him?
"What, you know where Batman is...?"
Scarecrow's question was cut short as the Joker flipped the recorder over, revealing an address scrawled on the back: the old Wayne Tower in Gotham.
"We're going straight to Wayne Tower," he declared.
"This is most likely a trap," Scarecrow warned, carefully examining the address. "Batman is practically begging you to walk into it. Going there now is a death wish."
The lanky Scarecrow offered his own opinion: "I suggest we ignore him. It's not worth the risk."
Before Scarecrow could finish, he met the Joker's eyes, burning with manic fury. He knew then that his words were wasted.
...
"I told you, you don't understand me."
Pitch black. Endless pitch black.
"I don't laugh because you've never made me laugh," Batman's voice echoed in the darkness.
It was always like this, he and Batman, locked in an eternal dance of shadows.
Time and again, year after year. But this time, Batman had cut too deep.
"I won't listen to this drivel anymore."
"Think about it, Joker. I lack a sense of humor, and I don't know what makes a good joke. But that doesn't mean you're funny."
"Shut up!" the Joker roared. "Shut up, Bats!"
"I mean—whoopie cushions and squirting flowers are old hat. Where's the originality? Making faces, pulling down pants..."
"No! Get out of my head!"
"You only make me laugh because you're so pathetic—"
"Hahahahahahaha—"
It started as a low chuckle, then escalated into a high-pitched cackle. The Joker heard Batman's maniacal laughter, and a shiver ran down his spine.
"Stop it! Stop laughing! I won't let you laugh like that!"
"Ha... the Bat-King who haunts your dreams," the voice taunted. "You wanted to see me, didn't you, Joker? You wanted to make me laugh, and now that I am, you're not happy?"
"Let me ask you something..."
The Joker watched as Batman slowly removed his cowl. Silver-white particles danced around him, creating an otherworldly scene.
He heard Batman's voice, a soft whisper. "Let me ask you, Joker..."
"Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?"
With a clatter, the Joker dropped his gun. Under the moon's glow, the pale man stared at an equally pale face... and felt a chill seep into his very soul.
.....
Let's rewind the clock two hours.
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