Chapter 139: Batman’s Gone… Again

Chapter 139: Batman's Gone… Again

"It all started in 1973… a seemingly peaceful autumn, but in truth, undercurrents churned beneath the surface…"

Allen pinched his voice into a dramatic tone as he spun tales from the third timeline.

The inmates of Arkham Asylum sat patiently in the recreation room, listening to his shameless bluster—though, of course, only because they had submitted to Allen's overwhelming dominance.

Otherwise, they'd be on the receiving end of some justice.

Naturally, Allen's account was half-truth, half-nonsense. No one took it seriously.

Most just treated it as entertainment—no one actually believed he could travel through timelines.

"I have a question."

Edward Nygma, the Riddler, raised his hand.

He'd never given up on outwitting Allen. The moment he spotted a logical flaw, he pounced.

"My dear Riddle Robin, I'll allow one constructive and insightful question."

Allen answered coolly, unbothered by the challenge.

Edward adjusted his glasses and confidently asked, "How did you know the cosmic force would descend—and why were you so sure it would choose you?"

"Great question."

Allen clasped his hands behind his back, expression unreadable, as if everything had been within his expectations. He replied unhurriedly, "Didn't I mention visiting S.H.I.E.L.D. and running into an old friend—Peggy Carter? Everything I knew about the cosmic force came from her."

"And how did Carter know about the cosmic force?" Edward pressed on the key point.

"Captain Steve Rogers traveled back to World War II and reunited with Carter. It's perfectly reasonable that he'd tell her a few things from the future," Allen replied without flinching.

It was true. The warning about the Phoenix's arrival had indeed come from Carter.

When Allen was at S.H.I.E.L.D., he hadn't just been asking about Stryker—he was also there to inform them about the Phoenix's impending descent.

The only solution lay with Allen himself—he alone was recognized by the cosmic force.

Edward knew when to shut up.

Because underneath Arkham lay the hidden fortress, and there, they'd seen Symbiote Captain America with their own eyes.

So Allen's story—however wild—actually checked out.

As for why Allen didn't reveal the truth earlier in the mutant timeline?

Who would believe the words of a lunatic?

The Phoenix Force descending from the heavens? That sounded like pure fantasy. At that point in time, people were still debating whether aliens even existed.

Riddler and Penguin believed him now.

The rest? Not so much. They dismissed his story as the delusions of a madman.

Sure, keep making stuff up.

Go on, make it even more ridiculous if you can.

Ahem…

Allen cleared his throat twice to recapture everyone's attention before continuing, vividly narrating:

"Jean Grey, host of the Phoenix, ascended like a goddess. Empowered by cosmic force, I assumed the temporary mantle of Captain Universe. That battle was nothing short of world-shattering—heaven and earth trembled, day turned to night, stars shifted, gods and demons wept, the three thousand grand worlds collapsed into countless minor realms, the Heavenly Dao fell into chaos, and the newly risen Atlantis sank once again…"

Okay now…

Did he just cross over into some xianxia epic?

"Phoenix, defeated and exhausted, dropped to one knee and proposed to me! But I—exalted Jiao Dao Celestial Sovereign of the primitive African continent, Supreme Commander of the Iron Time Dimension's Tekka Royal Guard—couldn't let romance interfere with duty. I resolutely rejected her affection. Enraged and heartbroken, Phoenix perished in grief."

With a habitual hair flip, Allen added smugly, "Ah~ My tragically irresistible charm… I simply can't bear to love one woman while hurting all the rest."

The inmates' expressions twisted like dried chrysanthemums, barely restraining the urge to write "Get lost" on their foreheads.

"Master, you're so handsome!" came the only voice of admiration—from the blissfully simple-minded Nanaue.

"Don't go announcing my only weakness out loud. I'm naturally quite shy," Allen said, perfectly straight-faced.

If you're shy, then there are no introverts left on Earth.

In Allen's absence, Arkham had been remarkably calm. The four Robins had wisely stayed put, oblivious to the state of Gotham—but the increased vigilance among the guards made it clear the city was far from peaceful.

———

"A rainy night—that's Gotham's default setting.

Perpetual overcast skies cast an almost British mood. All that's missing is the damp stench of an old gentleman's trench coat."

The Bat-Signal blazed as usual.

Not even the thick rainfall could obscure this icon of fear in the eyes of criminals.

Under a rooftop eave, Commissioner Gordon lit a cigarette—classic Camel brand—from one of the few sticks left in his pack.

He took a deep drag. Smoke filled his lungs, then slowly curled from his lips.

Lately, Gotham's Dark Knight had once again vanished.

Ever since the vampire invasion, the city's collective anxiety had only worsened.

Now, similar blood-draining murders had resurfaced.

Thankfully, the incidents were small-scale, and the police had worked hard to suppress the news to avoid mass panic.

Even so, Gordon—smoke-free for years—had returned to old habits, seeking solace in nicotine.

Despite his position of authority, his sense of justice forbade corruption or bribery. Otherwise, he'd be puffing cigars instead.

After all, the path of justice came hand-in-hand with poverty…

The cigarette burned to the butt. The sting of heat snapped Gordon out of his thoughts. He reflexively flicked the stub away but kept his eyes on the man beside him—Allen Bateman.

"You narrating again?"

Allen had started monologuing from the moment Gordon lit the cigarette, distracting him so much that he forgot to keep puffing.

If Batman hadn't already given Gordon a heads-up—to turn to Bateman in case he disappeared—Gordon might've already drawn his gun.

"Being the protagonist's tough these days," Allen lamented. "Sometimes you gotta moonlight as the narrator."

"…"

Trying to follow a madman's logic was pointless. The key was to get straight to the point—never let him lead the conversation.

"How did you know Batman was missing?" Gordon asked.

Allen replied knowingly, "Don't even need to guess. It's gotta be the Court of Owls messing with him again."

That case had hit a dead end.

An underground network of Gotham's elite—capitalists and powerbrokers—trying to catch them all was pure wishful thinking.

Bruce's no-kill rule meant that handing them over to the justice system was basically pointless.

They'd be arrested in the morning and back home prepping for a dinner party by nightfall.

Plus, they were buried deep—rarely appearing in person—making it nearly impossible to pin them down.

"How did you know about the vampire-style killings?"

Gordon had planned to discuss that with Batman. He hadn't told anyone.

"When I got here, I saw a corpse completely drained of blood. Still a little warm. Figured the bloodsuckers are back." Allen pointed. "Two buildings down, in the alley between them. A homeless Black guy. You can send someone to confirm."

"I will," Gordon replied.

Though the hybrid leader had died, the vampires weren't extinct. Clearly, they were gathering in Gotham again for some unknown reason.

"I'll bring Bats back," Allen said, "and I'll protect Gotham."

"Then I'm counting on you."

"Yee-haw!"

Allen whipped out his grapple gun and disappeared among Gotham's skyscrapers.

———

In the rainy alley…

The scene eerily resembled the place where Bruce Wayne's parents were murdered.

Technically, all alleys look alike in Gotham. That's why Bruce, when fighting crime in these places, always hit harder—unable to suppress the memories of his parents' death.

Now, a middle-aged woman in a trench coat ran into a dead end, panic in her eyes.

Five hulking Black men blocked the exit, leering as they closed in.

"Don't come any closer! I'll give you all my money!" she stammered, fumbling in her bag for crumpled bills.

One of them snatched the cash and pulled out a gun. "We want more than money, sweetheart. Let's see what else you've got to offer."

"Please… I have a six-year-old son waiting at home. He's afraid of the dark…"

"The dark?" one sneered. "You dissin' us 'cause we're Black?"

"N-no, I didn't mean—"

She trembled as they moved in.

"Stop right there, scumbags!"

A teen in a Robin uniform appeared at the alley's entrance, a metal staff in hand.

"Damn, it's Robin! That means Batman's up there, ready to pounce!"

"Watch out for the Bat Dropkick!"

The five men raised their guns and scanned the rooftops, searching for the Dark Knight.

Robin—Damian Wayne—frowned deeply. They weren't even looking at him. All their attention was on Batman.

"Damn it! Is Batman the only name you people know?" Damian shouted angrily.

"Quit acting! You're just bait so Batman can sneak-attack us. We ain't stupid!"

Hearing that, Damian was absolutely livid.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the woman fled the alley without looking back.

Just as Damian prepared to attack, one of the thugs shouted, "Watch out! Something's falling!"

Thump…

Thump-thump…

Thump-thump-thump…

…

A basketball dropped from the rooftop, bouncing along the alley floor.

The five thugs stared at it, confused—why would Batman throw down a basketball?

From the shadows, Allen silently appeared beside Damian, disengaging his cloaking with a smug grin. "Told you—if you want to stop a group of Black guys from harassing a woman, all you need is a basketball."

Damian cracked a grin, finally starting to understand Allen's bizarre logic.

The idea: with their limited attention spans, the ball would be a better distraction—and maybe even a redirection.

"Yo… is Batman being racist right now?" one thug muttered.

"I don't care. I just wanna ball," another replied.

"I know Batman's not racist. Maybe he just wants us to play instead of crime."

"Yo, let's find him, beat his ass, then hit the courts for some pickup."

"Sounds good!"

"I'm down."

…

Less than a minute later, all five thugs—and the basketball—were crammed violently into a dumpster.

Allen and Damian walked out of the alley, arms slung over each other's shoulders.