The Phantom of the Opera (Part 2)

When you felt that something was wrong, but everyone else insisted it was perfectly normal, would you start to think that you were the one going crazy?

Batman was in exactly that state now. Having only recently begun his career, his opponents had been nothing more than gang thugs or robbers. The toughest among them had been talented thieves like Catwoman, or powerful mob bosses like Maroney.

Gotham had yet to become the Gotham Big Stage it would be later, so Batman was still a vigilante with relatively normal thought processes.

But then, one day—this very night—he suddenly discovered that he seemed to be surrounded by lunatics.

A madman had shot a TV host at the station, then babbled about holding a performance at the Gotham Grand Theater. Everyone around him thought it was perfectly normal. They had even followed the usual procedure and bought tickets, including his ordinary Psychology Professor, Gotham’s Godfather, a priest, Gordon…

It seemed that no one had questioned this absurd situation. Batman wondered if perhaps he was the one who had gone mad.

Humans had a herd mentality. When everyone else’s attitude opposed yours, very few people could hold their ground. Batman had not wavered yet, but the strange feeling in his heart was gradually fading.

Thinking about it carefully, perhaps it was not that absurd. This was Gotham, after all. Gotham had gone mad long ago. It was only a little madder now.

After their tickets were checked and they collected their popcorn, the three of them officially headed for the auditorium. The Gotham Grand Theater had only one main performance hall. By the time Schiller and the others entered, everyone else had already taken their seats. Besides several people Schiller knew, there were quite a few curious onlookers as well.

A group of TV station camera operators stood beneath the stage. Schiller lit a cigarette and went over to chat with their boss.

"What? Why am I here? Of course, because someone hired me. Honestly, even if he hadn’t paid me, I’d have gladly come help out, because he shot that most annoying host."

The head of the camera crew was Big Beard. Taking the cigarette Schiller offered him, he said, "You have no idea how irritating that guy was. Every day, he had some new demand, and we could never get off work on time."

"That green-haired guy may be a little crazy, but he doesn’t seem all that interested in money. Quite a few people who wanted to buy tickets put cash in the TV station’s mailbox. There were several hundred dollars in there—enough to cover an outside assignment."

Schiller thought that this Joker was not entirely without reason. Or rather, he understood the human heart best of all.

The cameraman pointed toward backstage. "And it’s not just us. He somehow got hold of an entire theater crew. I heard they used to work at this old theater. He told them the Gotham Grand Theater was about to be revived, that countless people would be watching tonight, so they helped him prepare the show. Look over there, there’s even an orchestra…"

Schiller looked in the direction he indicated and found that people really were rehearsing.

Schiller was not particularly surprised, because he knew something about Joker. But Batman was different. He was truly beginning to suspect that he might be the one going crazy.

Why, in such an absurd situation, was everyone behaving so methodically and normally? Why did no one object?

When Schiller returned to his seat, he found Batman deep in thought. He said, "I told you long ago, Gotham is a book you can never finish reading. Every day brings a new discovery. Gotham is different every day."

"Natural disasters and man-made calamities have been nonstop lately. Roads are cracking, buildings are collapsing, and lots of people have nothing to do. During the logistics reconstruction, almost everyone made a little money. If they don’t spend it recklessly, what else are they supposed to do with it?"

"I think putting on a show is pretty good. It’s far better than a strip-club free-for-all, right, Evans?"

Evans sat stiffly in his seat and said, "Professor! Why didn’t you tell me my father would be here too? If I’d known he was coming, I wouldn’t have come! If he sees me holding a bucket of popcorn, I’m dead!"

"Relax. Your father should forgive such a minor mistake, considering you’re still alive. That’s already quite an accomplishment."

Though he said that, when Falcone turned around and caught sight of his son, Evans hurriedly shoved the popcorn bucket in his arms at Batman.

Suddenly, a violent clatter erupted from the stage. A man in a purple tailcoat limped onto it, carrying a loudspeaker. He shouted, "Ladies! Gentlemen! Look at me! Look at my new suit!"

As though he had lice crawling all over him, he vigorously rolled his shoulders and twisted his waist from side to side. "Damn it, this collar’s a little tight. I shouldn’t have listened to that clerk. I should’ve bought a size bigger…"

"Fine, that’s not important. I’m just the host. You can call me Mr. Jack!"

"Let me see… Oh my God! There are so many people! You all came to support me, I’m so touched. Wait! Who’s that? It’s Batman!! Gotham’s superstar, Batman!! Let’s cheer for him!!!"

As he waved his arms with all his strength, the orchestra struck up a noisy flourish. The people below were actually swept up into cheering as well, while Batman remained silent in his seat.

"You should stand up, bow to both sides, and nod in acknowledgment," Schiller told him. "It’s a necessary part of the host’s interaction with a special audience member."

Batman turned his head from side to side and found that everyone seemed to be watching him expectantly. But while he hesitated, Joker shouted from the stage, "All right, who else? Oh my God! Gotham’s Godfather is here too!"

The Godfather did not stand, but he extended One Hand and waved it from side to side.

"And…"

Joker seemed to choke on his words. "How do you pronounce that word again? Wait, uh…"

He twisted around and rummaged through his pockets, then pulled out a small note and read, "Professor Rhodey Riggs!"

Schiller stood, nodded to either side, then waved.

"I hate that name. What a mouthful," Joker muttered under his breath.

Then he regained his enthusiasm. "Welcome to Great Comedian Jack’s opening performance!"

"What did I say before? What was this plan called?… ‘Owls Have Bad Luck’? No, no, no! I changed my mind. That name’s too tacky. It doesn’t suit me!"

"Now I’m calling it—Death of the Owls!"

As his voice rose, the orchestra played an opening number. In an instant, the curtain behind him swished open, and several spotlights focused on the center of the stage.

Several hemp ropes dangled from the ceiling, with people tied up from head to toe hanging from their ends. There were men and women, old and young, but they all shared one characteristic: white bird-shaped masks covered their faces.

Joker took a strip of cloth and tied the loudspeaker to himself. It left his suit covered in wrinkles and looking rather ridiculous, but he did not care in the slightest.

He rushed excitedly into the orchestra, grabbed a triangle, and struck it hard. Then he shouted, "Ta-da-da-da! The actors have entered! Our protagonists have arrived!!!"

"Hey, cameras over there, are you ready? Make sure every viewer in Gotham can see this clearly!"

Big Beard gave him an OK sign.

Joker spun around to face the victims tied up and suspended in midair. "I bet you’re all especially curious about how I found you, aren’t you?"

"Do you remember that charity dinner you held on Elizabeth Street a few days ago? I was the one who drove the ingredients there…"

"And that other day? Oh… maybe more than ten days ago? I can’t remember. Which restaurant was it? That was me too. I’m a hardworking driver. I often go to all those places you visit most!"

"You think you hid yourselves well?" Joker laughed. "Owls without feathers are a pathetic sight. You can’t hide anymore! Hahahahahaha! All your feathers have been plucked off. You’re as ugly as newborn ducklings! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!"

One of the bound people, whose mouth was not taped shut, shouted, "Impossible! Our disguises were clearly…"

"You’re hurting!" Joker interrupted him. "You put on an indifferent act, pretending you’re no different from usual, but your hearts are bleeding. I could smell the blood."

"What did you lose? What made you panic and ache so badly? Could it be…" Joker snickered. "Could it be money? Hahahahaha!!"

"Hahahahaha, sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but I really can’t help it. You actually… you actually!!! Hahahahahaha, over money!!!"

Joker laughed so hard he could barely breathe. He bent over and clutched his stomach, as though he might laugh himself to death the next second.

Laughter came from below as well. Batman looked at Schiller, who seemed to suddenly come back to himself. Covering his mouth, he said, "Oh, it’s nothing. I just couldn’t hold it in. It really is funny, especially…"

Schiller looked around, then whispered to Batman, "…especially when I think about how all that money is in my pocket now."

Joker gradually recovered from his fit of laughter. He found that the Court of Owls members he had tied up were all silent. His smile had not yet faded as he asked, "Why are you all so serious?"

"Isn’t this funny enough?"

Then he asked the audience, "An organization that calls itself Gotham’s ruler! Losing its money and then… Hahahahaha! A secret society that calls itself a great Dark Existence, exposed because of money. Isn’t that… Hahahahahaha!!!!"

Quite a few people in the audience began laughing too, and it gradually turned into uproarious laughter.

The only ones who remained silent were Batman and the Court of Owls members onstage.

The Court of Owls members now felt exactly as Batman did. Were they mad, or had the world gone mad?

"Why can’t we… You poor country bumpkins! Do you know how much money that was? It was a trap! We were blackmailed, we…"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Joker rushed over and used the little metal rod for striking the triangle to beat the member’s head wildly. "Anyone who explains a joke ruins a perfect joke! Shut up already!"

After a while, Joker walked back to the front of the stage, panting. "All right, the opening ceremony is over. Now the show officially begins!"

Then he walked among the suspended people, tore the tape from their mouths, and told them, "You should have noticed that you’re hanging at different heights…"

"And now…" Joker stomped on the floor beneath his feet. "There’s a big surprise under the stage, just like the one I gave you before."

"From now on, the ropes binding you will slowly descend. If any one of you touches the ground, then… Boom! Hahahahaha!"

"Of course, you have a way to save yourselves. When one person dies, that person’s rope will stop descending."

"You’ve probably already felt it. Your hands, bound behind your backs, are holding a button. When you press it, one random person among you will die."

"And my audience!" Joker turned around, raising both hands. "Take out your tickets. There are clues on them!"

He turned back to the bound people. "Each of you can choose one audience member to ask questions, to guess who the button in your hand corresponds to, or whose button corresponds to you."

"And then!" Joker raised his voice. "Consider whether you should press that button in your hand…"

He turned and bowed, standing in the center of the stage. The spotlight cast his loose strands of hair into pitch-black shadows. The smile on his face became somewhat terrifying, and his voice echoed through the empty theater, rising and falling with dramatic rhythm:

"When I heard that Gotham had a savior called Batman, I almost thought I had gone mad."

"But I’m not mad, so naturally he isn’t a savior."

"But that damned madman disguised as a bat rejected me, ignored me, and even humiliated me by saying I was a mass-produced killer made by someone else…"

"Now I’ve proven that I’m not. So it’s your turn… Batman."

Joker definitely needed a drink or two to write this. Good night, everyone.