PFC Chapter 3893 The Nameless Bat (63)
Chapter 3893 The Nameless Bat (63)
Chapter 3893 The Nameless Bat (Sixty-Three)
The clown slowly narrowed his eyes. But this time, without hesitation, he sprinted towards the parking lot exit. He had just taken cover behind a tree when he heard the whistling sounds of gunfire behind him. The bearded man pulled out a gun from somewhere and began exchanging fire with Schiller.
The clown cursed, looked around, and found a fire hydrant behind the fence outside the parking lot—right behind the bearded man. He quickly ran over, pulled a knife from his pocket, and pried open the hydrant. Water immediately gushed out in one direction, hitting the bearded man squarely on the back.
The forceful flow of water knocked him off balance. The next second, the Joker saw the bearded man's head explode in a spray of blood. Schiller holstered his gun and walked over. The Joker whistled and shouted, "Not bad marksmanship."
"Better than Batman."
The clown's face immediately fell.
“You know something, right?” the Joker tried to ask Schiller.
"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. Go find a job."
The clown's eyes darted around for a moment, then he said, "Yes, I really should find a job, preferably one that's helpful for flood control and disaster relief. I heard that someone from another universe is driving a truck, and that seems like a good job. I'm thinking of checking out a trucking company. What do you think?"
“No,” Schiller said. “You want to steal a truck? Dream on!”
“I wouldn’t steal,” the Joker said, pursing his lips. “When Gotham is flooded, there won’t be enough truck drivers to work, but there will be a lot of supplies waiting to be transported. Gangsters aren’t like normal companies; they’re not reasonable. The trucking company bosses will be in a real bind, and they’ll have to beg me to drive.”
"Do you have a driver's license?"
"Isn't this a coincidence? After hearing that my counterpart went to drive a truck, I took the truck driving test and only got my license three months ago." The clown waved the notebook in his hand.
Schiller snatched the notebook away, stuffed it into his pocket, and calmly said to the clown, "Now you don't have it anymore."
The Joker was utterly shocked by his shamelessness, but after a long pause, he swallowed his anger and said, "You know it's useless, as long as I can drive it."
Are you asking me to break your legs?
“I can heal myself,” the Joker said smugly. “You better not try to blow my head off. I may not die, but if I can’t move, we won’t be able to complete the mission Batman gave us.”
"Do you really have to drive a truck?"
“I think this is a pretty good job,” the clown shrugged. “High pay, flexible hours, and I can help with flood prevention and disaster relief. Maybe I can even become a disaster relief hero, and the gangsters will thank me…”
“Wait a minute,” Schiller waved his hand, indicating that he didn’t need to continue. He leaned against the lamppost and closed his eyes. In the blink of an eye, the Joker suddenly noticed a white truck parked across the street.
Was there originally this car there? The Joker wasn't sure. He immediately realized that his memories and consciousness might have been altered. Could this be related to Schiller's untimely actions?
Schiller walked over to the white truck, opened the door, got into the passenger seat, and waved to him: "Come over here!"
The clown walked to the driver's side, opened the door, and got in. As soon as he sat down, he couldn't help but frown slightly.
It wasn't because he was uncomfortable, but because he was too comfortable. To be precise, the seat adjustment was completely tailor-made for him.
He instinctively placed his hands on the steering wheel, only to see it begin to glow. To be precise, the entire truck was now emitting a faint light.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“This is your counterpart’s truck,” Schiller said as he holstered his gun. “It just drove here from the Dream Kingdom.”
The clown was somewhat surprised, but immediately realized the more important question. He said, "So you're deliberately preventing me from touching the car. What's wrong with the car?"
"I don't have time to explain to you, hurry up and drive. They should be moving sandbags at the dock, and they'll need you. Go quickly."
The clown wanted to say something more, but he saw Schiller close his eyes again, feigning sleep, as if he didn't want to talk. He could only purse his lips and start the car.
Although the vehicle emitted light, it drove just like a regular truck and had no special features. Even though the clown had a driver's license, he wasn't very skilled at driving and could only slowly turn outwards.
He had just driven his car onto the main road when a black Honda suddenly accelerated and overtook him from the right, then made an emergency lane change and blocked his way.
The clown narrowed his eyes slightly. These two people have been picking on him today; do they really think he's a pushover with no temper?
The Joker didn't even apply the brakes; instead, he accelerated. Just as the black Honda in front slammed on its brakes, preparing to deliberately cause a rear-end collision, the Joker's white truck crashed straight into it.
The clown had already assumed a defensive stance, because even a large truck colliding with a small car would still cause some impact. But at the very moment of contact, the magical light on the white truck flashed, and the truck body suddenly became ethereal, turning into a transparent phantom that passed right through the small car. After failing to make contact with the small car, it returned to its solid form.
The clown raised an eyebrow again. It seemed his counterpart was quite capable. In that case, there was no need for him to be careful while driving; he could just floor the accelerator and speed away.
In the Gotham Police Department office, Gordon shook hands with his colleagues from the state troopers and said, "If it weren't for the hurricane making landfall, we wouldn't have needed to trouble you. But with only a little over an hour left before the downpour, I'm afraid we don't have time to entertain you; we need to go to the docks first."
The other person waved their hand and said, "It's nothing. It's rare for you to ask me for help, old classmate. I really don't know what could be so difficult for you..."
The other person's tone was full of admiration. Gordon was a legend in the police force; just the fact that he had stayed in this run-down city for decades was enough to earn him the respect of every police officer.
Gordon was quite moved when he heard him say that. He actually had many old classmates, most of whom were sheriffs or chiefs of police departments in various states and cities. Gordon wouldn't easily ask them for help, but usually, if he did ask, they would come even if they knew what kind of place Gotham was.
All I can say is that in a country where guns are rampant, being a policeman in any city is a noble profession.
Hearing his old classmate mention it, Gordon was also somewhat troubled by the matter. Although Barbara had caught a clue about the cyber life, she was completely helpless against it in the cyber realm, and could even be said to be utterly powerless.
Furthermore, the main universe's Batman originally planned to establish a magical defense network once he obtained the power of the Seven Lamps, at which point no electronic life form would be able to hide. However, he unexpectedly changed his plans and chose to go to Mount Olympus, which made things even more difficult for Barbara.
His main focus now is protecting the Batcave and the police station, as countless firewalls are being rapidly breached. Barbara hasn't rested for 12 hours straight, giving it her all just to deal with the cyber lifeforms. Gordon has to keep the real-world catastrophe at bay.
The two talked about the past as they walked out of the police station. But before they could even get into the police car, Gordon received a phone call.
"What did you say? There's street racing in Central? It can't be those teenagers again, can it? What?! It's a truck?! A ghost truck???"
Gordon couldn't help but yell into the phone, "El, are you drunk or just asleep? What kind of ghost truck is this?!"
But as the police car slowly drove onto Central, Gordon was utterly dumbfounded. A huge white truck was speeding past the speed limit.
The key issue is that it's Gotham's evening rush hour. Although there aren't as many cars due to the hurricane warning, there's still at least one car every fifty or sixty meters. But that truck ignored these obstacles and sped right past.
Gordon also noticed that the truck didn't seem to be able to hit anything. He initially thought, "It's a ghost truck anyway, so if it can't hit anyone, I might as well speed." But when he accelerated up to the truck and saw the driver's green hair, he honked the horn loudly.
Beep beep—!!!
"Joker! What the hell are you doing?!" Gordon yelled into the walkie-talkie. "Stop the car!!"
"What am I doing? I'm fucking working!" the clown's sinister voice crackled through the walkie-talkie. "I'm going to the docks to move sandbags!"
Gordon was utterly bewildered. When he saw Schiller in the passenger seat, he exclaimed in shock, "You also hijacked Agent Rodriguez?! You're insane!"
"What do you mean I kidnapped him?!" the Joker said, quite indignantly. "Batman ordered him to pull us out of Arkham Asylum. If it weren't for this damn guy, I'd be having dinner in the cafeteria right now!"
"Oh, you haven't had dinner? Then I'll... Joker, you'd better not be up to something!" Gordon felt a little confused because he usually exchanged pleasantries with truck drivers like this on the road and would even offer them some food and water. The Joker suddenly driving a truck was a bit unusual for him.
"Enough talk, hand over the sandwiches!" the clown said, turning the steering wheel. "We're going to be busy tonight, you can't expect me to go hungry until dawn, can you?"
“Who knows what you’re going to do? Maybe your carriage is full of bombs. I’ll only give you a sandwich after I see you actually doing some work!” Gordon realized how ridiculous he was after saying that. How could the Joker possibly be going to do any real work? And how could he possibly eat his own sandwich? Unless he cut it into bat shapes!
The clown ignored him and drove on. Although the car was large, it was fast and arrived at the dock even before the police car.
While looking for a parking spot, the clown suddenly saw a message notification from the Battle Realm. He opened the Battle Realm interface and found that the group chat, which had been quiet for two weeks, was now flooded with messages.
"What the hell is Batman doing?! He dragged me out of the Joker's base and threw me onto Saturn!"
"My universe's Batman might be insane. He said he's going to send me to the new Genesis in a spaceship. Has he finally decided to kick the lunatics off Earth?"
"Can anyone tell me what the Lantern is? Why does Batman want me to summon the Yellow Lantern ring?"
Where is Apokolips? Who is Darkseid?
"What's the deal with Mount Olympus? Is Batman telling me to enter the gates of the underworld a more poetic way of saying 'Go to hell'?"
"You guys got harassed by Batman too? Is there no justice in this world? Since when did it become Batman's place to harass the Joker?"
"He sent me 200 messages at 2:30 AM explaining the history of Zeus and his bunch of illegitimate children! That damn rich guy, I'm checking in at 8 AM tomorrow!!!"
"Does anyone know what's going on?! @PaleKnight, stop hiding! You're close to Batman, go ask them what's wrong with them!"
"Sorry, I'm wrapping things up on Mount Olympus. The Batmen are gathering energy to build a magical defense network."
"What does this have to do with us?! We don't understand magic!"
"Probably because Batman can't stand idle people."
"This doesn't make sense, it's never been like this before..."
"Some Batman must have started this whole thing!"
"That's right! Someone definitely started this, maybe it's that classic poker face! @Joker1111, it must be your universe's Batman who did it!"
Seeing the clowns constantly tagging him in the group chat, the main universe clown slammed the Battle Realm interface shut.
"What's wrong?" Schiller, who got out of the car a step later than the clown, asked.
“Nothing,” the clown said, rubbing his hands together. “Where’s the punching bag? I can’t wait!”
One person being unlucky is bad luck, but a group of people being unlucky is hilarious.