The aliens who were picked up by Superman at the beginning

Wilson looked at the clown, forcing his brain to work at breakneck speed, trying to recall.

At this moment, he suddenly felt a little fortunate that when Red Hood and the others were chatting earlier, they had never avoided him from beginning to end.

Although Wilson was an ordinary person who did not know the whole story, he only had a vague understanding of what they were talking about.

But at least they managed to squeeze out some substance that would attract the Joker.

Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to say anything right now, and he'd probably be tortured terribly by the clown.

Wilson slowly rolled his eyes, displaying the wisdom of an ordinary middle-aged man to the fullest extent.

He tried to start by talking about the virus.

But before he could even finish listening, the clown impatiently waved his hand, interrupting him.

"I'm not interested in that stuff. Tell me, where has my friend gone?"

Wilson's face paled, but he still swallowed nervously and asked a question cautiously.

Who are your friends?

"Aha!" This question was like a switch that suddenly flipped the clown's switch.

Wilson watched as the other man jumped off the chair and then swayed from side to side in the light and shadow of the lamp.

Wilson watched nervously for a long time before realizing that the other party seemed to be performing some kind of play.

As the clown danced with what appeared to be stiff joints, a series of strangely syllabled chants came from his mouth.

"When night melts away the last ray of light..."

You are draped in ink, growing from the shadows—

No noise, no medals,

Only jet-black wings skimmed over the cold wall.

……

I paint absurdity, you carve elegance.

I scattered chaos, you built walls.

You chase the shadows, I laugh and hide; we are two sides of the same coin, neither of us is missing and it's not crazy enough.

……

There's no need to reveal your name, no need to expose your disguise.

As long as I smile, you will appear as scheduled—

As the last few syllables ended, the clown, mimicking an opera singer's curtain call, bowed deeply to Wilson in a remarkably lifelike gesture.

Wilson himself was utterly shocked, his mouth agape in disbelief.

As a Gotham resident who has been a Batman fan for over a decade, Wilson recognized the Joker's song almost immediately from the third line.

He found it hard to believe, after all, he hadn't expected the other person to be a huge Batman fan as well.

Is it a disguise?

No, no, Wilson had never heard a similar song sung anywhere.

In other words, this statement from the other party is most likely a spontaneous, unsolicited idea.

Wilson suddenly had a very absurd feeling. He also admired Batman, so subconsciously, he had always dreamed of becoming a superhero himself.

And not just any ordinary superhero, but a Gotham City exclusive superhero.

But the Joker...

What did this guy do?

Wilson vaguely remembered seeing photos taken by fearless reporters while casually scrolling through his phone, showing Batman chasing the Joker with obvious anger visible on the half of his face covered by the mask.

However, Wilson didn't have time to think too much.

After bowing deeply, the clown stood up and frowned at Wilson, who was still in shock.

The pale face turned sideways and leaned in, almost squeezing right in front of Wilson.

He put one hand on his ear, his tone clearly showing some dissatisfaction.

"Why didn't I hear any applause?"

Wilson hurriedly pulled his chin back, slurped up the drool that had spilled from the corner of his mouth, and shook his shoulders helplessly. He was still firmly tied to the pillar.

The clown seemed to realize this as well, and didn't pursue the matter further. He grumbled slightly in dissatisfaction and then shrank back.

Then, the clown crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared coldly at Wilson.

The latter felt a chill run down his spine.

If you're a Gotham resident, there's no reason why you wouldn't recognize the person singing that song after listening to it.

The other party was clearly losing patience; if he didn't start telling the story soon, Wilson was afraid the clown would simply stop listening.

"It's said that Batman believed he had killed some people, and then he disappeared."

Now it was the Joker's turn to be dumbfounded.

He lowered his hands somewhat blankly, looked at Wilson, and blinked.

Wilson blinked too.

"That's it?"

"It's gone!" "Damn it!"

The clown frantically scratched at his already neglected green hair, making it even more tangled, before glaring angrily at Wilson.

"What can you glean from that?! You're not a good storyteller at all!"

Wilson looked aggrieved.

"I was going to start from the root of the matter from the beginning; it was you who asked to skip that part."

Bang!

The clown pulled out a pistol from somewhere, aimed it at Wilson, and pulled the trigger.

The sudden attack caught Wilson off guard, leaving him no time to close his eyes. He watched the muzzle flash of the gun before he could react, only to feel a burning sensation in his ear.

The bullet didn't hit his head; it grazed past his ear.

"Now, tell me again!"

The clown raised his gun, his tone clearly threatening.

Wilson felt his pants were a little damp. But he couldn't care less at the moment. To save his own life, he pieced together the fragmented information he had heard from the Red and White duo and told it to the Joker.

It must be said that Wilson's storytelling ability is actually first-rate.

Perhaps because he had imagined too many "Gotham Heroes" stories in his mind in the past, even if he only had a partial understanding of the whole story, he could still piece together the scattered information he had heard and add a little bit of his own interpretation.

He actually told the Joker a version of what had happened in Gotham and to Batman during this period that was eight or nine parts similar to the original story.

As for the Joker, he certainly couldn't only have Wilson as a source of information. In fact, since he woke up, he had heard at least four or five versions from many people in Gotham.

There are speculations from ordinary citizens, as well as curses and fantasies from antisocial lunatics who have awakened superpowers.

Now, by obtaining this 80-90% authentic version of the story from Wilson and combining it with some reasoning, one can naturally understand the general truth of the matter.

The clown first became visibly depressed.

He dedicated his life to inflicting real psychological damage on Batman, but apart from the time he kidnapped and killed the second Robin, which came closest, all the others were far from it!

For the Joker, Batman is like a bottomless pit that he can never get tired of. No matter how many new things he puts into it, apart from Batman's own rage against crime, there is no further feedback.

Now, Wilson's story is like telling the Joker something very cruel.

"The toy you cherished was easily broken by someone else." And the other person wasn't even trying to ruin Batman like him.

All of this was achieved through a completely natural process.

"No way, that guy won't be defeated so easily!"

The clown's shoulders trembled, and he almost forced the words out through gritted teeth.

"He must still be somewhere in Gotham. He's just tired of playing and wants to rest..."

"I will find him!"

The clown suddenly raised his head and swore, word by word.

"Only I can find him. No one can quit this game until I get tired of it!"

Wilson swallowed again.

At this moment, his mind was somewhat confused due to fear and other complex factors.

He had the urge to ask himself if he could leave, but he was also afraid of the Joker's current state, fearing that he might be easily provoked and shoot him dead.

Even more dangerously, Wilson harbored another impulse: "I believe in you! And I believe he won't fall so easily."

He blurted out those words in such a crazy way that he was stunned by his own words.

The clown seemed a little surprised, but quickly became excited.

He put down his pistol, pulled out a gleaming, obviously sharp dagger, and walked towards Wilson.

The poor dry cleaner owner almost fainted from fright.

It was as if the person who stood at the door of the second-floor cabin before being kidnapped, speaking arrogantly to a group of equally superpowered lunatics, was not him at all.

However, the clown did not harm him. Instead, he deliberately waved the dagger in front of Wilson, and when Wilson started to tremble like a quail, he hummed a little tune and cut all the restraints.

"You've hidden something in your story."

The clown watched as Wilson lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud, then raised his dagger and lightly scraped his cheek, his eyes filled with a secondary curiosity.

"Those two said that almost everyone who gets infected with the virus becomes an antisocial person, but you don't."

He crouched down and used the tip of his dagger to lift Wilson's chin.

Wilson, with a half-smile, struggled to explain, "It could be a coincidence."

"No!"

The clown spread his palms, revealing a pile of broken tracking devices that were sparking with electricity.

These were the same ones that Red Hood had previously stuck on Wilson's body.

"You must be special. Although I don't know what makes you special yet, I believe I will gradually discover it during our time as a team."

Wilson paused for a few seconds, then looked up, his expression one of shock so intense he forgot to even tremble.

Did he hear that right?

What's going on lately? Why are people everywhere trying to team up with him?