Chapter 13

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Two-Face, accompanied by the clown’s antics, arrived at the dining hall, drawing many ambiguous glances. In truth, no one believed the clown’s claim that “Megan is his daughter,” since he himself was the loudest laugher at the time. Unfortunately, no one found his joke amusing. Amidst the raucous laughter, Scarecrow tried to believe it, began to ponder, only to narrowly avoid being scratched across the face by a playing card hurled by the clown.

It should be noted that the others had long suspected he was joking the moment he started spouting nonsense. This capricious madman loved to tell jokes, but whether the listeners believed him or not, they would end up teased. So after they dispersed, only the unlucky Scarecrow almost got hurt.

At that moment, Killer Croc, who rarely ventured out for meals, failed to dodge the flying cards. His body was covered in tough scales impervious to ordinary weapons, so the cards merely felt weightless when they landed on him. However, he glanced warily at the clown, for that lunatic was somewhat special—he had once been cut by playing cards before. This time, the clown’s target was not him, so he merely stepped aside.

...

At this moment, Megan was brought over by Two-Face. Others suspected some sort of agreement between him and the clown, but seeing the clown did not follow, they gradually understood the clown’s intention. Some well-informed inmates had long known this news.

Scarecrow, who had been deeply offended by the clown before, undoubtedly held a grudge. Yet, seeing the child cradled by Two-Face, he refrained from rash actions. With exceptional talent in chemistry and a former psychology professor, even if his schemes could not match those of other Arkham inmates, he still possessed sound judgment.

Suppressing a certain impulse, he intended to move closer to observe the child, but whether intentionally or not, Killer Croc blocked his way.

This fearsome humanoid monster, standing over two meters tall and weighing nearly seven hundred pounds, completely obscured his view and any other possibilities.

At first puzzled, Scarecrow then recalled that Killer Croc was merciless toward adults, even tearing them apart, but showed compassion toward children and would actively protect them.

Taking a step back, he looked up and smiled at Killer Croc. “I’m not planning anything, but when a 'newcomer' arrives, who wouldn’t be curious?”

Without his terrifying burlap mask, the man’s face was even handsome, though shaded by a lingering gloom. He stepped aside and peeked at the child, smiling more broadly. “She has some issues, looks like psychological or mental problems. Maybe I can understand?”

Killer Croc wasn’t fooled. Few in Arkham did not know how to put on an act; he turned sharply to retrieve a tray. As he left, his strong tail swept across Scarecrow’s leg.

Scarecrow failed to dodge, stepping back and gasping sharply. Furious, he laughed bitterly, eyes fixed on Two-Face and the child in his arms. He did not approach further but said, “Alright, I know she’s a little girl who needs care. You’re all smitten—”

“Ha, her good daddies.”

He meant to disgust his cellmates with this, but no one responded, leaving him scowling throughout the meal.

While lining up for food, Megan’s tray was held by Two-Face, who seemed to be looking after her. Yet, when it came time to serve, Two-Face ladled a large spoonful of the most awful clam-stewed potatoes onto her plate.

Two-Face really couldn’t get used to the cooks’ skills in Arkham’s high-risk zone, especially this dish. Seafood spoils easily, and the clams, not fresh at all, emitted a nauseating stench blending sea brine and rot. It seemed they hadn’t been purged of sand, and the side dish was potatoes —

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Taking a bite of this dish, one could hardly imagine whether the gritty texture in the mouth was mashed potatoes, seabed sand, or some undigested clam residue.

Admittedly, he was somewhat mischievous in serving this to Megan. After all, being stuck in Arkham with no chance of escape or even intent to leave anytime soon, he had to find some amusement. Besides, no one in Arkham, least of all himself, dared to cross this truly unpredictable madman.

There was no camaraderie among Arkham’s inmates. These mentally ill criminals each had their own afflictions: dissociative identity disorder, paranoia, schizophrenia, atavism, antisocial tendencies…

They became criminals either because of these ailments or because they consciously and madly chose this path.

Even though Two-Face suffered from split personality due to his disfigurement, with one personality extremely malevolent, he still followed a certain ‘order.’ When confronting those he disliked, he would toss a coin; if it landed on the ‘good’ side, the opponent would be spared. Among all inmates, his least favorite was the clown.

If one day the clown hatched some grand scheme to blow up Arkham like fireworks or hang his cellmates in front of Batman as a darkly ironic joke—criminals killing criminals to prevent crime—it was all possible. After all, he was that kind of utterly deranged character.

Two-Face might have split personalities, but that did not stop him from planning ahead and making preparations. Now, with the best intermediary personally brought by the clown, he decisively chose to make contact—something he hadn’t had the opportunity to do before.

The child sat on his left. If she looked up, she would see half his face, mangled and grotesque from acid burns. Yet this troubled child never received such an instruction and had no reason to glance at him.

Megan silently ate from her tray, even swallowing the horrid clam-stewed potatoes. But as a child, her appetite was small, and she left much uneaten after filling up.

The spoon gently rested on the plate, and Megan’s hands dropped. She was about to rise, obeying the clear order: ‘Return after dinner’ was more definite than ‘Play outside.’ She responded promptly and fully.

But as she moved, someone suddenly grabbed the back collar of her shirt. Perhaps not to cause discomfort, just that brief hold restrained her before releasing.

Two-Face finished eating, then, with a gentle, apologetic smile on his intact half-face—whether performing for whom, no one knew—he bent down to lift Megan.

He politely addressed the other inmates in the dining hall: “We’ll be leaving now.”

Scarecrow sneered. Among all inmates, he was the most pretentious, usually aloof and disdainful of interaction, having once been a prosecutor, a beacon of hope bringing justice to Gotham.

But now, they were all criminals. Scarecrow scoffed.

Two-Face heard this. His scarred half-face, lips corroded away to reveal teeth and gums, turned toward Scarecrow. He flexed his facial muscles, showing an expression that was either resentment or a cold sneer. Without skin, muscle movements alone made emotions hard to read.

Without fear, Scarecrow raised his cup of water leisurely and said, “The newly appointed daddy, best wishes on parenting.” He dared not mention the clown, who was still in Arkham and seemed unlikely to leave soon.

Two-Face, well aware of his cellmates’ natures, ignored the remark and strode off with Megan. He intended to take her to the clown’s cell but, upon nearing it, set her down.

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Then Megan, like a robot, stood steadily and walked straight into the clown’s cell. She paused at the door, noticing the room was dark, with only a faint glow. Inside, the clown knelt before his desk, clutching his hair in apparent torment.

His entire form was swallowed by darkness. Hearing the approach, he turned with a wildly eerie expression. Only his bright, sinister green eyes shone, with a hint of extreme madness lurking deep within.

“Megan,” the clown called.

A smile appeared on the clown’s face. He almost instantly shifted from torment to vigor, rising and striding to the door. Seeing Two-Face, he uttered a slow, strange “Wow,” his tone oddly rising with significance but no surprise.

He lowered his head, shaped his hand into a gun, and jabbed his index finger sharply at Megan’s forehead, causing her to lean back and nearly lose her balance. He then laughed heartily. “Forgive me, I just realized how popular you are. Maybe if I’d let you out sooner, you’d have made even more friends.”

But truly, what he said and what his face expressed were never the same—and neither might reflect his true thoughts. After all, he was always acting, and Megan could not comprehend this.

He asked Two-Face, “You agree?”

Two-Face smiled faintly, replying, “Yes, everyone likes her.”

He successfully made the clown laugh. Then the clown slammed the door shut with a ‘bang.’ Perhaps he was about to torment his new toy inside, but Two-Face had no extra goodwill to care. He turned and returned to his own cell.

The light inside the cell dimmed further. The clown’s hand brushed the child’s cheek, but only lightly. Then he went to turn on the light, noting Megan still stood there waiting. He said with disinterest, “Go back to your room. Don’t hide around like a little mouse.”

Today, while preparing to use his little prop, he discovered Megan liked to hide around his cell, messing up the things he left lying about—though he surely remembered where he put them—making him spend half the time searching for his tools.

This was very troublesome.

And the clown couldn’t afford to argue with a fool—

Or else he might truly lose his mind!