The police finally broke through the heavy door, which crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Rushing inside, they were met with a gruesome sight—bodies littered across the floor. A collective gasp escaped their lips as they instinctively pointed their guns at the only person still standing—Two-Face.
"Two-Face, surrender now."
Gordon fixed a stern gaze on Two-Face, who stood sideways, his eyes drifting towards the coin and mirror on the table.
"Long time no see, Gordon."
Two-Face slowly turned to face them, revealing a perfectly restored, handsome visage.
The madness that once burned in his eyes had vanished, replaced by an eerie calm. The change startled Gordon and the officers.
"Two-Face—no, Harvey, your face… it's healed."
Gordon's expression was one of sheer disbelief.
"Yes, finally… in my last moments."
Harvey Dent sighed, raising a hand to gently touch his once-scarred but now smooth face, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions.
With his face restored, the righteous side of his personality had taken control.
"Too bad… it's all too late."
Harvey glanced at the corpses scattered across the floor, his eyes filled with pain and regret.
Both personalities belonged to him—he remembered every crime vividly, unable to escape the weight of his own actions.
"Harvey..."
Gordon slowly lowered his gun, his heart aching for the friend he had once known. His eyes reddened, but the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat.
"Gordon, as much as I would love to talk longer, my fate has arrived. It's time to see Rachel again."
Harvey suddenly raised his gun.
"Wait—"
Gordon reached out, trying to stop him.
But it was too late.
Bang!
Blood blossomed from Harvey Dent's temple, his body trembling violently before collapsing to the ground.
Gordon stood frozen in place.
A police officer stepped forward and checked.
"Commissioner, Two-Face is confirmed dead."
"He's not Two-Face. He's Harvey Dent."
Gordon gazed at Harvey's peaceful face for a long time. If not for the bullet hole in his head, he would have looked like he was having a pleasant dream.
—
"Commissioner! A report from Robinson Park—Batman broke a gang of robbers' legs!"
"Commissioner! An alert from Mercy Avenue—Batman broke a group of gangsters' legs!"
"Commissioner! A call from Sprang River Road—Batman broke a group of kidnappers' legs!"
—
Urgent reports flooded in over the police radio.
Within mere minutes, seven emergency calls had already come through.
The relentless stream of reports broke through Gordon's grief.
Taking a deep breath, he gave the order.
"Clean up the bodies and wait for the coroner. Then move out to the next scene. It's going to be a long night."
Officers sprang into action, filling the once-quiet bank with noise.
Gordon's police car roared to life, sirens blaring, as it sped toward yet another crime scene.
—
The next morning…
Gentle sunlight bathed Gotham's streets and alleyways.
Commuters heading to work carried expressions of confusion and bewilderment.
Something felt off. Gotham was… too quiet.
No sudden, deafening gunshots.
No thunderous explosions.
No roaring engines from high-speed chases.
The gangs that usually paraded the streets at this hour were nowhere to be seen. Their arrogant figures had seemingly vanished overnight.
Storefronts opened as usual, their iron shutters intact, their glass windows unbroken.
Gotham felt peaceful—unnaturally so.
A dreamlike tranquility settled over the city, both joyful and unsettling, as if the citizens had stepped into an unfamiliar yet wonderful illusion.
Of course, not all of Gotham was quiet.
The hospitals were packed to capacity—especially the orthopedic wards.
Hallways overflowed with patients, their agonized groans creating a constant hum.
Thousands required bone-setting procedures, while hundreds faced amputation. The overwhelmed medical staff worked tirelessly.
And this was with some patients having fled to Metropolis for treatment.
—
"No! Why do they get their bones fixed, but I have to get amputated?!"
A tattooed thug roared, his face contorted with rage.
"Your bones are shattered into dozens of fragments—like a jigsaw puzzle that can't be put back together. Amputation is the only option."
The orthopedic doctor spoke with weary indifference, his exhaustion evident.
"I'm from the Dmitry family! If you don't fix my leg, I'll have your entire family buried with me!"
The man's threat was venomous.
"Oh?"
The doctor remained unfazed. He walked to the doorway and shouted loudly:
"The Dmitry family wants my whole family dead! Who agrees?"
For a moment, silence.
Then—
"Falcone family disagrees."
"Maroni family disagrees."
"Chechen mob disagrees."
"Gambol gang disagrees."
"Sionis family disagrees."
"Which idiot is using the Dmitry name to make threats? Drag him out and bury him!"
The hospital hallway erupted in chaos as various crime families voiced their disapproval.
Joking aside, doctors were now a scarce resource—killing one would be suicide.
Two burly men in black suits rushed in, grabbed the tattooed thug, and dragged him away.
"Doctor, I—AAAHHH!!"
Before he could finish speaking, one of the enforcers grabbed his broken leg. The searing pain sent him into unconsciousness.
—
Meanwhile, a white-haired butler strode inside with steady steps.
Taking out a thick stack of cash, he respectfully held it out.
"Doctor, I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience this impostor has caused. Consider this a token of our regret. May I trouble you to tend to my master's injuries?"
"Of course!"
The doctor accepted without hesitation, his face lighting up with joy.
Quickly stuffing the money into his drawer—already brimming with rings, necklaces, and cash—he turned to tend to the next patient.
Though exhausted, he was certainly well-paid.
A satisfied smile appeared on his face as he prepared for yet another surgery.
—
Meanwhile, in Arkham Asylum…
A strange atmosphere filled the room.
Countless criminals sat bruised and beaten, their expressions filled with pain and resignation.
Their dull eyes focused on the man in front of them—a man who hadn't stopped talking since yesterday.
Even the guards outside watched in curiosity.
For the first time, Batman had managed to break every single villain's will.
"I've always wondered—doesn't all that white powder on your face give you acne?"
"Of course, I never used to care about this sort of thing. But now? I love my face!"
"Every day, I use Vanessa's youth serum to maintain it. Oh, and I shared some with my buddy too! But Vanessa found out and made us split up. Luckily, I bought another youth serum, so we made up—both of us!"
"Oh, right! You guys probably don't even know what youth serum is! Allow me to explain—"
Deadpool-Batman continued his endless chatter.
"..."
The Joker's eyes had long since lost their light.
His painted-on grin had faded.
His exaggerated makeup now looked dull and lifeless—his very soul seemingly drained from his body.
—
Quote:"Gotham's crime rate didn't drop. It just relocated—to hospital beds."
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