Chapter 91: Standing Up for the Joker Robin
The blood-soaked Gotham gradually returned to its usual eerie calm as a torrential downpour washed over the city.
Citizens infected with the vampire virus, once frenzied and thirsting for innocent blood, now stood motionless as the cold raindrops struck their faces, their eyes gradually regaining clarity.
Rainwater streamed through the city's drainage system, pooling underground. Along the street drains, thick mist billowed out, shrouding Gotham like a veil—concealing the darkness and crime festering beneath the steel and concrete jungle.
Bruce, who had been tirelessly rescuing civilians, paused in his tracks. His sharp gaze swept over the recovering citizens, even noticing that the bite marks on their necks were healing at an unnatural speed.
"Could it be Allen?"
Faced with this sudden turn of events, he could only think of one possible explanation—Allen's doing.
Although Gotham was no stranger to overcast skies, it was not the rainy season.
The sudden downpour was most likely caused by the continuous barrage of rockets detonating within the clouds.
—
Allen walked over to Eric, looking down at him from above. "Wake up. The ground's filthy."
At this moment, Eric was utterly drained. He didn't even have the strength to lift a finger.
"Oh!"
Allen suddenly realized something. "You must be suffering from kidney exhaustion. Try this pills—they're good for you, good for me, good for everyone."
Eric couldn't even muster the energy to argue. He just wanted to sleep and recover his strength. Every extra word felt like it might kill him.
"Don't worry, with Dr. Allen here, I guarantee you'll be back to peak performance."
As he spoke, Allen pulled out a syringe and casually took several steps back.
"What are you doing?"
Eric watched as Allen gave him a thumbs-up with one hand while aiming the syringe with the other.
Sometimes, a thumbs-up doesn't mean approval—it means someone's taking aim.
Thud!
"Mm…"
"Oh yeah! Bullseye."
Allen had thrown the syringe with pinpoint accuracy, landing it right in Eric's backside. Eric let out a muffled groan, caught completely off guard.
In an instant, a surge of energy coursed through his entire body, as if he had been injected with pure adrenaline.
With a sudden burst of vigor, Eric flipped himself up into a standing position.
"Hoo…"
"I'm back at full power!"
As he spoke, steam rose from his nose and mouth.
Allen's eyes widened in shock, his mouth forming a perfect 'W' shape. Still, he stubbornly declared, "Even with racial advantages, I still have the upper hand."
A man of indomitable spirit—he refused to admit defeat.
"…?!"
Eric glanced downward, only to freeze in horror as he realized something had stood up as well.
"What did you inject me with?"
"Shenbao, of course. You should be grateful."
"…!"
Are you insane?!
How am I supposed to face people like this?!
Eric was livid. He had spent his whole life walking a razor's edge, keeping his distance from unnecessary entanglements. His closest companions were all men—how was he supposed to deal with this situation? Was he supposed to… ram himself into a wall?!
Crash!
Allen shattered a nearby window and tossed out a casual farewell. "I'm heading out. Yee-ha!"
The next second, his silhouette vanished into the misty night.
"Don't run! What the hell am I supposed to do now?! Hiss…"
The moment he took a step, his tight leather pants nearly tore at the seams.
—
High above Gotham, Penguin and Riddler patrolled the city under the cover of an umbrella.
Their posture was… oddly intimate—reminiscent of a princess carry between lovers.
Their eyes briefly met before they hastily looked away.
Rumors had long circulated that their relationship was more than just friendship. People speculated that their dynamic was a zero-sum game that had broken past the boundaries of camaraderie. But in reality, those rumors were nonsense—they were simply the best of partners.
"I'm straight," Cobblepot murmured, somewhat guilty.
Edward turned his gaze to the city below, replying softly, "Me too."
So pure, yet so ambiguous.
The atmosphere grew unbearably awkward, thick with a scent reminiscent of hawthorn blossoms.
"…Maybe we should land on a rooftop and take a break."
"Your call."
Whoosh!
Just as Cobblepot was about to adjust the umbrella's direction, a net shot out from the distance.
Before they could react, the net tightened around them, ensnaring them completely.
The Batwing deactivated its stealth mode, the cockpit opening as Damian sneered, "Let's see where you run now."
To capture them, Damian had specially brought out the Batwing.
Its stealth technology wasn't some high-grade black-tech—it was simply a special coating that converted electronic signals into a reflective mirage. It worked perfectly at night but would be glaringly obvious in daylight.
Yet, neither Edward nor Cobblepot seemed concerned.
After all, they had just saved Gotham. Batman had no reason to arrest them.
Soon, the Batwing landed on a rooftop where Bruce and his team were already waiting for Allen to show up and explain everything.
After all, all three Robins were present.
Yee-ha!
A shadow swung through the towering buildings before landing in a dramatic one-knee pose.
"The superhero has arrived. Are you impressed?" Allen grinned, flashing his teeth.
"That was awesome."
"Hilarious, but still cool."
"So cool, I'm jealous."
The three Robins immediately played along.
Allen waved modestly. "Come on, let's keep it low-key. If you expose all my strengths, it'll be unfair to others."
"Where's Eric?"
Blade had been recruited as backup, so Bruce was naturally concerned about his safety.
"He's dead."
Allen solemnly placed his right fist over his heart and declared, "Let us have a moment of silence for a fallen hero."
Seeing Allen bow his head in mourning, Bruce and the others exchanged glances before reluctantly following suit to pay their respects.
Every soul lost in the fight against crime was worthy of honor.
"…What are you all doing?"
Not even a minute later, Eric arrived, now wearing a loose pair of jeans.
Seeing the group standing solemnly in silence, he immediately realized—this wasn't for Gotham's casualties.
"…We've got a ghost! Quick, call Constantine—he's an expert in funeral services."
Allen immediately darted behind the three Robins, untying their restraints as he did.
"I'm glad you're okay."
Bruce awkwardly stepped forward, unable to admit they had just been holding a premature memorial service for him.
"All thanks to Allen."
If not for his naturally dark complexion, Eric's face might've been as red as a car's brake lights.
On the way here, in order to hide his… situation, he had been forced to steal an oversized pair of jeans.
"…What a tragedy."
Suddenly, Allen let out a heart-wrenching wail, cradling Arthur's bruised and battered face.
"Who?! Who dared to do this to my poor Joker Robin?!"
"I'm fine, I'm used to it…" Arthur shrank back, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"Don't be afraid—I'll get justice for you! We're heroes, after all!"
Allen's voice was filled with righteous indignation. "Look at what they did to him—he's so badly beaten his own mother wouldn't recognize him! What a crime! What injustice! Where is the fairness in this world?!"
As he spoke, everyone's gaze subtly shifted toward Oliver.
After all, when they had arrived, Oliver had still been on top of Arthur, pummeling him mercilessly.
Arthur had never even fought back.
"…I… Well… Sigh."
Oliver let out a helpless sigh.
How could he have known that Gotham's infamous criminal would suddenly decide to play hero?
This time, he really couldn't explain himself.