There is no Batman in Gotham City comics.

Interlude to Chapter 50: The Origins of the Clown Gang

(This is not part of the main plot; it contains some minor foreshadowing, but skipping it will not affect the main storyline. I will also write some interludes as long as I meet my update quota. If they are paid chapters, I will indicate this in the title. Readers can choose whether or not to skip them.)

Some say he was the mastermind behind numerous bank robberies; others say he's connected to the massive disappearances in Gotham; still others say he once manipulated two powerful figures in the Roman Empire with a fake bomb.

But compared to the above claims, he is more like an urban legend.

Perhaps no one has ever actually seen the Joker, but the freaks in the Joker's gang certainly don't think so.

They stubbornly believed that they must have seen him before.

In order to elicit a response from him, the Jokers donned spiked motorcycle vests, dyed their hair in bright colors, and painted themselves with circus-like comical costumes. They paid homage to their leader with violent and unconventional behavior, all in an attempt to beg for a humble call.

But they never received a response from the leader.

Perhaps in the Joker's eyes, these guys are more like the Joker than he is.

Under this daily torment, Quinn was starting to feel the strain.

Who would have thought that five years ago, the Joker's leader was the manager of Ace's factory in Gotham's South Industrial District? It was a stable, high-paying job, enough for Quinn to support his family of four. But then that damned Red Hood fell into the chemical pool, ruining all the raw materials in the pool.

He lost his job, his house was seized by the bank because he couldn't repay his debts, and his wife left with their two children.

Quinn felt the whole world was a giant, malicious joke, from Gotham's success to utter ruin in a single day. What could be crazier than that?

He once scorned gangs, but after losing his job, he was forced to join the Roman Empire and become Maroni's chauffeur.

Will life continue like this? Exchanging a meager salary for two slices of hard, chewy black bread.

The puddles reflected the neon signs, and the flickering lights painted mottled shadows on his pale face. Standing at the entrance of the nightclub he used to frequent, sinister tentacles tore through his moral defenses, growing twisted and distorted in his empty heart.

That night, a convenience store clerk who was returning home late was dragged into an alley by him.

Quinn assaulted and strangled the other person.

Under the flickering lights, the victim's tightly clenched legs twitched, and his broken high heels kept kicking through the puddles.

When these images were permanently imprinted in his mind, it was as if an invisible hand was grabbing his skin and tearing it toward the back of his head, like cracks gradually spreading on a frozen window, with hideous and morbid wrinkles crawling all over his face.

He smiled, his mouth stretching to behind his ears. He smiled.

The chemical plant incident was like a sneeze from an infected person, the droplets carrying despair and madness, spreading to every corner of Gotham.

Through the cracked brickwork, behind the peeling paint, and beneath the dark sewers, pale, smiling faces raise their heads, adding a unique touch of madness to Gotham's impending doom.

……

The Jokers were formed, but even Quinn didn't know how they were formed. It was as if they had been summoned, and the madmen were tightly bound together by an invisible hand.

However, compared to the Joker, who is a lone wolf, a gang does not need whimsy and madness, but rather a plan and a unified code of conduct. But this goes against the original intention of the Joker gang. So in the following years, the Joker gang members scattered to various industries in Gotham.

From impeccably dressed bank managers and respected corporate executives to factory workers toiling from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m., and even beggars huddled by garbage cans struggling to survive.

Apart from a few occasional small-scale organized lootings, they attracted almost no attention.

The long, agonizing days went by, and Quinn felt he couldn't take it anymore.

Until one night about two weeks ago, an anonymous phone call came in.

Upon hearing that neurotic, hoarse male voice with a northern accent, he was so moved that he almost burst into tears.

He knew the leader wouldn't abandon him.

"Don't cry, darling, my request isn't that terrible. I just want you to buy all the arms in Miller Bay for me. Gotham is too peaceful right now, so peaceful it's disgusting, isn't it?"

"The script tells me I should probably cause a big stir... Oh! Don't worry, this grand production won't be complete without your participation!"

The phone call ended with the protagonist's signature slurred laugh.

Quinn turned off the screen and looked across at the other side.

Bathed in the soft, purple light, a woman in revealing pajamas lay on a soft bed, her plump body sunk deep into the mattress, a contract dangling from her mouth.

She winked seductively, her index finger flaring out like an octopus tentacle toward Quinn.

"Come on, honey! Don't just sit there like that. You don't want to mess up this deal and get yelled at by your boss, do you?"

Quinn smiled; this was the first time he had smiled in the face of coercion.

He stood up from the sofa, pulling himself up by the collar, and walked towards the woman with unhurried steps. As he passed the coffee table, he casually hid a fruit knife in his sleeve.

"Honey, who just called?"

"An interesting man, he told me a joke." Quinn leaned down and placed a light kiss on the woman's forehead.

"I can tell you've been smiling the whole time..." the woman replied, wrapping her arms around Quinn's neck.

"But the joke wasn't funny..."

Quinn's kisses descended, from her forehead to the tip of her nose, finally settling on the woman's lips.

"Then why laugh at all?"

"Because this world itself is ridiculous enough, every time I see it, see its true face... I laugh so hard I can't stop laughing! Haha ...

A fruit knife was inserted into the woman's artery, and the purple light turned the vibrant blood into a dark hue.

The woman clutched her wound, blood filling her throat and preventing her from making a sound.

But this had no effect whatsoever; even though she could scream, the volume couldn't suppress Quinn's hysterical laughter.

Under the horrified and desperate gaze of Quinn, he plunged the knife in again and again.

The fruit knife wasn't sharp, and Quinn was thin while the woman had too much fat. Every time he stabbed her, he had to use his ribs to brace the handle against the weight of his entire body.

……

The shower light pulled him back to reality from that eerie purple space.

Quinn washed away the sticky bloodstains clinging to his body and lathered it with a thick layer of foam.

The exhilarating pleasure he felt after killing someone made him hum a song involuntarily.

He seemed to have rediscovered the passion of that night five years ago, and he also remembered why he had become the leader of the Joker gang.

"This damn boring world is like a steak without black pepper; let's sprinkle some madness on it!"