DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

In the morning, after announcing that he was Batman and meeting with Clark, Bardi reviewed all the information gathered on the Joker in detail.

He needed to reduce Gotham's crime rate, and the first step was to deal with the Joker, someone who frequently escaped and played games with Batman, yet whom Batman refused to kill.

Bardi took the tablet, and his mind began calculating. This time, the Joker wanted to play another game.

After going through the contents on the tablet, countless clues began emerging and being processed by Bardi's mind.

"Gotham TV Directorate."

Bardi held the tablet between his fingers and raised it to Alfred.

Alfred, seeing the result so quickly, was surprised. After just reading the Joker's profile and the newly collected data, did he already know where the Joker planned to strike?

In the past, although his master had been intelligent, he had never reacted this swiftly when facing the Joker. The Joker never acted according to routine and was as clever and unpredictable as Bruce himself.

Alfred frowned, voicing his doubt. "Isn't this too fast? Are you certain?"

"It's fine, Alfred. Go prepare the Batfighter."

Bardi nodded. When it came to identifying the Joker's next target and behavioral pattern, based on clues Batman had previously discovered, Bardi could already determine the Joker's destination.

For the original Batman, it might have taken multiple failed attempts and several red herrings before deducing the Joker's actual location, eventually leading to a major confrontation.

But for Bardi, deducing clues and analyzing patterns only required a few glances.

With his vast intellect, knowledge, and processing power, his core being was capable of calculating atomic arrangements, molecular formations, even human spiritual particles, soul signatures, and thoughts. He could analyze environments, emotions, and psychological states—enough to predict a person's future choices.

Even though Bruce's physical body had limited capabilities, the Joker was still just a mentally ill individual.

No matter how twisted or unpredictable he was, no matter how clever, the Joker had a goal.

He wanted to play games with Batman. He wanted to watch Batman wrestle with his own humanity. That was the Joker's core intent.

In his original plans, the Joker had several backup strategies, waiting for Batman to take the bait and play. Bardi identified each of those strategies one by one. Of course, he didn't bother entertaining the ones he wasn't interested in.

The Joker's final plan involved Batman revealing his identity and playing from there—but how could that ever happen?

The consequences of going public were too great. Even a madman like the Joker would understand that. It would be ridiculous for Batman to expose himself, inviting trouble from the government, Gotham's criminal underworld, civilians, the police, and more.

No one could be that foolish.

Even the Joker, in all his madness, knew that.

But Bardi's public reveal of his identity genuinely shocked the Joker and intrigued him.

That move had ignited the Joker's interest. Bardi had orchestrated the newspapers to spread the news across Gotham, confirming Bruce's identity as Batman, adding fuel to the fire and setting the stage for the Joker's final game.

This wasn't hard to predict. The challenge was discerning that the earlier clues were empty traps and identifying, among the most concealed evidence, the location that matched the Joker's psyche and playful spirit—something that resonated with Batman's identity reveal.

To ordinary people, this would be impossible to deduce. But not for Bardi. They might as well sleep on it.

In fact, the last plan really was the most entertaining one.

Bardi stopped and stood tall in his tailored suit. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Wayne Tower, he looked down on all of Gotham.

Under the overcast sky, the entire city lay beneath thick, oppressive clouds. From Bardi's position, it seemed as if those clouds were weighing down on Gotham, as if they could crush the city at any moment.

Beneath them, scattered flickers of neon light glowed in the gloom, reflecting off the bizarre Gothic architecture. They barely pierced the darkness, only adding to the unease.

No matter how bright the lights were, Gotham always remained shadowed—especially when the Joker was involved.

Den...

Suddenly, Bardi heard the distant sound of a light beam activating.

Above an old building in the distance, a light rose like a pillar, piercing through the thick clouds and forming a bright circle in the sky.

Within that circle, the Bat-Signal shone, cutting through the gloom.

Bardi's heart stirred slightly at the sight.

The Bat-Signal.

Which could only mean—something had happened to Gordon?

Bardi raised an eyebrow and gazed into the distance, eyes as deep as the sea.

Then, the roar of a massive engine approached from outside the glass, vibrating the air and ringing in his ears.

A Batfighter appeared, like a blade slicing through the night. It slowly descended before him, blocking his view of the Bat-Signal.

Bardi opened the window and leapt directly from 300 meters in the air. The cold wind cut his face like knives. He landed at the open cockpit of the Batfighter, stepped inside smoothly, braced himself, adjusted his posture, and sat down. The canopy slowly closed around him, sealing out the wind.

"Master, that jump from 300 meters just now was too dangerous. I should really preserve your sperm."

Alfred's voice came through.

He felt that for the sake of the Wayne bloodline, a backup heir should be preserved, just in case the old man slipped one day and met his end.

Bardi picked up the Batman gear beside him with an indifferent expression and began putting it on.

"Thanks. I'm changing now. Please cut the surveillance."

...

A dilapidated residential building.

A beam of light stretched toward the sky. Amid the dark clouds, the Bat-Signal was reflected clearly, as if a massive bat was flying through the storm above Gotham.

The Bat-Signal projected from here was a call to Batman.

Gordon's body was lean, and streaks of white had appeared at his temples. The firm, righteous demeanor he once held was gone. Now, his face was tense with anxiety, his eyes burning with anger.

His knuckles were white as he clenched a poker card tightly. His thumb twisted the card, which bore a grinning, mocking Joker.

His daughter, Barbara, had been captured by the Joker.

(To be continued.)