American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 278 Gordon: What?! The black mask is actually me?!
The air in the ward.

The silence has made things sluggish.

Dior tossed the cleanly bitten apple core into the corner trash can in an elegant parabola.

He leaned back into the large single sofa, seemingly lost in thought.

Gordon, meanwhile, continued eating his apple, pondering how to bring up what he was about to say.

However, Harvey's keen insight into people's hearts was never diminished in the slightest by his physical disability.

He reached out his intact left hand, picked up another apple from the plate, but didn't touch the fruit knife.

"Crack!"

With a crisp, almost defiant sound, he bit off a large chunk of fruit.

While chewing as if no one else was around, he slowly swept his asymmetrical eyes—half sharp and half cloudy—over Gordon's tense face and Dio's detached demeanor.

“They contacted me,” he mumbled.

Gordon paused, his hand holding the apple still, and he leaned forward involuntarily. "They...are looking for you? And you..."

"I refused."

Harvey scoffed, his unaffected side facing Gordon with disdain in his eyes. "'A chance to regain dignity'? That sounds fucking nice."

"But who would want to join those cowardly ghosts in some bullshit 'revenge'? Even if I, Harvey Dent, really wanted to get out of this damn hospital bed and get back what I'd lost, I wouldn't take a blood-stained breadcrumb from those gutter rats."

Gordon visibly relaxed upon hearing this.

He knows Harvey.

This pride, rooted in their very bones, and this almost obsessive fastidiousness, are the strongest barrier against all temptations and corruption.

As for the "them" that Harvey mentioned, it does not refer to any specific gang.

Instead, they are some strange urban legends that have started circulating in Gotham's underclass and fringe circles in recent weeks.

It is said that the ghosts of the core members and middle-level executives of the 'Masked Company' who were confirmed dead by all sides during the most intense battle have returned.

These "ghosts" no longer participate in turf wars on the streets, nor do they engage in indiscriminate violent intimidation.

They are like real shadows, silently flowing through the paralyzed veins of the city.

Their goals are very clear.

Small and medium-sized business owners who lost everything in the war and were on the verge of bankruptcy.

Those disillusioned politicians whose power has been undermined and whose future is bleak.

There are also those "little people" who are full of resentment towards the existing system and yearn to get ahead.

Rumors even circulated within the Falcone family that some disgruntled and marginalized members had received anonymous invitations.

They no longer preach the destructive and chaotic doctrines of Black Mask, but instead offer something tangible.

The desperate need for funds to keep the business afloat, the clandestine means to transfer assets or goods, and the alluring promise: "A chance to regain your dignity and reclaim what is rightfully yours."

All activities are extremely secretive, contacts are elusive, and communication is conducted in a single, encrypted manner.

No one knows who the ultimate controller is; the mastermind behind all the 'ghosts' has never revealed his true face.

But whether it's the precise resurrection and mobilization of "deceased" individuals that it demonstrates, or the scale and efficiency with which it mobilizes funds and resources, it all clearly points to one fact.

A highly organized and powerful will is quietly uniting the losers forgotten or abandoned by the mainstream war beneath the despairing ruins of Gotham.

Those useless pieces outside the chessboard.

"A bunch of rats in the gutter, just huddling together for warmth."

Harvey scoffed, then tossed the apple core precisely into the distant trash can.

Gordon frowned and looked at Dio: "So what do you think? This newly emerging force..."

Dior picked up a tissue and wiped his hands.

"The resentment of the losers is fuel that is easier to ignite than any weapon."

“Someone is well aware of this and is collecting this fuel efficiently. As for the purpose…”

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping over Gordon and Harvey.

"We'll know when we have enough fuel. But for now..."

"All we need to know is that there's another player on Gotham's chessboard. And this player is very good at using... rituals."

Listen to Dior's enigmatic pronouncement.

Gordon felt a sudden headache coming on, and his temples throbbed.

This feeling of being enveloped in an information fog made him extremely irritable, especially when facing someone like Dio who always seemed to have a knack for predicting events.

He rubbed his temples vigorously, finally voicing the biggest question that had been swirling in his mind for so long, his tone filled with barely suppressed confusion and stubbornness:

“You know, Dio! We all know exactly what kind of person Black Mask is!”

Gordon's voice involuntarily rose a few decibels.

"From the moment he appeared, he always made his entrance with an aura of... 'a god descending to earth'!"

"He was able to walk out of the explosion unscathed, he could tear open a car door with his bare hands, he displayed the same extraordinary strength as you!"

"It was precisely through this inhuman strength and ruthless methods that he was able to integrate so many scattered and fierce underground forces in Gotham in a very short time, and quickly rise to become a 'king' or 'queen' who was on par with, or even surpassed, the Falcone family in some aspects!"

He abruptly stood up, paced anxiously a couple of times in front of the bed, then turned sharply, his gaze fixed intently on Dio's calm face:

"Such a key figure, a superhuman with such terrifying personal combat power, a ruler who meticulously constructed his own terrifying empire..."

"How could he possibly die so inexplicably, like a lowly henchman, in such a hasty and chaotic shootout?!"

"This doesn't make any sense! There must be something fishy going on here!"

"Yes."

Interrupting Gordon, Harvey picked up another apple and started eating it.

There must be something fishy going on.

"After all, if it were me..."

"My unknown identity is both my greatest protection and my most lethal weapon. I can be anyone, or I can be no one."

"A stand-in? That's too low-level."

“I can have countless ‘pawns’ walking in the open to draw fire, while the real ‘king’... is always hidden behind the fog.”

His voice was calm, but his logic was chillingly clear:

"In this situation, to deliberately throw out an unambiguous identity, 'Richard Theonis,' like discarding trash is not a way to shed one's skin, but rather to add unnecessary details and to be foolish as if one is afraid others will not suspect anything."

He shook his head slightly, the movement aggravating the injury on his neck, causing him to furrow his brow almost imperceptibly, before letting out a soft sigh, "If I were to fake my death to escape, or secretly go and resolve some trouble..."

"I will make myself disappear completely."

"Or, to be even smarter, be eaten up early as an insignificant, even somewhat foolish, 'pawn.' Then, in a dark corner that everyone has forgotten, quietly... 'promote' to become king."

"Only in this way can we paralyze our opponents to the greatest extent and immerse them in a false sense of security."

Listen to this almost cold-blooded strategic analysis.

Looking at Harvey's face, half distorted yet brimming with wisdom and insight, Gordon felt a jolt in his heart.

“Harvey…”

He wiped the sweat from his brow and said with relief:
"Fortunately, you didn't go astray."

After saying that, he subconsciously turned his gaze to another person in the room who had gone astray.

But then Dio's lips curled into a smile, like the admiration a hunter feels when he sees a superior kin.

He didn't look at Gordon; his gaze remained fixed on Harvey, with a sense of satisfaction at meeting a worthy opponent.

"No wonder he's the best prosecutor who graduated from Gotham University's law school."

“You’re very good, Harvey Dent.”

Dior shrugged. "For the Gotham public, for those hyenas wallowing in the mud, only seeing their prey, and even... in a way, for us."

"The story has been written, and the outline is clear."

"Richard Theonis faked his death to escape, transformed into Black Mask to stir up trouble, and Black Mask died in battle. His body was identified without a doubt as Richard Theonis."

"Look, a complete closed loop..."

"The story has ended."

"but."

He leaned forward slightly, letting the light dance in his scarlet eyes.

"His goal was never to lower our guard."

"That's too low-level. His goal is to destroy the game I've worked so hard to build."

“He wants to turn a chess game where the rules are gradually becoming clear and the outcome can be calculated,” Dio said in a low voice, with a hint of admiration, “into a dark forest war where the rules have completely collapsed, where every shadow may harbor a hunter, and where trust has become a luxury.”

"A...Gotham under the apocalypse."

Gordon's brow furrowed.

He felt as if he were listening to gibberish, yet he was also awestruck by the cold logic revealed in the words.

"Then why did he do this? Why did it have to be Richard Theonis? What special significance did it have for him?" he pressed, trying to find a clear thread.

Dior shrugged indifferently.

“Who knows…” he said lightly, “Perhaps it’s some kind of personal grudge we have no way of knowing? A carefully planned revenge requires this particular person as a sacrifice in order to quell some deep-rooted obsession in his heart.”

"Or perhaps it could be said that it was his backup plan?"

"After all, no one knows who is behind the black mask, so a proper identity is very important to prevent being impersonated. After all, as long as you are strong enough, anyone can call themselves the black mask."

Harvey gave a soft hum in agreement.

"But all in all..."

He took a bite of the apple, and after the crisp sound came a muffled whisper: "Whether it's Theonis or the Eastonis, there's no real difference."

“A name is just a symbol, an empty shell,” Dio concluded, picking up where he left off. “What he needs now is just a sacrifice.”

"Sacrificial offerings?!"

Gordon was speechless, his pupils dilating slightly as he instinctively resisted this concept that steered reality in an even more bizarre direction. "How did this get involved with magic?!"

His worldview creaked as it was pulled between the detective's realism and the supernatural implications before his eyes.

“You’re a bit slow, Jim.”

Harvey let out a sneer, tinged with a worldly-wise cynicism. “Not the kind of offering you’re thinking of, with lit candles and magic circles…” he said, shaking the apple stem in his hand, now reduced to just a core, “but… an offering to ‘God’.”

He raised his eyes, his gaze piercing through the walls of the hospital room, as if he saw countless eyes watching the chaos under the Gotham night sky, and let out a low laugh:
"The fall of God must be common knowledge."

The fall of a god must be tragic.

The more certain the death is, the more widely it is known...

Then
The resurrection of God thus becomes all the more sacred and unstoppable.

"So, it doesn't matter who it is specifically."

"It's not about making people believe that a superhuman Black Mask is dead, but about making people believe that the mortal who plays Black Mask is dead."

He just wanted everyone, every inch of this city, to know.

"—Black Mask is dead. That's enough."

“So,” Harvey threw away the fruit pit, “all we need is someone of sufficient stature to ‘die’ in his place, so that most people will know.

"His plan was never physical annihilation, but rather an informational 'death sentence'."

Gordon's brow furrowed even more deeply.

He felt as if he were touching a huge, distorted outline, and a madness that transcended all his past criminal logic was slowly taking shape before his eyes.

"So what you mean is..."

His voice was hoarse, filled with disbelief and realization. "He doesn't want to step out of the game and become a new, stronger player... He wants to... become Gotham's 'savior'? Or, 'god'?"

"Yes."

Dior nodded. "A corpse sunk deep in the mud is often harder to see and easier to forget than one displayed in broad daylight."

"And once forgotten, time and memory will blur all the details."

"The more he returns from the depths of everyone's memory, the more impactful and undeniably sacred his 'resurrection' will be."

"That death, which we consider clumsy, was merely an essential sacrificial act in this grand religious drama."

This is about ritual.

Death comes first, then rebirth.

That seemingly foolish high-profile act, that flawed 'death'...

All of this was to construct the most crucial and indispensable element of his personal myth.
—Fallen?!

But the next second, a strong sense of reality pulled Gordon back to reality.

An overwhelming surge of anger and confusion welled up inside him, and he almost roared, "But why did he do this?! What's the point?! It's purely... it's just..."

He couldn't find the right words to describe what he saw as having no real benefit.
It was absolutely insane, almost like an artistic performance.

"Because he doesn't want to win by sneaking around."

Harvey's voice cut in with a chilling edge.

He wanted to "die" spectacularly and then "live" openly and honestly.

"He used Richard Theonis's death to detonate Gotham so that he could personally begin his 'reconstruction' on the ruins where everyone was in despair."

"What he wanted was never to physically eliminate a few opponents, but to completely conquer the soul of Gotham on a spiritual level."

"His stage, his goal, has always been the whole of Gotham."

"Haha...hahaha!"

Harvey suddenly burst into laughter, the sound distorting and exhilarating the scars on his face.

"Gordon! Haven't you realized yet? This is Gotham! And that Black Mask, he... he's a fucking madman! A lunatic climbing the chaotic stairs, obsessed with becoming a god!"

He laughed so hard he could barely breathe, pounding the mattress with his good hand.

"You actually want to reason with Gotham's criminals? To outsmart them? Hahahaha! They've long since fed their reason and conscience to the dogs!"

"hiss--!"

The violent laughter aggravated the wounds on his mouth and neck, and the excruciating pain made him gasp for breath, abruptly stopping his laughter and turning into a painful gasp.

Gordon rolled his eyes at him, somewhat annoyed, but also jolted awake by his almost hysterical remark.

He then remembered everything that the man in the black mask had done.
Kamen Rider Company.

The Year of the Mask.

A declaration full of symbolic meaning.

Every appearance was like a grand opening scene in a drama...

Damn it...

He had been trying to analyze the guy rationally, but he ended up thinking he was too profound and complicated, completely ignoring the fanaticism, drama, and naked contempt for all worldly rules that ran through his behavior.

What that guy was pursuing was never a victory in a crime, but the integrity of his own mythology.

Only when divinity has accumulated to its peak will it descend upon the city under the watchful eyes of all, and utterly enslave it on a spiritual level.

Gordon closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again.

Force yourself to suppress your chaotic thoughts and bring your focus back to the coldest reality.

"So... in your opinion, when will he... be 'resurrected'?"

"do not know."

Dior's answer was crisp and decisive.

"do not know."

Harvey spoke almost simultaneously.

Gordon's face darkened.

Dio seemed to sense his frustration and casually shrugged: "Director, don't forget... we don't even know who's behind our opponent's mask."

"hehe."

Harvey let out two ambiguous sneers from his nose, and the uninjured corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Logically speaking, figuring this out is your responsibility as the police chief..."

"Honestly, it would have been better if we had just believed that Theonis was the final boss in the game. An enemy that is out in the open, no matter how powerful or crazy he is, at least he has clues to follow and roots to dig out."

His gaze swept over Gordon, then glanced at Dio.

Finally, he put his voice on his own battered hands, his tone becoming more serious: "But the most terrifying thing is that a BOSS who actively jumps out of the chessboard and wants to become a 'god' has no idea what form he will take, from where he will come, or with what kind of 'miracle' he will bring when he re-enters the game...

"He could be in the next second, or he could be a year from now."

"He could become a philanthropist, or he could become a more extreme destroyer. And we... can't do anything until he presses the button to be reborn."

Gordon sighed and rubbed his throbbing temples.

Choosing to settle for second best, they asked the question that might also have no answer, yet lingered in everyone's mind: "So...who do you think he could be? You must have some...guess, right?"

As soon as Gordon finished speaking, he felt two pairs of eyes fixed on him.

He looked up and met the undisguised gazes of Dio and Xavi simultaneously.

Those two pairs of eyes stared at him intently, as if trying to dissect him completely, inside and out.

This silent and focused gaze lasted for a full two or three seconds, as if the air itself had frozen.

Gordon felt extremely uncomfortable under their gaze. His old face inexplicably flushed, and an absurd conjecture uncontrollably surfaced, causing him to almost blurt out, his voice trembling, "I...I'm Black Mask?!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Dio and Xavi seemed to have a tacit switch flipped.

Dior leaned back slightly in his chair, resting his chin on one hand, his eyes fixed on Gordon.

The content of the analysis was enough to send Gordon's blood pressure soaring.

"Sheriff Gordon..."

He spoke slowly and deliberately, "He seems to have always shown considerable dissatisfaction with Falcone."

Harvey immediately and seamlessly followed up, slapping the edge of the bed with his intact hand.

The intact half of his face displayed an exaggerated look of sudden realization, which, combined with the grotesque half of his face, made him appear exceptionally eerie.

"Yes! Could it be him! Our upright Chief Gordon, in order to establish the pure order he envisions, thinks our methods are too dirty, not 'just' enough?"

He raised his voice, "So, he secretly supported Black Mask, this embodiment of extreme chaos, to fight against... these 'disorderly evils'?"

"Using extreme chaos to highlight and force the 'true god' he desires to descend?"

Dio nodded slightly and added, "Furthermore, given Commissioner Gordon's years of management and control over the GCPD... to provide Black Mask with some minor conveniences at crucial moments, or to subtly guide the investigation, so that he can always be one step ahead and avoid a deadly encirclement..."

"Theoretically, this is not impossible."

He tilted his head slightly, looking at Harvey as if seeking approval, "Even, on some levels we can't see, misleading us."

"Look, whether it's Theonis or any other information, all the overt news comes from the GCPD."

“Gordon, it’s only you,” Harvey nodded vigorously, echoing Dio, “Motive, ability, timing… everything matches up!”

"I never expected this! You, with your thick eyebrows and big eyes, are even more cunning than us! Not only are you the referee, but you've also brought in your best player!"

Gordon listened to the two men's absurd reasoning, their voices echoing each other, and veins practically popped out of his forehead.

He retorted irritably, "If I really am the mastermind behind this."

“Harvey, with all this inside information you know, you’ll never live to see the day when you’re leisurely peeling an apple here.”

Harvey shrugged indifferently, clearly unconcerned about Gordon's threat.

"Anyway, let's just wait and see." He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and said, "Let that so-called god choose a holiday to resurrect himself."

As he spoke, he suddenly laughed again.

"Maybe Gotham will even get an extra public holiday because of this? A Mask Festival to celebrate the return of the Black Mask God to the mortal realm, hahahahaha!"

This guy's mental state is getting worse and worse.
Gordon glared at Harvey, then instinctively reached for his cigarette case in his pocket, only to find it empty.

Then he remembered that because smoking is prohibited in the hospital, he had specifically left his cigarettes and lighter in the car before coming in.

"Seriously," Gordon muttered, rubbing his short, spiky hair in frustration. "So what if we wait for some 'god' who may or may not even exist to jump out and announce his resurrection?"

"I'd rather go visit Arkham Asylum right now!"

He sighed, his voice filled with frustration.

"There are at least more lunatics over there, and their logic is a bit 'clearer.' Maybe our Mr. Black Mask, who's so passionate about acting, just slipped out of one of those poorly locked wards in Arkham..."
-
PS: There will be one more update today.

(End of this chapter)