Chapter 65 Who did you say ran away?

Christmas Eve in Gotham City.

At this moment, heavy snowflakes began to fall once more. The thick layer of snow looked somewhat pale under the moonlight, resembling burnt-out, dead ashes.

The tall, dark Arkham Asylum vaguely displayed dots of light in the pitch-black night. It stood quietly amidst grim guards and iron bars encircling the entire asylum. Its blurred shadow, nearly merging with the nocturnal darkness, was immensely huge, resembling some dormant beast of myth lurking in the night.

Today was Christmas Eve, and past midnight would be Christmas Day.

With a solemn expression and hurried footsteps, Commissioner Gordon walked closely behind Batman. Tonight should have been an ordinary Christmas Eve, yet he now found himself forced to leave the soup kitchen specifically to come here—to this grim prison dedicated to housing super-criminals and madmen.

Days of continuous exhaustion, Gotham’s rampant crime rate, and the Holiday Killer running loose on the streets—every single thing kept his nerves stretched to the limit. Fortunately, a small soup kitchen had recently appeared in the East End, which slightly eased his mood. Every time he visited the children at the soup kitchen, he could feel his body rejuvenating with vitality.

Of course, this might also be because he had drunk a bowl of soup there himself.

"The Joker has escaped 'again'. He has already attacked several families—good lord, he didn't kill anyone, but he stole all their Christmas presents."

"I know."

Faced with Gordon’s case summary, Batman, walking ahead, gave only this brief reply.

Commissioner Gordon raised an eyebrow, glanced at the two pointed ears on Batman’s cowl, and subconsciously retorted, "You know? How? We just received the report, and... never mind."

Having collaborated with the Bat for many years, he had realized that when Batman was able to accomplish things beyond the ordinary, there was no need to gasp in surprise or question him.

So he shook his head and cast his gaze back toward the densely packed cell doors of the giant prison: "There are too damn many criminals in here—roughly twice as many as when you first appeared in Gotham. I’m not saying there’s a direct connection between the two, but... do you have any leads on this?"

To Gordon’s lengthy remark, Batman's face still bore no expression whatsoever, save for another short, deep reply popping from his mouth.

"None."

Gordon: "Oh."

In truth, Batman knew very well what Gordon was implying; he was hinting at a certain phenomenon.

For reasons unknown, Batman’s presence attracted these men and women—these murderers, perverts, lunatics, and super-criminals—drawing them to this city, to Gotham.

Jim Gordon was a good man, he thought to himself. With limited resources, Gordon and the officers of the Gotham City Police Department pushed everything they did to the absolute limit, striving to maintain order in Gotham.

Yet Gotham City needed Batman to protect her from countless criminals—criminals like Julian Day—so Batman could not vanish, at least not now. It was for the sake of Gotham.

Julian Day was a super-criminal known by the moniker Calendar Man.

The prison cell enclosed by bulletproof glass doors was impeccably clean, containing only a bed, a calendar, and a floor littered with torn-off calendar pages. Pure white light blanketed the entire cell, making it as bright as day.

A figure clad in a white robe pressed against the pristine glass door. A spotless bald pate reflected the pure white light, emitting a bright sheen as he muttered to himself.

"Months with thirty days include September, October, June, and—"

"I spoke with the District Attorney's office, Julian," Gordon interrupted Calendar Man's mumbling. "If you help us with these murders, they'll be more than happy to commute your sentence."

"We figured, given your penchant for tying your crimes to calendar dates—perhaps you could spot some clues?"

Calendar Man’s response was surprisingly prompt. Faced with Gordon's inquiry, he actually answered immediately.

"Tomorrow is a big day. She will strike again."

Batman's voice rang out at that moment, still deep and devoid of fluctuation: "What makes you think the perpetrator is a woman?"

Julian stopped spouting nonsense at this point, slipping into his mystic persona. He continued his murmuring, which sounded like an answer, yet not entirely like an answer.

"Because he likes it this way. He likes attracting attention."

"No one knows who she is, and he has forged a moniker for himself—or herself."

"You've been lucky so far. Come February, you'll have Lincoln's Birthday, Washington's Birthday, and Presidents' Day."

Gordon understood his drift. November brought Halloween and Thanksgiving, with one murder occurring on each holiday. December had fewer holidays; thus far, it was Christmas, which might see another murder—or two.

But by February of next year, there would be three holidays, and that month might witness a full three murders.

Thus, he subconsciously rejected this possibility: "February? By that time, we'll have caught the killer for sure."

Yet Calendar Man ignored Gordon’s rebuttal, instead accelerating his speech.

"Groundhog Day (February 2nd), Ash Wednesday (the beginning of Christian Lent, highly likely to fall in February, with the entire Lenten season being a religious festival lasting a full forty days, which means it will likely extend into April), Administrative Professionals' Day (the Wednesday of the last full week of April), Earth Day (April 22nd), Flag Day (June 14th), Boxing Day (December 26th), Hanukkah (roughly in December as well)..."

Gordon stood blankly before the glass door, watching Julian Day spit out one holiday after another, stretching from the beginning to the end of the year, and rolling over from the year's end back to its start. A creeping chill washed over his entire body. If the Holiday Killer's repertoire of holiday knowledge and homicidal patterns truly matched the festivals rattled off by Julian Day—combined with the holidays he had already struck this year—this fellow would carve a bloody path of slaughter from January to December next year.

Especially during Lent—a forty-day killing spree—how many people would die by then?

"Let's go."

Batman's voice snapped him out of his trance. Gordon turned around to find the other man still wearing that stern visage, seemingly entirely unbothered by Calendar Man's spine-chilling recital of seasonal massacres, as he steadily turned and strode away.

This Bat seemed made of iron.

-----------------

Meanwhile, Ma Zhaodi opened the mission interface once more.

"Crystal Ball of Christmas

Mission Introduction: You're already familiar with the routine, so I won't bother painting any more grand pictures for you. This time, the requirement is to craft a silent, soundless snowman crystal ball music box.

Notes: Sweet dreams.

Status: Pending completion (0/1)

Reward: A small snowman crystal ball music box. It requires no winding; whenever someone nearby needs a high-quality sleep, it will softly sing."