DC & Marvel: This Guy Is Crazy

Chapter 152: Allen Meets His First Boss

"King Shark, don't I look dashing?"

"You look super dashing, Master!"

Allen flipped his hair in front of a mirror and adjusted the lapel of his suit jacket.

As for how a penniless lunatic managed to get a suit jacket—Allen claimed he ran into a charitable group handing out clothes while out roaming the streets.

Of course, said "charity" was only concerned with the optics of caring for the homeless, never with actually reducing their numbers.

After all, in America, medical care means bankruptcy. Treating every illness of uninsured homeless people would bankrupt any charity on the spot.

Hence, handing out clothes and a bulk bottle of a thousand painkillers was far more cost-effective.

Allen casually asked for a jacket—he needed it for infiltrating the Court of Owls' banquet and gathering intel.

Meanwhile, his three Robins, the Joker, Penguin, and Riddler were secretly working on turning the outer circle members of the Court who still had some shred of conscience.

As for whether Gotham's upper crust actually had a conscience? That depended on how many dark secrets they had to hide.

The more secrets, the more righteous they appeared.

Take Magellan, for example—he'd eagerly joined the Comedic Troupers and immediately betrayed every corrupt elite he knew from the Court's periphery.

After all, it's awkward to be the only one in hot water. Misery loves company.

That said, all their operations were still in the shadows, only targeting the outer ring of the Court.

The inner circle—the actual Judges—remained untouchable for now.

But in any massive organization, it's the outer circle that keeps things running. The core just makes decisions and issues commands. Once the whole periphery flips, the judges could jump around all they liked—at most, they were just a bunch of doomed grasshoppers after autumn.

"Nanue, I'm heading out. If you're bored, go mess around in the bunker."

"Okay, Master."

King Shark Nanaue blinked at Allen, who wore a suit jacket on top and blue-and-white hospital pants with hard plastic slippers on the bottom.

He almost called out to Allen, but with a finger in his mouth, he muttered, "I don't think that's how it's supposed to be worn… but Master looks so cool."

In the Warden's Office.

Warden Quincey was half hanging out the window, shouting furiously, "Stop him! Bring back my bicycle—!"

Allen, meanwhile, ignored him entirely as he vaulted over the wall, bike slung over his shoulder. On the other side stood Jack, the 6'0", 6'0"-wide security guard.

"Jack, I envy your physique. So proportionate, and you never seem to gain weight. You really are a gifted man," Allen said with exaggerated admiration.

Jack, munching on half a donut, replied calmly, "It's getting late, Allen. You're not wearing your Batman suit and you're going out in formal wear. Must be something shady."

"Hey, you fat pig! Stop chatting and get my damn bike back!" Quincey roared from above.

The two ignored him completely and kept talking like old friends.

"Damn, you saw through me? Jack, you should apply to the Gotham PD, work in criminal investigations. What are you doing wasting your talents as a guard at Arkham?"

Allen tugged at his suit collar with mock pride. "I signed up on CenturyLilies.com and got a date request that same day!"

"My last job was at Gotham PD. Pay sucked, and it was dangerous as hell. That's why I transferred to Arkham."

Jack fished out a hamburger from his pocket, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "CenturyLilies is a gay dating site. So… you swing that way, huh, Allen?"

"What!?"

Allen exploded. "I set up a date with a dude? I swear I'll cut that bastard down!"

"..."

"Stop eating, damn it! My bike! My poor, poor bike!"

Quincey could only watch in despair as Jack knowingly let Allen go—bike and all.

Allen pedaled down the road toward downtown Gotham.

His mood? Couldn't be better.

"This is great! Free food and drinks, here I come!"

He popped the front wheel into the air and shouted with glee, "Fly, my glorious steed! Ride like the wind!"

His earlier conversation with the guard? Total nonsense.

There was no such website. The two of them were just sparring in a battle of wits.

They got along so well because Allen always brought Jack snacks after his night prowls.

And whenever it rained, Jack would kindly open the side gate to let him out.

The Empire Hotel.

The Court of Owls frequently held gatherings here.

Socialites from all corners of Gotham arrived in style.

Champagne glasses in hand, they mingled in groups, chatting about recent happenings.

Allen entered from a side entrance, wearing the domino mask of Whip Woman.

He'd tried the front door before—despite being impeccably dressed, the arrogant doormen had refused to let him in.

So this time, Allen just strolled in while cloaked in invisibility.

He swept his gaze around the room, his expression oddly serious.

Then, studying the bustlines of the dozens of women present, he came to a solemn conclusion: "Yup… this place is seriously chesty."

"Time to get some food. I'm starving."

Drawn by the aroma, Allen walked straight to the buffet and locked eyes on a steak—whole, uncut, and the size of a human head.

Just as he was about to grab it, he noticed a refined, mature woman eyeing the same piece.

"Let me cut that for you."

Without hesitation, Allen drew a butcher's knife from inside his jacket and sliced off a clean slab in one stroke.

Then, like nothing happened, he stashed the knife and casually walked off, gripping the bone-in tomahawk steak by the handle.

The woman was left in the breeze, completely dumbfounded.

"Selina, see anything suspicious?"

A sharply dressed teenage boy walked over and asked in a hushed tone.

Of course, it was Damian. With no sign of Bruce, he had recruited his stepmom Catwoman to help.

"That guy's really odd," Selina murmured, nodding at Allen's retreating back.

Damian squinted. A suit jacket on top, hospital pants on the bottom, a giant tomahawk steak in hand—there was no mistaking it.

It had to be Allen.

Guy didn't even own normal clothes. Hospital gear was his everyday look.

He snuck up behind Allen and clapped him on the shoulder. "Allen? You're here too?"

AUGH—

The next second, Damian cried out in pain.

Allen had just torn open a seasoning packet with his teeth—one hand on the steak, the other holding the sachet.

As he turned around, a puff of cumin powder blasted straight into Damian's eyes.

Allen didn't even look at him. He just stared in dismay at the now-empty packet.

"Barbecue without cumin has no soul…"

Having roamed Gotham's wilds for so long, Allen had the whole street-level ecosystem memorized. The soup kitchen on Folk Street gave out Eastern spices every third of the month.

He'd scored a packet of cumin-chili blend once during a Chinese-style BBQ.

No idea when he'd get another one.

"Allen?"

A low, commanding voice suddenly called from nearby.

Allen turned toward the source—and saw an elderly man with his hair tied back, staring intently at him.

"You're… the Boss?"

Allen immediately recognized the man.

Ra's al Ghul—leader of the League of Assassins.

Ra's extended his hand, his voice solemn: "Hand it over."

Allen's expression shifted instantly. He reflexively hid the tomahawk steak behind his back and declared seriously, "Not a chance."

"..."