DC/Marvel: This Guy is Insane

The blood sample was brought back successfully. After some analysis using cutting-edge equipment, the data was found to be significantly different from the blood virus in Eric's body.

"Strictly speaking, the viruses carried by newly transformed vampires have inert characteristics and are inferior to mature virus cells in all aspects," Pamela, wearing frameless glasses, recounted the general results. "Cell reversal engineering can be performed at various cellular levels." Of course, the ultimate success of the reversal serum's development remained unknown.

"I have given you the authority to mobilize the supercomputer to perform model calculations." Bioengineering requires the establishment of data models, and Bruce happened to possess a specialized computer connected to eight private satellites, which constantly monitored global trends. Moreover, he had also provided the equipment and integrated operating system for the Justice League's early warning system.

"Then there should be results soon." To determine feasibility, if the approach didn't work, Pamela admitted her limitations. After all, she was a botanist, not strictly a biologist.

Alan looked at the virus cells through the microscope and fell into deep thought. But it should be remembered that Alan was an alchemist, and 'Pharmacology' and 'Pharmacy' in his skill list were not just for show.

"I see. I have thought of a solution." Alan quickly jotted down a list, handed it to Bruce, and said, "Prepare the items on this."

"You know anything about biology?" Bruce couldn't help but feel curious. He glanced at the items on the list. Seeing that none of them were particularly valuable, he didn't refuse outright.

"I'm an alchemist, so it makes sense that I know a little bit of biology," Alan said proudly. "I processed the super-serum, so this vampire virus is something I can easily deal with."

Alchemist!? In Bruce's impression, alchemists were typically scientific pioneers pursuing immortality and the transmutation of base metals into gold. Even if they dabbled in a little magic, it was impossible for them to grasp chemistry.

"Alfred sent me a message. A cargo ship will arrive at the port tonight, laden with potatoes." Damian pulled up Gotham's import catalog. "The amount of potato staples imported into Gotham this quarter is enough to last for half a year," he stated. "I think that's highly unreasonable."

"Alan, please come over," Bruce called, looking at Alan. The two stared at each other for a long time.

"'Bats, if you want to get rid of me, just say so," Alan pouted. "I'm getting bored following you guys around lately anyway. I don't want to play with you anymore. I want to form my own superhero team to save Gotham."

"You misunderstood, I…" Bruce was about to explain, but Alan raised a hand to stop him. "It would be rude to say more," he declared. "After all, I am a mentally ill person, and it's normal to be discriminated against. I'm used to it." Alan walked straight towards the door, his shoulders hunched.

"I didn't discriminate against you," Bruce said helplessly.

Alan replied without even turning his head, "I suppose I should just stay in Arkham and be depressed forever."

As Alan disappeared through the door, the base fell into silence. A sense of unease settled over the room. Was doing this to a mentally ill person really too much?

"Should we call him back?" Damian asked reluctantly. Although they often bickered when together, they had, in their own strange way, come to accept each other as companions.

"He'll come back on his own." Bruce didn't believe Alan could stay quietly in Arkham. He was certain Alan would escape within a day. Right now, the important thing was to track down Deacon Frost's lair and eliminate the half-blood leader in one fell swoop to resolve the crisis, rather than worrying about the physical and mental health of a mentally ill person.

On the way back to Arkham Asylum, Alan gripped the shopping cart's handle with both hands, placed one foot on the axle, and propelled himself with the other foot, cruising down the road. His electric bike was charging, and he hadn't brought Warden Sharp's bicycle, so he simply commandeered a homeless person's shopping cart as his transportation. Vampires had abducted so many homeless people that countless shopping carts lay abandoned by the roadside. Alan wasn't stealing; he was simply... acquiring.

"Face the wind, ha-ha!" Alan pedaled furiously, attempting to accelerate as he rounded a corner, sending black smoke billowing from all four wheels. "Slow down, or I'll outrun myself, ha-ha!"

Bang!

Alan, due to a moment of carelessness, overturned his makeshift vehicle into a roadside ditch. "It must be the cart's fault. I will never admit it's mine."

The shopping cart was a twisted wreck. Alan looked up at Arkham Asylum, now clearly visible in the distance, and decided to walk the rest of the way. The guard let him in, as he was used to it. It was clear that Alan regarded Arkham as his home. No matter how wild his escapades, he always returned, saving everyone the trouble of searching for him.

A ferocious figure blocked his way, staring at Alan with fierce eyes. The criminals present all held a grudge against Batman, so a man dressed as the Comedic Bat naturally rubbed some of them the wrong way.

"Do you like playing Batman?" Killer Croc sneered.

Alan raised his head and corrected him. "I am Batman," he stated. "There's no need to play him, and right now, I'm the Comedic Bat."

"I don't think you're funny at all. Let me help you with that." Killer Croc stretched out his sharp claws, intending to teach Alan a lesson that would make him ditch the hateful costume.

The security guards patrolling the second floor immediately raised their weapons, fearing that Killer Croc might take excessive actions.

Alan, with surprising speed, seized Killer Croc's hand. With a sharp twist, Alan contorted Killer Croc's fingers. "Am I funny now?" he snarled.

"Oh, it hurts, it hurts… you're hilarious, so funny! Please let go, it's about to break!" Killer Croc begged for mercy, but his other arm swung its claws to attack, proving his duplicity.

Gaba! Alan then twisted the fingers of Killer Croc's other hand, using his free hand.

"Oh, no, it's about to break! I surrender!"

The other criminals watched in stunned silence. The two men were more than twice each other's size, yet Killer Croc had been defeated in just two moves. Killer Croc's hands were bent at unnatural angles, and he grimaced in pain with every slight movement. He had no strength left to resist.

"Praise me for being handsome."

"You're handsome."

"I'm handsome and funny."

"You're handsome and funny."

Alan let go of Killer Croc's hands with a satisfied grin, then swaggered towards his own bed, leaving the hulking brute to tremble alone.

After taking a shower, Alan changed into a clean hospital gown, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling. "Something is poking me." Alan felt something hard beneath the sheets, like a piece of cardboard padding. Lifting the sheet, he discovered a white envelope hidden underneath.

"Is there someone who has a crush on me writing a love letter?" Alan's face split into a wide, happy grin. "He's handsome, but he has too many emotional troubles," he mused aloud.

He opened the letter and found a single line of text:

Storage room, third row, second compartment, tap three times gently.

"So exciting! Hehehe, a storage room rendezvous!" Alan threw away the letter and rushed to the storage room.

While Alan was still within earshot, the Riddler, Edward Nygma, and the Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot, approached the bed, picked up the discarded letter, and read it.

"You put it there?" Oswald's first reaction was that his colleague was setting up some sort of riddle trap. The Riddler was, after all, a repeat offender in that regard.

"Not me," Edward said frankly. "I couldn't stop him if I tried."

"That's interesting. Let's follow and take a look," Oswald said.

"Good," Edward agreed.

***

(End of Chapter)

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