Chapter 232 - 232: 228:
The Prince of Crime is not just a crazy clown; he is also a genius toxicologist. His most famous poison, "Smile," causes the victim to laugh uncontrollably and then completely surrender to the Joker's control.
However, what interests me is not his chemistry skills but his body's immunity to poisons and toxins. These poisons simply have no effect on the mad clown. Take, for example, Scarecrow's gas, which caused him no harm or noticeable effect, or the poisons he created himself, which affect powerful heroes like Wonder Woman but do not work on the Joker at all.
Jay developed this resistance to toxins after falling into a vat of chemicals, which subjected his body to forced modifications. Specifically, the melanin pigment in his body was disrupted, turning his skin white and his hair green. Furthermore, due to the Joker's heavy consumption of various harmful chemicals and toxins, his blood itself became toxic, although this has absolutely no effect on his own well-being. So, if I could study the blood of Gotham's Clown Prince and assimilate it, my resistance to poisons could, in theory, increase by a few percent. So, the question is: where can I get the DNA of Arkham's craziest patient? That's right—ask his arch-nemesis, Batman.
The Bat must have already studied the Joker's blood more than once, trying to understand its structure and, if possible, create a cure for madness. A noble goal, but sadly unrealistic. I am not going to tell Bruce about my true intentions, but asking for the mad clown's DNA is quite possible.
"You intend to do what?" Bruce asked, thinking he had misheard me. "Assimilate the Joker's blood?"
"Just study it first and then, if everything works out, yes, assimilate it," I nodded, trying to show how serious I was.
"That is the dumbest idea I have ever heard," Nightwing commented.
"Alex, please tell me you have not gone crazy?"
"Mmm… Three months ago. I woke up one day, and my wife was a pineapple. So ugly… Eh, but I loved her."
"Bruce," Grayson turned to his mentor, "call Arkham immediately and tell them they are expecting reinforcements."
"Very funny, smart guy," I responded, rubbing my bruised shoulder, which had been hit by an iron club during sparring. Nightwing had struck with all his strength, and his escrima sticks were badly deformed. That is how hard Dick swung, and he even complained that I was at fault for damaging his equipment and now had to compensate him. Not with just anything, of course, but with a new set of escrima sticks, made of—guess what—vibranium. Yeah, Nightwing is no fool. Then again, shamelessness is our second happiness, right? I will think about his request…
After he became a supersoldier, weapons made of base metals were no longer able to withstand his onslaught and therefore quickly became unusable. Steve Rogers always relied on his vibranium shield, since nothing else was capable of coping with Captain America's power. Dick is my friend, and I cannot ignore his problem. When they complete the development of a high-tech furnace for working with vibranium in Nidavellir, I will ask them to process some blanks for Nightwing.
"Alex, you must understand that this idea of yours is a little crazy," Grayson said seriously.
"No crazier than the things I have already done. Besides, I will clearly not be the first to study his DNA," I said, glancing at the frowning Batman. "Or are you afraid that I will be infected with his madness?"
"You do not have to worry about that; my mind is reliably protected," I added, tapping my head with my index finger.
"Why would you do that?" Bruce asked, moving a box on a shelf in the corner of the cave. "With the immunity you received from Pamela, you can survive contact with almost any earthly poison," he said, taking out a small test tube filled with red liquid.
"But I do not want to survive, Bruce—I want to live! Until I am sure of my own safety and the safety of those close to me, I will continue to search for power. And do not look at me like that; I am not obsessed. If it were up to me, I would just work for a company, develop games, write books, sing songs, and spend my days with the girls I love. But I cannot… and that is my curse," I said, taking the vial he handed me, the one with the initials "JKR" engraved on it.
"Why can't you?" Nightwing asked, genuinely confused.
"Knowledge can sometimes be too heavy a burden," I replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
"Do you really know the future?" Grayson asked, his curiosity clear. "You speak as if you know what awaits us all..."
"This topic is extremely dangerous, Dick. It's better if we don't discuss it."
"But I'm curious! What must happen if you're so desperately seeking power?"
Bruce perked up, clearly as interested as I was.
"Should I lie or remain silent?"
"You never lie."
"Then I'll keep quiet," I shrugged, pulling on my jacket.
"Thank you for the blood. I'll hand it over to our scientists in Babylon for study. As always, our doors—and servers—are open to you anytime. We'd be glad if you wish to help," I said as I headed up the stairs, leaving the Dark Knight's lair.
"Leaving already, Mr. Reath?" Alfred greeted me, offering a silver tray. "I wanted to offer you tea and pancakes. You must be tired from such intense training."
Since absorbing the elixir from the Lazarus Pit, Alfred had noticeably transformed. Where once he looked like a gentleman in his seventies, he now appeared no older than fifty. The most striking difference was his hair, which had regained its thickness, peppered only with a few gray strands that betrayed his wisdom and experience.
"You look great, Alfred."
"Thank you, Mr. Reath. Your medicine has finally rid me of the pain in my back. Words cannot express how grateful I am," he said, bowing sincerely.
"No need to thank me," I said, taking a pancake from the tray. "And excuse me—I must leave. I need to go to Babylon. Next time, I'll definitely try your cookies and basil tea," I added, waving goodbye while popping the pancake into my mouth.
[Babylon]
If there are people who prefer work over rest on the first day of the new year, they are here—in the Babylon lab. Kavito Rao was focused on researching the DNA of Dazzler, a mutant who converts sound waves to light. If S.H.I.E.L.D. or A.R.G.U.S. knew of Kavito's achievements, they'd surely be envious. Such a valuable asset works not for them but for me!
Pamela Isley, equally focused, was purifying the healing waters of the Lazarus Pit—absorbing excess energy and components from the green liquid, thus strengthening her mystical connection with the Green.
Attracting the attention of these two busy and important women wasn't easy. Neither wanted to stop work for something trivial, but mentioning I had the Joker's blood for analysis got them to listen.
"Where did you get this?" Ivy asked, disgust visible as she examined the vial.
I could have spun a wild tale about fearlessly visiting Arkham, conversing with the Joker about peace and chaos, and ultimately begging the deranged psychopath for a drop of blood. I had the entire monologue planned in my head, but Ivy ruined it with a single phrase:
"Oh, the Bat emblem," she said, noticing the symbol on the vial.
"The worst thing is when you've rehearsed your dialogue, and the person doesn't follow the script!"
"I've already analyzed Joker's blood several times," Isley said flatly. "I tried to understand his DNA and create a pheromone to control him. But no luck… His blood structure is as chaotic as he is."
Poison Ivy never liked the Joker—in fact, she hated him. Not just because she is wary of men, but because of the Joker's cruel treatment of Harley, who Ivy cared for deeply.
"Now you're not alone; you have a colleague," I said, looking at Kavito. "I'm sure together you'll unravel the mystery in this drop."
I left them the vial and hurried away. Before leaving, I asked Dr. Rao to prepare a batch of the Lazarus elixir. She muttered something unintelligible but ultimately agreed since it wouldn't take much time.
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