DC & Marvel: This Guy Is Crazy

Chapter 159: Oh No! We've Been Diagnosed as Mentally Ill

The Blood Clan suffered heavy losses and retreated in defeat, and Dracula, who failed to obtain the Blood God's power, also chose to flee at the first opportunity.

The remaining Claw Corps and assassins who couldn't fly were like turtles in a jar, completely trapped.

With the museum flooded, it had become the Ocean Master Orm's domain. He alone was more than enough to wipe out all remaining enemies.

He controlled the water to freeze the Claw warriors and seriously injure the assassins. Without question, they were all destined for Blackgate Prison.

Even the strongest among them, the ninja master Ra's al Ghul, was defeated in just one exchange.

Allen shouted up at the dome, "Call Gordon. We've got some serious cleanup here."

"On it, boss."

Snapping out of their shock from the vampire bat spectacle, the Robins on the rooftop immediately made the call.

That same night, Commissioner Gordon had just finished handling the Wayne Tower fire when he quickly mobilized officers to rush to the Antiquities Museum.

Reporters, catching wind of a big scoop, quickly sprang into action.

Of course, it's also possible some TV stations bribed insiders in the police force to arrive first for exclusive footage.

Hundreds of police officers, along with Gotham's guard units, arrived en masse to escort the criminals.

The scale of the operation was enormous—almost the entire city's law enforcement had been pulled in.

"You can't do this to me!"

Drake shouted in panic, "We're on the same side! I'm part of the Midnight Bruisers!"

"I never planned on killing you."

Allen held the Red Bat in both hands, toying freely with his new pet.

Drake breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing that.

At the same time, he felt glad he had secretly pledged allegiance to Lilith, already planning in his heart how to get revenge.

But Allen's next sentence made Drake's scalp go numb.

"I'm going to craft a silver coffin for you and toss it into the Atlantic."

From the very beginning, Allen never trusted him. And judging from his recent behavior, that gut feeling was only confirmed.

Drake hadn't done anything to betray him—nor had he harmed him—so Allen decided to simply return him to the fate he was meant for.

As for Drake siding with Lilith, Allen didn't know. Otherwise, he would've filled that silver coffin with holy water.

"No…"

Drake was no longer the proud vampire he once was. Terrified, he pleaded, "Allen… boss, please don't do that! I don't want to go back to those dark, endless days. Just let me go—I swear you'll never see me again."

"I almost believed your bullshit."

Allen had made up his mind and wasn't going to change it.

Besides, Drake was a vampire. Letting him loose in human society was like releasing a tiger back into the wild.

So, sinking him into the ocean was the best option.

If he managed to escape, that would just mean he got lucky.

Still, Allen offered some "reassurance": "Don't worry. It's just a silver coffin. If you do break out and I see you again, I'll wrap the silver coffin in adamantium and chuck it into the Arctic Ocean next time."

"…"

Drake immediately shut up.

He couldn't guarantee that angering Allen wouldn't result in that second plan being executed.

That would truly be an eternity of suffering.

With Orm and Morbius standing guard, the enemy couldn't stir up any more trouble.

In less than half an hour, police vehicles arrived one after another.

But seeing the sand-sealed building made the officers hesitate.

It was completely different from anything they'd faced before.

Pharaoh Nick emerged, stepping out over the sand.

"Holy shit, a mummy!"

"Damn! The pharaoh from the museum has come back to life!"

"Chief, we can't handle this case. Better report it to the Watchtower."

…

Wrapped in bandages from head to toe, Nick's appearance frightened the officers into drawing their guns. Hollywood mummy horror movies had clearly left a deep psychological impression.

Nick calmly commanded the sand to return to the construction site, then asked, "Who's Commissioner Gordon?"

"The mummy can talk!"

"And I can understand him! Is this some kind of mind magic?"

"Does the commissioner… know the mummy?"

…

A bespectacled man in a trench coat—clearly over fifty—stepped forward from the crowd. There was no mistaking it: this was Gotham's one-man army, Commissioner Gordon.

"You are?"

Gordon was full of questions. He couldn't understand how that lunatic Comedic Bat managed to recruit non-human allies.

"The criminals are inside. Organize your men to take them in."

Nick clearly didn't want to engage with the public too much in his pharaoh persona.

Especially with reporters beyond the police line snapping photos. When they noticed Nick looking their way, they hurriedly put down their cameras in a panic.

They couldn't help but worry—had the mummy just cursed them?

As officers swarmed into the museum, they were stunned by the scene.

The League of Assassins' killers were easy enough to deal with—seriously injured and easily cuffed. But the Claw warriors, frozen solid, were a bit of a hassle.

Gordon left the detainment logistics to his subordinates and walked over to find Allen, who was still playing with his bat.

"You sure know how to stir up a mess," Gordon said with a sigh.

Even Batman rarely caused this level of chaos in Gotham.

And usually, Bruce just tied the criminals up and sent them to Blackgate or Arkham.

"Gordon, this is nothing. I've punched out the God of War Ares and forced the Phoenix Force into retreat. These little thugs? Not even worth my time."

Allen stuffed the Red Bat into his pocket and zipped it up to keep his new pet from escaping.

"You're really something," Gordon replied awkwardly.

Anything that came out of a lunatic's mouth wasn't exactly trustworthy. Believing him would be foolish.

"Gordon, this isn't over."

Allen suddenly grew serious. "The vampires escaped. I suspect they'll return."

"Vampires? That's all fictional," Gordon said, trying to reason with him.

"I thought we had a bond. I thought you'd believe me…"

Allen leaned one hand on a sculpture and put the other on his waist, sighing dramatically. "Turns out we were just using each other all along."

"…"

Gordon's face twisted in exasperation.

He truly didn't believe in vampires, but Allen's melancholy look left him speechless. Was he really expected to humor a mentally ill man at his age?

He couldn't help but miss the days when Batman was around—at least then, all he had to do was provide intel.

"Chief! Come look at this!"

A panicked officer called out.

He had just removed the mask of one of the Court of Owls judges and was stunned to discover a Gotham elite he dared not cross.

"Senator Castrow!?"

When Gordon looked over, he was shocked to see the disheveled face of the prominent senator.

And it wasn't just one elite. The other three were also individuals with immense power or wealth.

"Gordon, looks like this is going to be a headache, huh?" Allen asked casually.

Gordon nodded grimly.

Even with solid evidence, they couldn't easily bring these people to justice. After all, America is a playground for the rich.

And without airtight proof, they could easily twist the narrative.

The Claw warriors and assassins were easy—just throw them in Blackgate. But the elites, with their resources and connections, had a thousand ways to get off the hook.

They might even go on the counterattack, using media spin to portray themselves as the victims.

The four Court of Owls judges showed no sign of panic.

As long as they weren't killed on the spot, they had many avenues to regain their freedom.

"Gordon, if you know what's good for you, you'll release us immediately. Otherwise, you can kiss your job goodbye. Even if we can't get you fired, we'll make sure you're transferred somewhere far away." Castrow threatened without hesitation.

SMACK!

Allen stepped forward and slapped him across the face righteously. "With the Judge of Justice here, I will not allow you to act so arrogantly!"

"You'll pay for this with blood!" Castrow roared.

"Who saw me hit him?"

Allen looked around. The officers knowingly averted their eyes, pretending nothing had happened.

"Gordon, come here a sec."

"What now?"

Gordon looked troubled—he had no idea what this lunatic was planning next.

"Gordon, this man is clearly exhibiting signs of persecution delusion from being in a high-stress, dangerous environment. I suggest committing him to Arkham Asylum for treatment," Allen said earnestly.

Persecution delusion? A victim? This counts!?

For a moment, Gordon's eyes widened in disbelief. But after some thought, he realized—it might actually work.

Castrow scoffed. "You're the one with delusions. Trying to frame me as mentally ill? Dream on!"

"Ah…"

Allen raised his voice a bit, adopting the knowing tone of one lunatic diagnosing another. "A classic sign of mental illness: the patient never admits they're mentally ill."

He winked at Gordon, signaling him to play along.

"That's true. Every criminal I've ever committed to Arkham shouted they weren't crazy. You just can't trust what they say," Gordon said, playing his part.

Thinking back, that actually did seem to be the case.

"You—"

Castrow was left speechless, watching the two banter like a well-rehearsed comedy duo, unable to say a word in his defense.

"I'm mentally ill! I want to be transferred to Star City Psychiatric Hospital!" another judge quickly declared, hoping to be sent to an institution under the Court of Owls' control and make his escape.

Allen grinned. "Admitting you're mentally ill means you've already reached an incurable stage—likely to develop self-harming tendencies. Such dangerous cases need 24-hour restraints. Only Arkham has the proper security for that."

"Comedic Bat, you really know your stuff."

Gordon was beginning to like this guy. Compared to Batman, he was actually getting results.

A few words in, and the untouchable elites were on their way to indefinite detention. So satisfying.

"I'm not crazy! I was faking it! I don't want to go to Arkham!" the man tried to recant, but it was already too late.

Allen replied smugly, "Such inconsistency clearly shows mental instability. I recommend tranquilizers as part of the treatment plan."

"Sounds reasonable," Gordon agreed.

Moments ago, those four judges were calm and confident. But after just a few exchanges, they were officially classified as mentally ill.

And with Arkham Asylum under Allen's control—backed by the Watchtower and S.H.I.E.L.D.—the Court of Owls would never be able to get their hands on them again.

"What about those guys?" Gordon asked, pointing to the three Talon Priests, who were clearly not human. He had no idea how to write a report for this.

Allen beamed. "Leave it to me."