[Warning! Anchor item "Tear of Persona Destruction – Ventriloquist" detected]
[Searching for a Batman that can be targeted by this anchor item]
[Warning! No suitable Batman found for direct targeting]
[Randomly matching with a weak, low-level Batman… success]
[Match found: Bat-Monstermobile]
[Danger Level: F]
[Synchronizing… success]
[Your current Crisis Energy: 0]
[Warning! This Batman originates from the Dark Multiverse. His mindset is significantly corrupted and may erode your morality and sanity!]
His cells… were boiling! Screaming joyfully in agony!
His genes collapsed like a chain of dominoes, as intangible, phantom-like particles kissed and tangled with the very concept known as Reality upon his body—then fused and solidified into a shared truth, manifesting a phenomenon beyond the grasp of human language!
[File "Memories of Bat-Monstermobile" has been synchronized]
[You may synchronize other…]
[@#$^&%!$#!… Detected: no other anchor items present. Crisis Energy is 0. Synchronization with other Batmen temporarily unavailable]
…In the parallel universe where Bat-Monstermobile originated, Batman had integrated a part of himself into every piece of technology that governed the world…
…He became a part of everyday life, providing the flock with comfort and safety…
…But the flock rebelled. They didn't want peace and prosperity—those fools only wanted freedom, along with all its flaws…
…I was systematically erased from the planet. My electronic systems and physical persona were destroyed…
…I could only upload my consciousness into this massive vehicle…
No—!
I'm not Bat-Monstermobile! I'm not even Batman! I'm Mark!
Mark snapped out of it after just half a second. The chaotic influx of memories slammed into his brain, making his temples throb uncontrollably.
Wait a second.
Temples?
What a joke—there were no temples. Mark looked down and saw wheels spinning idly on the floor where his arms should've been.
Clang!
The sound of shattering glass.
Mark tried to turn his head—but he had no head to turn. From the rearview mirror, he saw his bloated vehicle body had smashed the glass doors of the next room.
What the hell… I turned into an off-road vehicle?!
???
"Ugh…"
A torrent of memories continued pouring into Mark's mind—Bat-Monstermobile's entire life. Love, hatred, emotions, grudges… all the resentment and sorrow.
A savage, uncontrollable urge surged in his chest—a desire to destroy all of Gotham!
He looked at the Ventriloquist, and the urge to kill and destroy rose instantly. He suddenly wanted to bathe in the man's blood.
Mark figured if he lived in an MMO, his HUD right now would probably be flashing "Morality -1, -1, -1…"
"..."
"This must be a side effect of syncing the memories—total mental contamination… a fall into darkness? But that doesn't align with my moral compass. What would killing the Ventriloquist even get me?"
With a mental swoosh, all the dark and violent emotions were swept straight into the trash bin—so easily, even Mark himself was baffled.
"…Got it. The kind Batmen raise the moral ceiling. The evil Batmen lower the moral floor. And me? I have no morality."
Proud smile!
He wasn't Batman at all, nor could he agree with Batman's values, let alone understand the moral struggles and decisions contained in those memories.
Since there was zero emotional resonance, there was naturally no influence. It was like the trolley problem—while everyone else debates who to save, he's the one standing off to the side wondering how to take a photo and sell it to the newspaper for profit.
They weren't even on the same wavelength.
Of course, that was only because Bat-Monstermobile was so weak—the negative emotions were just too limited, and Mark couldn't empathize with them. If it had been one of the stronger, more twisted evil versions of Batman… would the outcome have been different?
For now, that remained unknown. Mark quickly shifted his focus to another issue.
Can I turn back to the way I was?"
The moment he thought it, half his body dissolved into dark red particles of light, then reformed as flesh and blood. The constant stream of memories in his mind abruptly came to a halt.
Maybe it had been a long time… or maybe just an instant—but everything returned to normal, as if what had just happened was nothing more than a dream.
Mark flexed his thumb and forefinger, confirming he had returned to his original state as the standard Batman—his clothes weren't even torn.
With a thought, his left hand instantly transformed into a spinning off-road tire, and the next second, it shifted back again.
So, as long as I want to, I can fully transform into that Bat-Monstermobile… anytime, anywhere…
But when it came down to it—what was the point of having a superpower that turned him into a giant off-road vehicle?
"Listen to me or get wrecked"?
And this whole Alfred Protocol thing… whatever. His original plan still sounded more reliable.
Mark shook his head. Entrusting the success or failure of everything to some unknown variable had never been his style.
He turned his gaze back to the Ventriloquist.
Thankfully, he had kicked the hostages out earlier when subduing him—this guy was the only witness to his transformation into an Autobot (?)
The balding middle-aged white man stared at him wide-eyed, blinking rapidly, while the baby Batman plush in his hand kept shouting things like, "That's right! That's exactly what a good dog should do!"
"Don't tell anyone what just happened," Mark said.
"Woof!"
"Use real words."
"Okay."
Ignoring the details, so far, his original plan had been going smoothly. The snowball was already rolling. Now that he had the Ventriloquist, he could finally hide behind the scenes and use him to recruit more villains.
He could even use the Ventriloquist's identity and Batman's wealth to hire some international mercenaries. When the time came, villain army plus mercenary army gang up without mercy—even if Bane had three heads and six arms, he'd still get pounded into a pancake!
Going into battle personally? Yeah, no chance.
Even if he had to jump off Wayne Tower and die out there, he would never…
After all, he was a transmigrator.
Sure, he really liked Batman comics—but that didn't mean he wanted to actually be Batman in real life.
What kind of lunatic gives up a massive fortune just to dress like a bat and roam the streets at night, venting emotional issues?
And then he drags teenagers into it, makes them wear brightly colored costumes with no pants, and sends them off to fight murderers and psychopaths. Let's be real—Bruce Wayne had long since gone insane.
But he, the transmigrator, was different. He wasn't a madman. He was a sane person.
Right now, all Mark wanted was to get rid of that grim reaper of a man—Bane, who knew Batman's true identity—then retire in peace, drink his days away, and spend whatever energy he had left on Gotham's high-society ladies.... hu hu hu~
Yes, that was the life he wanted!
Wasn't that what he'd crawled through the ranks in Hollywood for in his last life?
As for what happened to Gotham afterward…
He already had it all figured out. Did people really think the Kryptonian with a body of steel and that 5,000-year-old demigoddess princess from the Amazon were just sitting around doing nothing?
Sure, ever since crossing over, Mark hadn't found Clark Kent at the Daily Planet in Metropolis, nor Diana Prince, the antique expert, in Boston.
But Lois was already working at the Daily Planet, and judging by the timeline, those two heavyweights would be making their grand entrances soon enough. So all he had to do now was take care of Bane, survive long enough before those two showed up and stirred things up—and the life of a carefree billionaire would be his for the taking.
As for all those Crisis on Infinite Earths-type events… worst case, he could just be the spoiler guy. With so many superpowered freaks and demigods in the Justice League, were they really going to fail so badly that he, a completely ordinary human, would have to step in?
Mark was filled with hope for the comfortable future awaiting him.
But right now, the top priority was defeating Bane.
Or more specifically, it was time for the Ventriloquist to make a phone call… to recruit some cannon fodd—er, mercenaries.