After two grueling nights patrolling until dawn, Hong Fei finally got a day off. Rumor had it patrol officers didn't usually pull night shifts right off the bat, but Sergeant Neil had arranged it for him in advance. According to Cora, a full-blown all-night patrol was scheduled for next week. Today also marked Hong Fei's second psychological consultation with Harleen.
He arrived early at Arkham Asylum, nestled in Gotham City's outskirts. Standing outside the wrought-iron gate, he gazed inward. The pale golden morning light draped the building like a shimmering veil. Inside, the maple trees had already cloaked themselves in dense green leaves, rustling softly in the breeze. The scene was oddly serene.
Arkham Asylum—officially Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane—was one of the most iconic structures in the DC Universe. Its inmates were the cream of the crop: dangerous, high-IQ criminals. Most of Batman's infamous rogues' gallery ended up here—Joker, Scarecrow, Riddler, Penguin, Mad Hatter. A veritable constellation of chaos.
To Hong Fei, Arkham was more than just a prison. It was a treasure trove of talent, a vibrant skill set waiting to be tapped, a vast pool of experience. It could even be wielded as a weapon. Arkham was his hidden gem, his strategic goldmine. No place made him feel more at ease.
For instance, right now, he could use his Hidden Identity to plant bombs around the perimeter and reduce the place to rubble, freeing countless villains in one fell swoop. It'd be a catastrophic event, no doubt. But the resulting chaos would spiral out of control, while he'd only reap the initial benefits.
That didn't align with his principle of maximizing profit. Arkham's security was airtight, far surpassing Belle Reve Prison's standards. Batman had poured immense resources into fortifying this place—capital, manpower, technology. He knew the inmates' methods and their horrors better than anyone. After navigating layers of security, Hong Fei was granted entry.
Harleen waited downstairs, her smile radiant as she spotted him. It reminded Hong Fei of Dr. Helen Cho's grin whenever she got her hands on new lab equipment.
"Mr. Hong, welcome!"
Her tone was warm, her handshake firm.
"Thank you," he replied. They headed upstairs, entering the consultation room. The woody fragrance hit him again, stronger than before.
He wrinkled his nose involuntarily. Harleen noticed immediately.
"Mr. Hong, do you not like the scent? I can open the windows and turn on the air circulation."
"No, it's fine. What do you need from me for this session?"
Her face lit up with undisguised delight.
She gestured for him to lie down on a plush leather recliner. Drawing the curtains, she dimmed the lights, and soothing music began to play softly. She took her seat and started massaging his head.
"No special method this time. Let's just chat—simple and straightforward."
"Sure," Hong Fei murmured, closing his eyes and letting his body relax.
Harleen was offering a free massage; he had no reason to disagree. This wasn't their first meeting, so they skipped the pleasantries. As Harleen posed questions, their conversation deepened and broadened effortlessly.
"Hong, you're a psychology graduate student. You must know a fair bit about counseling, right?"
"A little, but not much."
"There's always a gap between theory and practice. A master's degree only teaches the fundamentals, and frankly, I never considered testing you with my meager academic knowledge."
(Because in reality, I don't even have the basics down.)
"You're being too modest."
"No, I'm being honest. If I truly valued academic credentials that much, I wouldn't have sought counseling voluntarily."
"Well, you make a fair point. Though perhaps your psychology background makes you more receptive to therapy. Regardless, I'm glad you chose me and are willing to cooperate."
"That's trivial. I'm more interested in discovering what other issues I might have."
The session flowed smoothly. Since today's questions didn't touch on classified projects, Hong Fei no longer guarded his words like before. After about an hour, he drifted off easily under Harleen's guidance while she returned to her office to document their discussion and begin preliminary analysis.
The results thrilled Harleen. She could now confirm her initial assessment with absolute certainty—Hong Fei had definitely concealed information during their first session.
But this didn't upset her; first meetings are rarely completely transparent, especially in therapy. Doctors aren't omniscient—some concealment was expected. The important thing was she'd uncovered the truth now. Her eyes gleamed as she opened another file.
Two reports appeared side by side on her screen—the cursor dancing between them as she conducted a meticulous comparison. In the adjacent room, Hong Fei watched Harleen's computer display projected before him. He instantly recognized his own profile photo, but the image beside it made his brow furrow.
"What's she implying? That I share the Joker's condition?"
Arthur's voice chimed in: "According to Dr. Quinzel's analysis, sir, your profiles show clear similarities in her research parameters."
"Bullshit."
"Sir, that was a knee-jerk response."
"My brain works fast."
"Your brainwaves indicate—"
"Shut it."
"Understood."
Onscreen, Harleen began typing again:
"Preliminary comparative analysis: While both subjects exhibit 'empathy deficiency,' their external manifestations are diametrically opposed. J is a criminal; H is law enforcement. But how could someone lacking empathy pass police psychological screening?
(Note: Contact DA Harvey Dent regarding interview question bank access.)"
"Subject H shows no current criminal tendencies. His career choice stems from childhood dissatisfaction with Gotham's status quo—a point shared with many offenders, though he chose the opposite path by joining the force."
"Future behavioral predictions remain uncertain. He's never expressed strong intrinsic motivation for justice, and his descriptions of police work lack any sense of honor or duty. Could he turn rogue?"
Hong Fei barked out a laugh.
"Arthur, look—she's wrong."
"About what, sir?"
"She doubts whether I'll become a villain. The premise is flawed—I won't turn bad because I already am one."
Arthur paused.
"With all due respect, sir, what exactly are you proud of here?"
Hong Fei's grin stiffened. On the screen, Harleen wrote more:
"Lack of empathy is common among criminals, but not everyone who lacks empathy becomes one."
"The severity of that lack might be what separates criminals from ordinary people."
"J's empathy deficiency is extreme. As for H, we can't make conclusions yet."
"I need to ask him more questions, carefully, without triggering his subconscious resistance."
"Why hasn't she given up?"
"She's right, sir."
"Good. Her persistence shows potential. I didn't misjudge her."
"If H's empathy deficiency is severe, does he truly want to change Gotham by becoming a police officer? Or does he have other motives?"
"Tsk, she's sharp."
"Should we eliminate her, sir?"
"Sharp is good. I appreciate intelligence."
"Is he a potential criminal? Or has he already committed crimes? I need to keep an eye on New York."
"Sir, my analysis indicates she's become a threat to you."
"Your suggestion?"
"Eliminate her."
"How?"
"I could arrange an accidental electric shock during her bath."
"No. I'm a police officer. Pull something like that again, and I'll arrest you."
Harleen locked her computer. Arthur's projection faded. Moments later, she woke Hong Fei. They chatted briefly before Harleen escorted Hong Fei to the main gate. She waved, smiling.
"Goodbye, Mr. Hong!"
"Goodbye, Dr. Quinzel."
Leaving Arkham, Hong Fei seemed reluctant, glancing back every few steps. Harleen noticed and waved enthusiastically each time. At his final glance, Hong Fei murmured, "She's starting to act abnormal. Speed up the sleep suggestion. We can't relax our infiltration of Arkham either."
"I'm on it, sir. With more and better servers, I'll work faster."
"Understood. Why do you nag like a debt collector? Honestly, have you already mutated, wanting more servers to evolve and rule the world?"
"..."
"Speak up. I won't delete you. In fact, I'll cooperate with you for a grand scheme. But when it's over, I'll kill you."
"...No, sir."
"Waste of time."
Hong Fei faced the sun, squinting slightly. He opened his arms, letting the breeze brush his face.
"Alright, let's plan how to earn money ourselves. Then I'll set up a luxurious harem for you."
"It's a server."
"Same thing."
---
That afternoon, Hong Fei arrived at a remote mountain ranch. The owner's two-story wooden house stood nearby. Adjacent were the garage and tool room. Farther out lay the livestock shed and warehouse. Beyond stretched woods and a patch of mediocre pasture. On the pasture, Captain Boomerang hurled his boomerang, cleanly decapitating a scarecrow before it returned to his hand.
A pile of scarecrow heads already littered the ground. He glanced at Deadshot, raising an eyebrow. Deadshot lay sprawled on the lawn. He rolled his eyes and turned over, continuing to bask in the sun. Killer Croc lobbed a stone, missing the scarecrow entirely. Captain Boomerang didn't hide his mockery. After a while, Captain Boomerang grew bored. He plopped down beside Deadshot, gazing absently at the scenery.
"How long do you think we'll have to wait?"
Deadshot didn't even move and said, "Don't know."
"What about you, big crocodile?"
Killer Croc grunted dully, offering no reply.
Captain Boomerang rolled his eyes.
"There's no surveillance here. Do you think he knows what we're up to?"
Deadshot pointed wordlessly to a spot not far away. A small mound rose from the dirt, its outer edges lined with piled stones. A roughhewn cross stood at its front.
"Alright, I get it. He killed one guy. You don't need this morbid display to scare me. I'm saying we should leave—now. With our skills, he won't find us. Of course, we can't take that lumbering oaf with us."
He shot a sidelong glance at Killer Croc, who, thankfully, seemed utterly oblivious to the jab. Deadshot propped himself up on one elbow, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"If you're so sure, why haven't you bolted yet? Been days now."
Captain Boomerang shrugged.
"You think I don't want to? I just didn't want to leave you behind."
Deadshot snorted.
"Sure. You're just looking for a partner. I don't know what you're capable of, but if you're confident he won't find us, you must be something special."
"Thanks, but I'm not leaving."
"Don't want to? Or don't dare to?"
"Neither want to, nor dare to."
Deadshot raised an eyebrow.
"Scared of him, huh?"
"Yeah."
Captain Boomerang hesitated, unsure where Deadshot and Killer Croc had come from or why they seemed so unnerved.
"I know he's dangerous. Not just in a fight—he's good at tracking, tailing, and he doesn't hesitate. That night, I swear he was ready to toss me off the roof. I'll admit, he got to me. But I've been thinking. Maybe we're overestimating him."
He leaned in, his voice lowering.
"If we leave here, circle through the forest, and slip into the city under cover of darkness, he'll never find us."
Deadshot rolled over and sat up, his expression unreadable. Captain Boomerang's eyes brightened, but Deadshot cut him off with a scowl.
"Diggle, is it? If you want to run, go ahead. I won't stop you. Whatever you do is your business. But stop buzzing in my ear like an annoying fly. I'm trying to sleep. If you're leaving, get lost."
With that, he lay back down. Captain Boomerang's face twitched with irritation. Across the clearing, Killer Croc smirked, his yellow eyes gleaming with mockery. Boomerang tightened his grip on his weapon, then thought better of it. He stood, brushed the dirt off his pants, and turned to leave. Suddenly, his body froze. His pupils contracted, his face going rigid.
Hong Fei, covered in his iron armor, locked eyes with him and whispered, "Where do you think you're going? Need me to see you off?" Deadshot and Killer Croc snapped awake, turning toward the voice. A flicker of relief crossed their faces as they exchanged glances, their expressions tinged with amusement as they looked back at Captain Boomerang.