With such a handsome face and a friendly smile, the crowd quickly forgot the earlier incident and once again began cheering for the hero who had saved the entire world:
"Superman, Can I get your autograph?!"
"I love you Superman!"
"I love Shazam!"
"Superman, please shake my hand!"
"Fuck you, ET!"
…Joey decided to temporarily interpret that last one as praise.
The downside of saving the entire world is that you end up saving a whole bunch of idiots along with it.
That said, the guy wasn't entirely wrong—although he didn't know it, with Martian Manhunter and Cyborg jointly controlling both the physical and cyber domains, Joey effectively held control over the entire country.
If Joey wanted, he could manipulate every major media outlet and suppress any dissenting voices before they even spread—but he wasn't that petty.
Right now, he didn't have the time or energy to care about what people on Earth thought. At this rate, if the planet could survive another four days, that would already be a success.
As for evacuating the crowd?
That wasn't a good option—it would only create more chaos. Joey's speed might rival that of Reverse-Flash-level speedsters, but his precision was nowhere near theirs.
Especially in a field potentially covered by unknown magic, it was better to proceed cautiously.
Letting things unfold naturally might actually be the better choice.
Besides, the crowd wasn't entirely useless. The appearance of the three heroes had clearly sparked the audience's urge to show off online.
Very quickly, large numbers of photos and videos were uploaded to social media. Some people even started livestreaming, which gave Cyborg a huge advantage.
Most of the circus tents were open. With these live feeds, Cyborg could eliminate the majority of the area.
That left only three locations—three small, enclosed tents. They were private resting areas for the circus performers and not open to the public.
"Batman, what do you think?"
"I think this is…"
Batman also felt that the situation was a bit too coincidental, but before he could finish speaking, a sharp gunshot rang out in the distance.
A classic Glock 17—old Thomas's sidearm.
Batman had worked with GCPD officers for years; he knew that sound all too well.
Gotham's citizens, seasoned veterans of living in a city plagued by gun violence, reacted instantly. Even as the echo of the gunshot lingered, the crowd had already begun screaming and scattering in panic.
"Shit!"
Joey shot up a hundred meters into the air. With the situation already chaotic, there was no point in small-scale action. Using himself as a coordinate, he had Cyborg deploy over a hundred drones to maintain order and prevent a stampede.
"Superman!"
Batman fired his grappling gun toward Joey. Joey immediately understood, grabbing the end of the line and acting as an anchor point, pulling the non-flying Batman out of the dense crowd.
Once they gained enough height, Batman's hardened cape spread out into a glider, carrying him toward the distance.
But his destination wasn't where the gunshot had come from—it was the largest tent at the center of the circus, the main stage of the performance.
"I'll leave Thomas to you, Superman—stop him, no matter what!"
Batman knew he couldn't be in two places at once. Between chasing Thomas and saving the Grayson family, he could only prioritize one.
And instead of saving his own family first, Bruce chose to save his son's family.
At the top of the central tent, the grand finale of the circus—the trapeze act—was proceeding as scheduled.
Inside the tent, the intense music drowned out the gunshots and screams outside. The audience held their breath as the Flying Graysons leapt from their bars into the air.
After multiple high-difficulty spins and flips, the performers executed a flawless midair catch. The audience's hearts raced, followed by thunderous applause and cheers.
Just like his parents, Dick Grayson was reveling in the moment.
Flying through the sky with a body of steel like Superman—that wasn't true bravery. But here, using nothing but flesh and blood, skill, and trust in one another, every leap was a dance with death.
That—that was real courage.
Batman landed silently on the outer layer of the tent. Using a Batarang, he cut an opening and slipped into the upper framework.
Honestly, after witnessing all the strange changes in this world, he was no longer certain whether that tragedy would still happen to Dick—but he wasn't willing to gamble on it.
Would the rope Dick used for his performance snap, just like in his own universe?
Batman stayed hidden in the shadows of the framework, fully prepared, watching as the performance reached its climax.
Mary Grayson, Dick's mother, was performing a high-difficulty inverted hang. Her entire body weight—and her life—depended on the single looped rope hooked by her feet.
Dick's father, John Grayson, leapt from another bar, aiming to connect with his wife as she swung upside down.
The audience's heartbeats spiked at the moment of contact. When their hands clasped, thunderous applause erupted once again.
With his heightened senses—further enhanced by the microcomputer in his Batsuit—Batman picked up a different sound amidst the noise.
"Shrrk—"
The sound of a steel cable beginning to snap.
As Dick's parents fell from the air without warning, the audience's cheers instantly turned into screams.
Batman knew—it was his turn.
He fired his grappling hook and dove downward, grabbing the rapidly falling cable at the last possible moment. The friction between the rope and his gauntlet sparked dangerously.
Only then did Batman remember—he was still just human. Even with the support of his suit, he could barely hold the line.
Fortunately, the Graysons' exceptional composure and skill saved them. As the rope's downward momentum was abruptly halted, Mary used the swing's motion to fling John diagonally outward.
After a short angled fall, John rolled several times, dispersing most of the impact. Mary followed suit, landing safely with a controlled roll.
Batman's cape spread out to cushion his landing. His right arm had been dislocated during the strain, and he could no longer hold onto the grappling line.
He dropped into the center of the arena.
"Holy shit, that was awesome! This show even has Batman!"
After the initial panic, the audience seemed to assume the near-disaster was part of the performance.
Applause and cheers roared like thunder and crashing waves, nearly lifting the tent's roof.
"BOOM!"
Before the noise could settle, the tent's roof was suddenly torn away.
Even with Batman's sharp eyesight, he could only make out Wonder Woman being blasted backward, wrapped in a surge of magical energy—shearing off the upper half of the tent as she flew.
Batman's mind stalled for a split second.
What?
Weren't she and Superman supposed to stop Thomas from killing Martha?
Neither Thomas nor Martha should have that kind of power.
"BOOM!"
Another explosion echoed in the distance. This time, a red-caped figure followed a perfect arc and crashed into the ground in front of Batman.
Superman.
Now things were serious.
Joey, having created a shallow crater, was helped up by Batman. After steadying himself, he casually brushed back the small lock of hair on his forehead that had been knocked out of place.
Batman stared at him. That was the last thing Superman should be worrying about.
"You're bleeding."
Blood was streaming from Superman's forehead. Beneath his hair was a massive wound, deep enough to expose bone.
The blood ran down Joey's face and nose, staining the S emblem on his chest—but he seemed completely unfazed. He just turned to Batman and complained:
"I've gotta say—getting mixed up with your family is seriously bad luck. Your parents are pretty damn creative..."
The moment he finished speaking, Joey collapsed flat onto the ground, instantly falling into a deep sleep.
The remark made little sense—but Bruce soon understood exactly what he meant by 'creative'.
A figure glowing with golden light descended from the sky.
She wore a purple suit Bruce knew all too well—and spoke in a manic voice he would never forget:
"Hahahahaha… that old man and this helmet were telling the truth."
Batman couldn't see her face.
Because she was wearing a golden helmet.
The Helmet of Fate—Nabu's helm.
The Joker—the embodiment of chaotic evil—was now wearing the Helmet of Fate, the artifact of the Lord of Order.
Martha casually melted the mechanical head of what had once been one of Cyborg's drones into molten metal. She lowered her gaze, examining Bruce.
A flash of golden arcane light flickered across the helmet.
Her sharp, manic voice shifted—twisting into a gentle tone Bruce remembered from childhood.
It was the voice that used to soothe him to sleep every night.
"Don't be afraid, Bruce… my sweet boy. Soon, everything will change…"
"I will create a world without Batman—a world where we are a happy family again."