Chapter 46: Exploring

Gotham's West Side.

Nestled in the woods, hidden beneath the trees, this well-hidden house, shrouded in green and vines, was hardly noticeable.

Jason crouched down, his hand gently touching the dirt.

Fresh tire tracks marked the ground, revealing the Batmobile had sprinted from there into the garage.

He took a deep breath,

rose, and walked to the door. The door was made of steel, and the lock embedded within it was made of military-grade titanium alloy, sturdy and complex.

He didn't recall the original door looking like this... He remembered it being a common wooden door—to avoid arousing suspicion. And this was just an ordinary safe house, used only in emergencies.

If he remembered correctly, the original access control system was simply a biometric control panel, and Jason had the necessary permissions, allowing the system to recognize his biometric information.

Bruce had modified it, adding an iron gate.

Why? To protect him from whom?

Jason hesitantly opened his tool kit, his fingertips lingering on the lock.

He was debating whether to break in without permission.

Just one look, he thought, one look and then he'd be gone. Just to confirm, nothing more.

Jason lowered his head and began studying the lock's mechanism. He was always good with mechanical equipment; given him time, he could figure out a solution.

He donned gloves, took out a few tools, inserted a probe into the lock's seam, and pressed a jammer against the lock's surface...

Fifteen minutes later, the last alloy bolt popped open.

Jason wiped the sweat from his brow and stood up.

He had successfully cracked the lock and pushed the iron door aside.

Inside was the familiar door.

He reached out and tapped the fingerprint recognition system. A soft

"beep"

sounded, and the control panel suddenly flashed red.

...Bruce had deleted his permissions.

"Damn it," Jason took a step back, cursing under his breath.

He had triggered the alarm system. Bruce should have received the news that the safe house had been broken into by now...

This heavy realization completely extinguished Jason's remaining hope, and he simply took out his stick and pounded on the door, once, twice, three times.

The door cracked open a few times, and Jason raised his knee and kicked it hard—

"Boom!"

He burst through.

The room was quiet, the lights off, only the surveillance cameras were running as usual, and the air was filled with a faint smell of alcohol.

Jason's attention was immediately drawn to the camera feed on the wall.

It showed the bedroom, where a blond man was squatting on the floor, fiddling with a plastic fork, seemingly absorbed in twisting it into different shapes.

It was Jack.

What the hell!

His suspicions were confirmed, but at that moment his mind went blank, unsure whether to feel joy or sorrow.

He immediately realized there was no time to waste, so he hurried down the hallway to the bedroom's iron door.

There was a narrow slit in the door, designed for food delivery, that slid open from the outside. He pulled the slide open, pressed his face close to the slit, and shouted, "

Jack!"

The blond man stopped what he was doing and looked up.

He saw Jack stand up, toss the plastic fork aside, and walk towards him, a beaming smile on his face.

"A little red bird!" His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. "Why are you here? Are you here to save your bird father?"

"Holy crap!" Jason looked at him in shock. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you crazy?"

The other party nodded nonchalantly and licked his lips.

"Who knows? Hum... maybe."

He even hummed an unknown melody halfway through his words.

Jason frowned fiercely. He glanced at Jack with disgust, but then remembered that he didn't have much time to waste -

he rummaged through the tools, lowered his head, and asked while studying the keyhole:

"Why are you here?" Jason inserted a probe into the keyhole. "Did Bruce lock you up here?"

Above his head, a pair of green eyes were closely watching the movements of his hands.

"That's a very philosophical question, Birdie," a raspy voice echoed through the room, strangely dramatic. "Out of personal feelings, Batman has locked poor Jack here, depriving him of his freedom—"

The voice paused, then continued:

"—to satisfy his inner desires."

"What??"

Jason's hand trembled, nearly snapping the probe.

"You gotta be f**king kidding me! Don't tell me you're playing BDS/M?"

The green eyes rolled, but he didn't deny it, instead grinning with amusement.

"Yes... yes, Birdie, we've been playing games."

"What the hell is wrong with you today? Don't call me Birdie!"

He'd known he shouldn't have come here today!

The villain inside screamed, and Jason blushed in embarrassment, his movements pausing.

Could this be true?

A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but he felt Jack had no reason to deceive him.

How the hell had he become part of these two people's game?

God...

what the hell...

...is this door still open?

The man above him seemed to have guessed his inner thoughts. He blinked and said in a casual tone, "

But I don't want to play with him here anymore. The audience is still waiting for my turn."

He inserted two fingers from the narrow gap in the delivery port.

"Give me the tools, Little Red Bird."

Jason looked at him questioningly.

"How come I didn't know you could pick locks?"

"I'm very familiar with it," he said quickly. "Okay, Little Bird, let me do it—"

He took the tools.

Ten seconds later, "Click."

The lock opened.

Jason breathed a sigh of relief. He turned and retreated to make room for Jack, complaining,

"Who knew you guys could play so many tricks? I don't know how to explain to Bruce—" He

suddenly felt a gust of wind on the back of his neck.

His voice stopped abruptly.

The Joker grabbed his limp body and dragged it down.