Treating the Ventriloquist

The Ventriloquist, Arnold Wesker, slumped against the wall, pistol clenched in a white-knuckled grip. He resembled a condemned prisoner awaiting his sentence, his bald head reflecting the harsh glare of the overhead lights. His trembling hands betrayed his fear, a stark contrast to the menacing aura that clung to him like a shroud. 

Huddled nearby, the hostages - all employees of the Gotham Evidence Bureau - shook with terror. A security guard lay bleeding on the floor,his attempt to subdue Wesker met with ruthless violence. 

"Oh, Mr. Socks..." Wesker whimpered, his voice barely audible. A white sock, fashioned into a crude puppet with mismatched buttons for eyes and a crudely stitched mouth, adorned his left hand. A desperate substitute for his beloved Scarface, now in the possession of Batman. 

"Is it really right to hurt people like this?" Wesker pleaded with the sock, his eyes darting between the injured guard and the makeshift puppet. 

"Shut your mouth, Wesker! You're weak!" The voice, sharp and cruel, seemed to emanate from the sock itself, its makeshift lips contorting into a grotesque sneer. "These hostages are our bargaining chip. We need them to get Scarface back." 

Wesker shrank back, his body wracked with sobs. "But... Batman..." 

"Batman can kiss my woolen ass!" the sock snarled, its voice filled with venom. "If they cooperate, no one else gets hurt. Got it?" 

The sock bobbed aggressively, its button eyes glinting with malice, as if daring anyone to challenge its authority. 

The sock whipped back and forth, its button eyes gleaming with a serpentine menace. "There's a time for mercy, Wesker," it hissed. "This idiot got what he deserved. But as long as the rest behave, they won't get hurt. Got it?" 

"But, but..." Wesker stammered, his voice choked with fear. 

"Shut it!" Mr. Socks snapped, its voice a venomous hiss. "Don't waste your breath on trivialities. Batman could be here any minute."

Wesker, chastised and trembling, managed a pathetic apology to the injured guard. "I'm... I'm sorry."

The sharp staccato of a knock on the door cut through the tension. 

Wesker's hand jerked, the pistol now aimed squarely at a hostage's head. Mr. Sock's voice, now a low growl, resonated with animalistic rage. "I warning you! One step into the room, and I blow this guy's brains out!"

"Knock knock"

"I am Batman." 

Arnold's hair stood up. He was too familiar with this voice, it was indeed Batman - but the situation today was a little weird. 

As everyone knows, Batman never goes out through the door, and never knocks on the door. 

Mr. Socks mobilized all the muscles in his body and began to tense up. He crawled on the ground, raised the muzzle of the gun, and prepared to attack. As long as Batman dared to come in, the bullet would lick him.

"Hurry up and open the door, let Bat Daddy instill the sweet milk of justice into you~" 

"???" 

The nonsense that came out of the mouth of the always serious Batman made the ventriloquist's brain freeze for a moment, and also prevented Adam from being attacked at the moment he opened the door. 

"Batman, you..." After a brief moment of unconsciousness, the ventriloquist still reacted immediately. 

But the opportunity was fleeting. 

("Socks!") 

The puppet blocked the muzzle of his gun, making his fingers seem to be stuck, and he could no longer pull the trigger. 

"Asshole, let me go right now!" 

In an instant, a brand new voice sounded. If the voice of Mr. Socks was at best a frenzied thug, then this new voice was like the embodiment of darkness - the embodiment of the darkness in the ventriloquist's heart! 

Like an endless malice almost turned into ink dripping on the ground. 

The ventriloquist stood up from the ground. The timid, cowardly old man before was gone. He straightened his, as if the devil was living in this short body.

He closed his mouth tightly, and the socks in his left hand opened and closed, and the voice vibrated and echoed in the small space: 

"Give Mr. Scarface back to us-" " 

("No, don't do this, I've talked to Batman." )

The ventriloquist froze suddenly. 

The voice came from Mr. Socks body. 

Adam kept his mouth shut. 'Do you think that you are only one who can do ventriloquism'? 

As an actor, imitating others is a basic skill, including voice. 

The ventriloquist should have shot him in the head when he first entered into the room, but he failed to do it.

So! Next, it's his home court. 

Adam had never considered a conventional approach to dealing with this puppet-obsessed criminal. 

Sensing the danger, Mr. Sock urged him to fire. 

("Don't shoot!"")Adam's voice, imitating Scarface, pleaded. ("I talked to Batman. You're a good man, forced into this life, weren't you?")

"No, no!" Wesker's voice fought for control. "That's not Sock! Shoot, Arnold, shoot!" 

("That's right, listen to Sock!") Adam countered, his voice seamlessly switching between his own and Socks's.

"Shoot –" 

("No, I'm Mr. Sock, you have to listen to Bat-")

"Stop it!" 

Four voices melded into a chaotic chorus. Adam's ventriloquism battled Wesker's for dominance over the sock puppet. This was the ventriloquist's Achilles' heel: a fractured personality fueled by doubt. Adam exploited this, his mimicry of Scarface's voice so precise that Wesker couldn't distinguish the real from the fake. 

In the midst of the confusion, Adam opened the bag that he brought with him, revealing a collection of hand puppets. Wesker's eyes darted towards them. 

"What's this?" he asked, momentarily distracted.

Adam seized the opportunity, lunging forward. 

"Damn it!" Wesker instinctively pointed the gun at Adam's chin. 

But it was too late. The contradictory orders from the Sock puppet had muddled Wesker's mind. By the time his thoughts cleared, the sock puppet was in Adam's hands. 

Disarmed. 

"No!" Wesker shrieked, the sound echoing through the room. "Mr. Socks! What have you done to him?" 

Without the malevolent influence of Mr. Socks, Wesker shrunk back into his timid, ordinary self. Adam paid him no mind, kicking him into a corner. "You're all safe now," he said flatly. "Get out." 

The hostages exchanged bewildered glances before scrambling to their feet, fleeing in a panicked stampede. Even the injured guard miraculously recovered, sprinting away like a startled rabbit. 

Adam maintained his Batman-like stoicism until the room emptied. Then, he approached Wesker, the tattered sock puppet dangling from his hand. Without a word, he ripped it to shreds in front of the horrified ventriloquist. 

"No!" Wesker wailed, lunging for the remains of the sock as if mourning a loved one. "Mr. Sock! 

How can I live without you? Take me with you, Sock!" 

His cries were cut short by two sharp slaps to the face. "Enough!"

Adam snapped. "Look, what's this?" He held up the Scarface puppet. 

"Scarface!" Wesker reached out, but Adam twisted the puppet into a grotesque mockery before stomping it to pieces. "Ah..." Wesker's voice trailed off, the loss of two personalities in quick succession leaving him dazed and disoriented. 

Adam tossed him onto the pile of hand puppets that he brought with him. "Forget the old ones," he said. "Try something new. Dozens to choose from, take your pick!" 

The ventriloquist, reeling from the psychological assault, stared blankly at the puppets. His mind, fractured and vulnerable, lacked the protection of his alter egos. He instinctively grabbed a puppet, and a new, unfamiliar voice emerged from his lips.

Arnold Wesker, plagued by severe schizophrenia, had a tendency to create malevolent secondary personalities. These alters served as "protectors" for his cowardly core self. But Adam had violently shattered two of these protectors within seconds, leaving Wesker in a state of terror and defenselessness. 

Ordinarily, Wesker would latch onto a new object, imbuing it with a personality to fill the void and protect himself. But now, overwhelmed by dozens of potential identities, his fragile psyche would be pushed to its limits.