Chapter 101 Christmas Eve was not scary at all because the incident happened the next day...
This doesn't seem like an excessive request.
But this is definitely an unusual request.
Putting everything else aside, at least in Bruce's memory, Thomas Jr. had never valued Christmas this much, never.
He has always disliked the colorful gift boxes of Christmas; the decorated Fraser fir trees and mistletoe hanging on the wall are no different from other plants to him; the warm and beautiful atmosphere around him is irrelevant to him; he will also actively stay away from the collective revelry of Christmas; he will not ask Alfred to sew him a Christmas stocking like Bruce did; he has never asked for Christmas gifts; and a few years earlier, Thomas was even indifferent to those delicacies and candies... Anyone who has seen Thomas during Christmas can easily draw this conclusion—Thomas Wayne dislikes Christmas.
“Don’t you know how suspicious you are right now?” Bruce looked at him. “I know you very well… maybe not so well, but at least I know you’ve never cared about Christmas in your life.”
"People always change. I suddenly want to try out the unique atmosphere of a holiday... like doing something together as a family."
"...So you think I'm an idiot?"
“No, how could that be?” Thomas swore he had put all his energy into figuring out how to deal with Batman. Ever since Batman turned the tables on him last time, he had considered Batman his biggest rival and had absolutely no intention of fooling him. “I really thought so.”
"What are you thinking? Do you really think I'm stupid, or do you just want to experience the Christmas atmosphere?" Bruce asked Thomas sharply.
“The Christmas spirit,” Thomas Jr. emphasized, “I’m hiding these things from you now just to have a good Christmas.”
“…I can’t tell at all,” Bruce said, pursing his lips. “Of course I’d like to enjoy the holiday, especially since they’re back, but I don’t understand how keeping it a secret helps.”
“That’s right, young master Thomas,” Alfred added, “we wouldn’t say a word even if you brought Nite Owl over for Christmas dinner. You should trust that our feelings for you won’t change because of some serious little problems.”
"What?" Thomas frowned slightly, trying to recall if he had revealed anything to Alfred, and said "innocently," "Putting everything else aside, Alfred, why would you define a Christmas dinner with owls as part of my idea of a perfect Christmas? Do you remember we're enemies?"
Alfred and Bruce remained silent.
Oh, I almost forgot about this questionable basic setting.
“That’s it,” Thomas concluded. “I’ll keep this secret for a whole month, but I’ll do exactly as you ask, Bruce, for the sake of family harmony.”
“I’m glad you still care about family harmony,” Bruce rubbed his temples, then looked up to find only Alfred standing there. “So he just left like that?”
He sullenly took off his cloak and threw it on the ground.
“I think so. That could be considered evidence that you and young Thomas are indeed related by blood,” Alfred said, pulling out a bright, thick woolen bathrobe in an attempt to reassure Bruce. “On the bright side, Mr. Bruce, what if young Thomas just wants some Christmas sweets, like candy canes or gingerbread men?”
“…I hope so,” Bruce took the plush robe, casually draped it over himself, and simply fastened the belt without buttoning it up. He then got up and left the Batcave. “Honestly, if just consuming large amounts of sweet substances can bring Thomas back to the state he was a few months ago, I’d rather stand with him against your sugar reduction plan, and even keep watch for him when he raids the kitchen, Alfred.”
"I'd like to, but I think you've inadvertently forgotten something."
"What?" Bruce opened the study door. "I don't remember. Can you give me a hint?"
“Hey Bruce,” Dick greeted him quietly, winking frantically at him, with a dazed-looking Jason standing beside him, “were you working just now?”
“Yes,” Bruce immediately put on his act, flashing a standard, Gotham sweetheart smile, “My God, today’s case is pretty scary…”
Jason glanced at Bruce, shivered as if he had been hit by a cold wind, and became much more alert.
"Haha, really?" Dick blinked hard, his eyes twitching. "What kind of story is it?"
“I can only say it’s related to a murder case,” Bruce said in a low voice, feigning fear. “Because of my detective ethics, I won’t tell my clients’ stories… In short, it’s best not to wander around at night lately.”
“Okay,” Jason said quietly, “but I thought it was common sense not to wander around Gotham at night.”
Just then, Thomas Jr. walked past the four people who were up in the middle of the night, carrying his cup.
Thomas Jr. stopped and turned to look at Bruce along with the two minors.
In fact, he wasn't interested in Bruce's make-up excuse for Jason. He had only deliberately come here to remind these guys to go to sleep and not run into Martha and old Thomas, but he saw something interesting.
"What's wrong?" Bruce maintained his composure. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"
“So you dressed like this,” Thomas Jr. spoke first, pointing out the problem, “to give yourself a sense of security when you recall the murder?”
What should I wear?
Fleece pajamas can certainly provide a sense of security, but he was just wearing a fleece bathrobe. Was it really necessary to make that face? In the eyes of Gothamites, shouldn't Bruce Wayne be the kind of frivolous playboy who wanders around the manor in a loose, unbuttoned fleece bathrobe...?
Bruce looked down and saw the black bat logo.
...
She hadn't taken off her tight-fitting clothes.
So what others saw him as was actually a... chuunibyou (middle school syndrome) person wearing a Batman-style bodysuit underneath a brightly colored plush bathrobe...
Perhaps worse, because of what Thomas just said, Bruce Wayne's image as a "Batman fanatic" might be completely ruined.
He looked up at Thomas, who was clearly trying not to laugh.
Don't laugh! Whose fault is this?!
-
Although Isaiah Thomas's words were quite suspicious, he was actually quite well-behaved for the entire month.
He didn't try to kill himself, didn't torture others, and was perfectly normal at work, preparing all those detection instruments... It seemed he wasn't secretly plotting any terrible evil scheme behind Batman's back.
Even Gotham has begun to calm down. In the past month, neither Owl, the gun-wielding Batman, nor the mysterious figure who blew up the anti-Penguin organization has shown any signs of reappearing. The Court of Owls' claws have also been inactive, and the Penguin is focused on finding the bomb and the owl... Gotham is calm now, but no one can say for sure when it will be ignited.
“I’ll keep an eye on you,” Bruce said to Thomas, carving a tiny bat into his face with a knife, “unless you tell me everything you know.”
“Hmm, okay, I’ll start now,” Thomas swallowed the gingerbread Alfred had just made, then picked up a freshly baked piece, which was a little hot, and dipped it in the whipped cream next to it. “Unbeaten eggs can’t be put in the microwave…”
What are you saying?
“That’s certainly part of what I know,” Thomas replied rather perfunctorily. “Or would you prefer me to talk about something more technical than common sense?”
"So you actually know you can't put uncooked eggs in the microwave?" Dick was whipping cream for Alfred with an egg beater. "Also, stop sneaking gingerbread and cream. Alfred could be back at any moment..."
“Never mind that,” Thomas said, grabbing a clean spoon, scooping up a spoonful of whipped cream, and popping it into Dick’s mouth. “Is it good?”
Dick made a muffled sound.
"Very good, now you've stolen some cream just like me. Remember to keep my secret." Little Thomas took another gingerbread man. "Now there's still one person left who hasn't stolen anything..."
Bruce looked at him warily, but still opened his mouth and accepted the cookie that Thomas offered him.
...If all three of them steal food, it's equivalent to none of them stealing any food at all.
"Want some more?"
"eat."
The three of them openly shared some snacks that were locked in the kitchen and that Alfred usually strictly restricted their access to, before immediately returning to their posts.
“Actually, young Thomas only learned this after he tried to fry an egg in the microwave once,” Alfred said, appearing “at the opportune moment” with Jason. The two of them had just left the kitchen to take stock of the decorations they had bought for Christmas. “Thank goodness, at least he knows how to close the microwave door.”
“Great, thank you, Alfred. I’ll write that down,” Bruce said, picking up the gingerbread man mold again and pressing it into the dough, muttering, “Wouldn’t ‘Thomas Wayne Jr. doing this in the kitchen!’ be appealing? Do you think Vicky Will would accept this kind of article? Or should we submit these to other cities, like the Metropolitan? After all, you’ve already bought off most of Gotham’s newspapers…”
“If you insist on doing this,” Thomas said, quickly stuffing gingerbread into his mouth, “then I’ll have to tell you the story of how you cried for half a day when you were a kid because you lost your stuffed animal.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce shrugged dramatically. “Even if you and I expose each other, your image will be damaged more.”
“If you don’t know what to do in the kitchen, young Thomas,” Alfred said, placing the gingerbread men in the oven, “perhaps you could try decorating these cookies with the icing I just mixed before I left the kitchen?”
This is a rather euphemistic way of putting it by Alfred; in reality, Thomas was initially assigned the task of decorating cookies.
But in reality, he was just taking advantage of his position to diligently steal freshly baked gingerbread.
“That makes sense,” Thomas said, picking up a piping bag with green icing. “Good.” He put the bag back. “But why can’t we just dip gingerbread in the icing and eat it? We’re going to put it in our mouths anyway, chew it until it’s unrecognizable, and then swallow it, all just to satisfy other people’s appetites…”
“It’s different,” Bruce interrupted him promptly, carefully choosing his words. He knew he couldn’t say anything to Thomas that people are going to die anyway, so why not try to live, because Thomas might actually die. “It’s like people, well, they take off their clothes every day, but generally no one goes out without clothes on.”
"Moreover, gingerbread men originated from being made in the likeness of the person eating them and given as Christmas gifts," Alfred added, "although people are now more accustomed to buying ready-made gingerbread men."
“Okay,” Thomas picked up another piping bag, blue, which was much better than green, “Are there any other colors?”
“We also have red, black, white, and yellow,” Alfred had deliberately prepared some less common colors, probably taking into account the color schemes of the chiropterans and birds in his household. “Do you need any other colors?”
“Probably not,” Thomas said, squeezing a large amount of icing onto the gingerbread. “Could you make some more icing? I don’t think this will be enough.”
“I suppose you could squeeze out a little less,” Alfred said very politely, “or I could decorate the cookies while you help Mrs. Martha and Mr. Thomas decorate the Christmas tree?”
“No, I don’t really want to leave the kitchen. This is a very rare opportunity,” Thomas said, glancing at his “masterpiece.” “Besides, I think they need some time alone together.”
"So what did you draw?" Dick leaned forward. "...Okay, who is this?"
“How would I know that everyone in this family, except my mother, can be simply described as a short-haired, dark-haired, blue-eyed man without exception? And my mother is a short-haired, dark-haired, blue-eyed woman (1),” Thomas said dismissively, successfully avoiding the possibility of using green frosting. “So it could be my father, Bruce, me, grown-up Dick or grown-up Jason, or even young Alfred.”
“Okay, but I don’t want to wear black, it’s too dull,” Dick said thoughtfully. “I want blue clothes, with a big collar, and yes, some yellow patterns on the collar, and my hair will be long, down to my shoulders, that’s cool!”
"So you really have to dress like this?" Thomas took the opportunity to criticize Dick's aesthetic sense. To him, the color-blocking design on Robin's outfit was far too avant-garde.
Bruce then took the opportunity to quietly place the small piece of bat-shaped pasta he had just cut out in the corner of the baking pan.
"Me too, squeeze me a bag of McDonald's fries and a hot dog," Jason chimed in. "Could I wear a graduation cap on my head?"
“The graduation cap is a bit difficult, oh, thank you, Alfred,” Thomas squeezed black icing onto a small piece of parchment paper and placed it on the head of the adult gingerbread Jason, who was keen on consuming junk food. “Where’s Bruce?”
“I don’t need any special decorations,” Bruce replied without a hint of guilt, as if he weren’t the one who had just put the gingerbread bat on the baking tray and planned to mix it in with all the gingerbread men.
“Okay, then you can only have the basic black-haired, blue-eyed gingerbread Bruce from the very beginning.” Thomas continued piping out the royal icing. “What about Alfred?”
"Like Bruce, I'm actually not bad when I'm younger."
“Very good, a young gingerbread man named Alfred.” Thomas Jr. deliberately added a little more hair to the gingerbread man.
"Where are Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Martha?"
“It’s a bit difficult,” Thomas thought, holding the piping bag. “Mother is easier to tell apart, but Father has shaved off his beard.”
"How about adding a white coat?" Bruce chimed in.
Although old Thomas has recently shown no interest in continuing his medical career, even though his former colleague, the esteemed Dr. Leslie Tompkins, has visited him at Wayne Manor several times recently, old Thomas has not changed his mind.
“That works too.” Little Thomas then picked up a piping bag filled with white icing and piped white frosting onto Old Thomas the Gingerbread.
“I remember Mother often wore… no, no pearl necklaces,” Bruce stopped Thomas, “instead of gloves. She often wore gloves when she went out.”
Thomas Jr. didn't say anything, he just did as Bruce said.
“Very good, Tommy, I didn’t expect you to have a bit of artistic talent,” Bruce praised. “Now we only need one more.”
"Who? Me?" Thomas thought. There weren't enough gingerbread men on the table, so he just randomly added some blue to the hand of a black-haired, blue-eyed gingerbread man, then scratched his face a couple of times with his fingernail. "Done."
"But this is the basic gingerbread blues?"
“It’s okay,” Thomas said, glancing at the remaining gingerbread dough. “Isn’t there one left that’s just the right size?”
He reached out and folded the gingerbread bat into the hand of another gingerbread man.
"Alright, now this is Gingerbread Bruce, the fanatic fan of the Mad Gingerbread Bat."
Bruce pursed his lips again.
Are they trying to damage my reputation even in such a small detail?
"Call me when the gingerbread is done," Thomas said, putting down his piping bag. "I want to go out and get some fresh air."
“Yes, Master Thomas,” Alfred agreed immediately. He needed to assess the damage to the kitchen that day; he would never have let these three in if it weren't for creating a festive atmosphere. “I think Master Bruce…”
“I’ll go with you, Tommy,” Bruce immediately understood Alfred’s meaning. “I also want to go out for a while.”
“Then I will too…” Dick was about to follow them out when Alfred gently pressed his shoulder.
Damn it! Why was I the only one caught out of the three who were stealing food?!
-
Martha had just finished installing the decorative five-pointed star at the very top of the Christmas tree and was sitting at the top of the escalator, talking to old Thomas with her head down.
“No matter what, darling,” Martha lowered her voice, “we can’t reveal our identities to our little Bruce and keep pretending like this… In his eyes, you are still the great surgeon Thomas Wayne, and I am still the renowned philanthropist Martha Wayne, not a casino-running, vigilante, armed terrorist, or an antisocial madman dressed as a clown who randomly kills people.”
“Yes, I once even taught him that guns are weapons of cowards,” old Thomas said sadly, “but now I would rather he be a little coward who loves guns.”
“And little Tommy,” Martha said sadly, “his mental health issues seem quite serious; perhaps we should take him to the hospital… They’re out!”
Martha was sitting high up and could see Bruce and Thomas at a glance.
"Bruce, Tommy!" Martha glided lightly down the escalator. "How about we add some more decorations to the Christmas tree?"
“How about adding some teddy bears? I remember you were really into teddy bears for a while, Bruce,” old Thomas added, “and little Thomas too…”
“I don’t care at all,” Thomas Jr. interrupted Thomas Sr. in time to prevent the parents from the multiverse from revealing that they didn’t actually know Thomas Jr. well. “I can’t just hang two pages of a book on it.”
To others, reading was probably the only hobby that Thomas could barely be considered during his childhood in this universe, although he did it only because he wanted to figure out where he was and why he hadn't died—two rather profound questions.
“I don’t need it either,” Bruce also declined. “Hanging a bunch of teddy bears on the Christmas tree seems a little scary.”
This especially reminded him of Isaiah Thomas's past threats, like hanging on a Roman pole and swaying in the wind.
“Actually, we could tuck one in,” Martha said thoughtfully, casually pulling a Santa Claus toy from the Christmas tree. The poor Santa Claus was stuffed headfirst into the canopy of the tall and beautiful Fraser fir, with only his legs sticking out, as a playful and interesting decoration. The price was that it was now covered in Christmas tree needles. “It would look like a little bear peeking out of the tree. I think this change still fits the overall style of the Christmas tree.”
“That does sound nice,” Bruce said quietly, picking up the unlucky yet lucky teddy bear. “But I think this is fine as it is—I really like this gift.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a proper Christmas present,” Martha said with a laugh, casually stuffing the unfortunate Santa Claus back into the hole in the tree canopy, “but I’m glad you like it, my dear child.”
Bruce leaned over and gently hugged Martha, and the two began to talk quietly.
"So, are the stockings ready for Christmas?" Old Thomas asked Little Thomas, seemingly casually but quite deliberately.
“I don’t think Santa Claus would want to send presents to Wayne Manor,” Thomas said, flicking the unfortunate Santa’s leg with his finger. “It looks like some kind of horrible warning.”
Santa Claus who dares to set foot in Wayne Manor will be pricked like a hedgehog.
“It’s alright,” old Thomas continued, “it actually means that the Santa Claus who doesn’t bring presents will be stuck in the Christmas tree by us…”
A childlike and warm atmosphere permeated Wayne Manor.
For the first time in over two decades, Wayne Manor was immersed in such a strong Christmas atmosphere.
"So you think today was a perfect Christmas?" Bruce struggled to rummage through the closet for a pair of colorful new stockings that fit the Christmas spirit, then opened them and handed half to Thomas. "Well, whatever you think, at least I had a great time."
“Me too,” Thomas said thoughtfully, “but since the day isn’t over yet, it’s impossible to say whether it was perfect or not.”
“Fine, whatever. I should have known you’d give a completely pessimistic answer, there wouldn’t be a second possibility, Tommy.” Bruce hesitated, holding up half a sock. “...But do we really want to hang a sock on the headboard?”
“Actually, you don’t have to hang it up. I’m sure they’ll just slip the gifts to your bedside.” Thomas casually stuffed the socks into his pocket. “But more importantly, I want to ask you a very important question.”
"What?" Bruce replied absentmindedly to Thomas. He was trying to mentally prepare himself. The sock was certainly in line with the Christmas theme, but the price was that it looked a little ugly.
But so what if it's ugly? If he hangs a black sock on it, it's even uglier and ruins the atmosphere.
"If you could stop time, would you stop time at this moment?" Thomas's voice was a little weak, "like this happy, joyful, and hopeful moment."
To be born, to live for a decade or more, to experience suffering, and finally to die in the moment of ecstasy and joy, when one is free from all gloom and suffering, in a brief moment of detachment from eternal pain.
This is the third class of life: no need to worry about the future belonging to others after death, no need to reminisce about the past that has not yet been forgotten. Only the poor living people will be saddened by this, while his own life is promptly put on hold. At the end of everything, there is only pure hope, and he will never have to endure any more pain.
“I would never stop time,” Bruce said, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “I might stop time to try and prevent a crisis unless humanity is about to go extinct.”
After saying that, Bruce looked at Thomas warily and asked in a low voice, "To be honest, Tommy, although it's completely impossible, you don't have any evil plan to stop time on Earth in a continuous loop, do you?"
Thomas's words sounded really suspicious, and considering his sudden anticipation for Christmas and his constant emphasis on "perfection," Bruce boldly concluded that this was the possibility.
Well, no matter how you look at it, it's absolutely impossible; Isaiah Thomas simply couldn't possibly have such a strong will to survive.
“Of course not, I would never do that under any circumstances,” Thomas Jr. retorted immediately, frowning as if the words were a great insult to him. “It’s painful to even hear about. Most people in this world can’t even eat their favorite food for a month straight. The poor human brain only leads us into an abyss of suffering… Reincarnation is a crazy form of torture. Do you really think of me as such a terrifying antisocial terrorist?”
Thomas's plan was actually to detonate the quantum state bomb on Earth in this universe if Bruce wanted time to stop at this moment. It was not as perverse or incomprehensible as the evil plan of creating a cycle of reincarnation (at least that's what Thomas himself thought).
“Actually, I also don’t think you would do that,” Bruce completely believed Thomas’s words, not because he had lost his vigilance, but because he simply couldn’t imagine what a Thomas Wayne who even wanted immortality would be like. He had just asked routinely, “So you really plan to hang this sock on the head of your bed?”
An eerie silence fell over the dressing room.
“Of course we’ll hang it up. I think it’s an essential part of Christmas,” Thomas nodded. “They’re not going to turn on the bedroom light while I’m sleeping just to give me a present. If the light’s off, no one can see the colors on it.”
Very reasonable.
"So you think it's ugly too." Bruce immediately breathed a sigh of relief.
"Don't you mind?" Thomas retorted, casually offering a solution, "Actually, if you really dislike it, you can swap it with Dick. I bet he'd like it."
“I bet these are the socks Dick picked out before, the ones he put in his shopping cart with Alfred,” Bruce whispered. “Besides, do you really think the Christmas socks Dick himself carefully selected would have a better color scheme than the one you have?”
...
Let's go with this one. Actually, it's quite nice after looking at it for a while.
The two parted ways for the time being. Thomas planned to hide the socks in the closet for a little while and hang them up when he was actually going to sleep.
He opened the door. The room was pitch black, with only the bedside lamp casting a faint blue light.
Near the lamp hung a huge Christmas stocking, large enough to hold most of Tim from next door. If you looked closer, you could see a line of small, cursive lettering embroidered in gold thread.
Thomas Jr. had to get closer and run his finger over the raised text.
Thomas Wayne Jr.
His name is on it, so this is a Christmas stocking made especially for him.
Without much thought, this must have been prepared in advance by Alfred. In Wayne Manor, only this Englishman, who had experienced the wartime era when everyone was weaving, possessed such excellent sewing and weaving skills.
This is of course a completely meaningless act. Whether it is giving or receiving a gift, using a sock as a medium in these steps, or providing someone with a specially made sock as a medium for the act of giving, it is all completely meaningless.
But nothing in this world has any meaning. There is no meaning in living or dying. Everything will perish. Human reproduction is nothing more than a product controlled by genes, a generational inheritance of pain and curses.
In that case, it doesn't matter if he chooses something more stimulating to his brain from these meaningless things, or something he likes.
Thomas smiled, reached out and took out the lamp wick, putting it into the small box he had prepared beforehand.
"Let's leave it at that for now and let things take their course," he muttered to himself. "I'll think about what I want to do when the time comes."
He hid the small box on his person and turned to leave the room.
-
“That’s rare, Batman,” Robin said excitedly, crossing his legs. “So even criminals get a holiday in Gotham for Christmas?”
After receiving a large pile of gifts carefully prepared by Martha and Thomas, Bruce sneaked out, changed into Batman's suit, and happily took Robin on a night patrol.
And coincidentally, no crimes occurred today, so it was clearly a perfect day...
“Excuse me, but I have to bother you,” Alfred’s image appeared on the Batmobile’s screen, wearing a Santa hat, “but there’s a serious emergency.”
"What?" Batman frowned. He shouldn't have let his guard down even slightly. Gotham's criminals don't care about the days; they're like mad bulls, always ready to cause chaos.
“It was the Penguin himself, his men, and a bunch of clowns, probably the same group that attacked the candy factory and got you into the ER,” Alfred showed him the surveillance footage. “They infiltrated Wayne Enterprises’ secret lab together.”
“This can’t be called infiltration at all,” Robin complained. “With so many people, this is clearly a blatant robbery.”
That's right, the surveillance footage showed a large group of people armed with weapons storming into the Wayne Tower.
"Wait, where's the Wayne Tower's alarm?" Robin leaned closer to look. "So there's a mole within Wayne Enterprises?"
“It’s not impossible, and the mole is definitely someone we know,” Batman said, pulling back the time of the recording. “Obviously, they went straight to that secret lab, and Thomas Wayne Jr. is a very paranoid person, so you can count on your fingers the number of people who know about this lab.”
“Things are different now, unless you’re a bat centipede,” Robin said, pointing to the video. “I did a quick count, and there are at least fifty people in there.”
“…That’s not important,” Batman lamented, realizing he’d caught Thomas Jr.’s catchphrase. “So what? They didn’t remove or modify the surveillance cameras?”
“That’s exactly what’s so suspicious. They’ve been ignoring all the surveillance, from the most obvious cameras to the hidden cameras you’ve left behind. They make no attempt to hide their actions… except for this one.”
At that moment, in the surveillance footage, a large group of clowns was passing by the diligent camera. Most of them were strong and dressed like a group of street thugs wearing clown masks.
Only the last Joker was particularly unusual. He had his head down and was wearing a purple tuxedo. If it weren't for his overly pale skin and green hair, he would have looked like a gentleman who had accidentally stumbled into a gang fight... or so Batman would have recognized him immediately. He was the leader of the last attack. Even after suffering such severe injuries, he could recover in just one month. He was a creature that was hard to believe was even human. He was definitely the most dangerous one among these criminals, without a doubt.
As he expected, the next second, a pale smiling face was pasted onto the monitor, a pair of murky green eyes darted around as if searching for something, and blood-red lips opened and closed. Then the screen turned into a screen full of black and white static.
“He meant for me to try to stop him from destroying Gotham with that bomb,” Batman said briefly, not intending to translate what the Joker had said to the underage Robin. “He and the Penguin took the tracking device that Thomas Wayne Jr. made.”
-
The Penguin was forced to ally with this mad clown. If he had a choice, he would never have approached this antisocial lunatic who should be immediately sent to a mental hospital or, better yet, secretly executed. Even though the clown wasn't wearing a mask, he was the only person he could cooperate with even slightly at the moment.
Batman is not entirely reliable, has a good relationship with Thomas Wayne Jr., and has a counterfeit product that wants to kill him.
Thomas Wayne Jr. is completely unreliable, a pure madman who can rival the Night Owl, doing whatever comes to mind, even if he doesn't gain much for himself, he will risk his life to torture others.
Night Owl, the unreliable one in this group, gained control of Gotham but wanted to destroy it.
This guy deserves to die the most. If he doesn't want to live, he can go die alone in secret. If he doesn't want the power in Gotham, he can simply step down and hand it over to a more capable person (it's already clear who the "capable person" refers to here), instead of dragging the whole of Gotham down with him.
In addition, there was another masked thief who approached them proactively, with two previous work experiences.
Claws, a group of similar guys who could turn against each other at any moment, and this guy is a bit more advanced. He claims to have had two jobs, knows Thomas's secrets, and even knows where the bomb that looks like a dart is placed.
He demanded cooperation with the Penguins, claiming that the Night Owl, who had suddenly abandoned Gotham, was actually prepared to retaliate against Thomas Wayne Jr., and that Wayne Enterprises would be completely open to them for a full half hour in the early hours of Boxing Day.
Of course, the Penguin was only pretending to cooperate with him. He no longer trusted these masked madmen who might betray their partners at any time, so he called the Joker when Claws was about to lead the way.
Since someone wants to lure him to the Tower of Venn, there should at least be some clues inside the Tower of Venn.
This is a perfectly reasonable deduction, and no matter how you think about it, it should be considered a trap.
He thought this when he entered the Tower of Venn, when he found no one inside, when he entered the secret laboratory, and even when he obtained the locator.
“This is the locator His Excellency the Chief Justice was referring to,” Claw explained. “It can pinpoint the exact location of that bomb.”
The Penguin cautiously surveyed his surroundings, confirming that there were indeed no ambushes, a fact completely contrary to Thomas Wayne's almost pathologically vigilant nature. For example, he had tried to crack Wayne Manor's defense system for years, succeeding only a few times without causing any real damage.
“Okay, even if what you’re saying is true,” the Penguin forced himself to believe Claw’s words, then raised a crucial question, “Even if the person who wants to destroy this world isn’t Night Owl, but that Thomas Wayne Jr., and we’ve successfully found the nuclear bomb… then what? Did your Supreme Court Justice teach you how to defuse a nuclear bomb?”
As far as Penguin knows, even in Gotham City, a city teeming with talent, there are only a handful of highly skilled individuals who possess the exceptionally advanced technology to disarm a nuclear bomb.
"Quantum-state bomb," Claw emphasized, "His Excellency the Supreme Court said that the structure of this bomb is so stable that it will not ignite even if it is hit directly by a bullet or rocket."
"So he just demolished it like that?" Penguin stared at the claw in disbelief. "Isn't he using us as his mine-clearing tools?"
The Night Owl has been absent for so long, only sending a Claw to find the Penguin, with whom he had long since turned against, to cooperate in carrying out such an important mission... Who knows if he's planning to use other people's lives to defuse the bomb for himself.
“Whether you want to go or not is irrelevant,” Claw immediately put away the locator in his hand. “His Excellency the Chief Justice only ordered me to bring you this thing; I can handle the rest on my own.”
“Wait a minute,” the Penguin called after him. “I mean, could the destruction be done somewhere else, like Gotham Bay? Or maybe we could just smuggle it to Metropolis, since Superman can throw anything into outer space… whatever, don’t destroy it in Gotham.”
The clown stared at the two of them with a sinister grin on his face, without uttering a word.
“Should be okay?” Claw hesitated before agreeing. “Then we’ll stuff the bombs and high explosives into the empty ship, sail it into international waters, and ignite it once we’re far from Gotham.”
"metropolis……"
"You think you can beat Superman?"
“Then let’s go to the high seas. The high seas are fine too.” The penguin immediately agreed, watching as Claw began operating the small pistol-shaped device, and followed Claw out of the secret laboratory.
The clown lagged a few steps behind them, perched on the wall, seemingly doing something.
"Crazy," the penguin thought helplessly.
When he finally gains complete control, he must wipe out all these lunatics...
This was his last thought before he was knocked unconscious.
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Author's note: (1) Martha's hair and eye color are set differently in different places. In some places, she is blonde, but here she is black hair and blue eyes (I remember that Flashpoint should have been black hair and blue eyes at the beginning).
Alfred must have had black hair and blue eyes when he was young, at least that's what the Arkham series records say.
So actually, this family consists of black and white cats (and they are all incredibly destructive).
I disturbed the cow cat's den.
Just how much do you like black hair and blue eyes? (Two letters)
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I've discovered a great LEGO Batman item for poor students ( ). It can be used to coax yourself to go to school or placed in the corner of your desk as a mini reading companion (if you don't study, just think of Batman's disapproving look).
That's right, it's the official LEGO Batman building set 30653, which only costs twenty or thirty yuan. It includes a soft vinyl cape, batarang, and water droplet base, just like the one in the Shadow Box set. The only downside is that it doesn't come with any replacement Brucey hair.
Make sure to choose one with the LEGO logo printed on the outer packaging, although I don't think I've seen any counterfeit versions of this one yet.
So, is there any chance that Two Earths Crisis will be released as a LEGO set?! Please, I'll sell everything I own to buy it! A single òvó minifigure sold in a group buy is so expensive!
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Yay! I've made up for the missing words!
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