Chapter 23 Breaking Through Defenses and Major Defenses
There have been some troublemakers in Gotham these past few days.
Seriously, when have the people of Gotham ever been honest?
But these past few days have been quite different; they've been courting disaster far too often.
It all started when someone caused trouble on a news interview program featuring the Wayne brothers.
In theory, nothing should have happened during the interview program.
Thomas has already bribed most of the influential media outlets in Gotham, and they will do their best to speak for him and whitewash anything he does. Besides, Thomas appears to be morally upright (of course, no one knows he blew up the Earth), and the Wayne brothers have a good relationship.
But there are always unexpected events.
Following standard procedure, Thomas spoke first, delivering a string of standard platitudes. The main purpose of these words was probably to teach the wicked adults a lesson for the children clamoring to watch TV, letting them know that such boring things could exist on television.
Next up was Bruce, who, in keeping with his Playboy persona, shared some interesting stories about his travels around the world. The audience enthusiastically joined in, clapping when appropriate and laughing when necessary.
The problem lies with the host.
The host seemed eager to make a name for himself in Gotham, constantly steer the conversation toward allegations that Thomas manipulated the mayoral election, even implying that Thomas had ousted his brother from Gotham…
Thomas: ...
I was already annoyed by the bats in my house, and you guys just had to provoke me.
Thomas gave up his lunch break to squeeze in time to investigate the bat that suddenly appeared in Gotham that evening, and this is what happened.
Bruce was still trying to clarify some rumors about the brothers' discord, but Thomas had already given up talking. He closed his eyes and quietly leaned back on the sofa.
The extras in the audience were clapping at first, but as they listened, they began to realize that something was wrong, and they all wished they could shrink into their chairs.
Finally, everyone fell silent.
"Finished?" Thomas opened his eyes, stood up, and waved to the director. "Cut out the usable parts and send a copy to Wayne Group as a backup before airing."
"Not long enough..."
“Is it my fault that the duration wasn’t long enough?” Thomas said to him. “Do you really think I have a better temper than the Penguin?”
Currently, in Gotham, anyone who dares to challenge Thomas is either a fool, a madman, or the Penguin; Batman is not included in this discussion for the time being.
The Penguin probably really listened to Night Owl's advice to instigate internal strife within the Wayne family.
The methods are just too abstract. Does he really think that the bond between Bruce and Thomas is as thin as that of the Cobblepot kids, and that a few specious rumors can destroy it?
Do they still think that public opinion can suppress Thomas?
With a rare spirit of humanitarianism, Thomas specifically reminded the host before leaving: "Whatever the penguins ask you to do, you'd better run."
The Penguin's ability to backstab is among the best in the world.
The second group to make a fool of themselves were Carla Vitti and Sofia Falcone. The two of them approached Thomas in an attempt to cooperate against the alliance between the Night Owl and the Penguin, hoping to get a share of the spoils in Gotham.
...
Gotham has such a small land area, why is everyone crowding into Gotham?
Putting all that aside, what really upset Thomas was the third thing.
On the third day after Bruce's return, a banquet was held at Wayne Manor, presumably to celebrate the return of Wayne Manor after many years.
Thomas, Bruce, and Alfred all took this dinner very seriously.
Alfred had meticulously crafted every detail of the dinner party to an alarming degree; from the drinks and food to the music and the decor, every aspect was flawless.
Bruce anxiously strengthened the security system of the manor, checking the defenses of Wayne Manor repeatedly. He even took Thomas's advice and added a heavy machine gun with automatic aiming to Wayne Manor (although it used rubber bullets and was mounted at a high position with a limited angle of attack, ensuring that people on the ground were not within the killing range and could not cause significant damage to them, serving only as a deterrent).
Thomas spared Batman for the time being, only sending Talon to gather information without directly confronting him. For the past two days, he'd been wholeheartedly instigating infighting among several factions in Gotham.
Especially the Penguin. In order to make things difficult for him, Thomas specifically revealed several of the Penguin's smuggling channels to Sofia, and Alberto was not to be outdone, murdering several of the Penguin's henchmen.
The Penguin is currently caught in a bind and is extremely stressed; he has absolutely no chance of having the energy to cause trouble at the dinner party in the short term.
Everyone did their best to ensure the dinner went smoothly.
To ensure the grandeur of the dinner, all prominent figures in Gotham who had not explicitly sided with the Penguins were invited.
In the banquet hall, guests eagerly chatted with Bruce.
“Mr. Bruce Wayne,” an elderly gentleman with silver hair said to Bruce while holding a wine glass, “you really look like your father.”
“Thank you, I’m proud of that.” Bruce raised his glass to him, though it was filled with soda disguised as champagne.
A few years ago, when he was still in Gotham, the Gotham high society wasn't this attentive to the Wayne family.
It seems Thomas has done a really good job these past few years. I wonder how he manages to balance his studies, hobbies, and work.
“Old Thomas Wayne is a model of gentlemanly conduct and an exemplary citizen,” another old gentleman chimed in. “Young man, seeing you reminds me of the golden age of Gotham.”
"Thank you." Bruce clinked glasses with him, casually trying to elicit a conversation, "I think Gotham is great right now."
"Very good?" Several people slowly approached Bruce, who cautiously tensed his muscles.
“Gotham is getting worse every year,” one of them remarked, sounding somewhat deliberate.
"How so?" Bruce approached the man, feigning curiosity. "But I really feel that Gotham is doing quite well now. The safety has improved significantly, the economy is doing very well, and you see, there are fewer shootings."
His intention was to lead these people to refute him, thereby extracting information about the dangerous Night Owl. But to his surprise, the group didn't refute him; instead, they praised Night Owl in agreement with his words.
“Night Owl did a great job, it’s just Thomas…”
Bruce: ?
Wait, what happened to Thomas this time?
Someone leaned closer to him and whispered, "Haven't you noticed something's wrong with Thomas Wayne?"
Who's acting strangely? Thomas?
Thomas is the same as always. You can tell from the fact that the first thing he does when welcoming his family is to read his own will. He's the same person as that annoying kid who brought up the concept of giants in front of the guests.
Bruce turned to look at Thomas, who was standing in a deserted open space, lost in thought, holding a pale pink drink in a cheap plastic milk tea cup—the most unrefined thing in the entire banquet hall.
He felt Bruce's gaze, turned around, raised his glass to him, and then walked towards him.
...That's a bit strange. Why didn't Alfred stop him? This stuff looks like junk food.
Bruce turned around and lowered his voice as well: "I don't see what's wrong."
“Thomas Jr. is now the dictator of Gotham,” the man suddenly grabbed Bruce’s sleeve nervously, and Bruce struggled to keep from throwing him off. “From the mayor to the police chief, they’re all his men. He even controls the media. We’re helpless except for you…”
Before he could finish speaking, he scrambled back into the crowd, leaving Bruce standing there, bewildered.
"Wait a minute, you want me to deal with my own brother?"
"Probably."
Thomas stood beside him, holding the pink drink in his hand.
Bruce noticed that the crowd was moving away from their location quickly and orderly, or more precisely, away from Thomas.
...Even the Romans didn't seem to have this kind of deterrent power, so how did Thomas manage to do it?
Surely you didn't actually manipulate the election, did you?
“To be specific, they’re just afraid of dying.” Thomas seemed to know what he was thinking. “The mayoral candidate I publicly supported was assassinated and is dead; the police chief isn’t one of my men either, the police chief is Jim Gordon; as for the media, you saw it yourself, they were still making things difficult for me yesterday at noon, you can find out all of that with a little research.”
“Over the years, most of the people who were close to me have died mysteriously. They keep their distance from me, probably because they are afraid that I will bring them bad luck.”
It's not strange at all; the main cause of death was the owl, and the secondary cause was the penguin.
"So that's why you moved out?"
"Yes."
Thomas has no qualms about lying.
"I'm worried about implicating you."
Bruce opened his mouth.
At this point, they should probably move closer and then naturally have some heartfelt words...
"There's a bomb!"
A scream shattered the tranquility of the banquet hall, and the crowd immediately descended into chaos. Some experienced individuals dashed headlong towards the exit, while a small group of inexperienced people scattered frantically in all directions.
Bruce, who had just returned from out of town, clearly belonged to the second category. He frantically abandoned Thomas and disappeared into some unknown room, while Alfred, unusually, prioritized the evacuation of the guests.
Thomas was the only one standing in the entire banquet hall, completely unresponsive to the bomb.
Damn it, Thomas thought.
I will be able to completely explain away the doubts surrounding me soon.
It's really difficult to find a fool like this who has the courage to go against Thomas and who blindly follows the crowd without thinking, and then put him in.
This tactic was supposed to be quite effective, but it was ruined by a bomb.
Thomas was in a bad mood, but he hadn't hit rock bottom yet. He was still in the mood to take a deep breath to calm himself down before heading to the place where the screams came from to defuse the bomb.
The bomb was thrown into the kitchen of the banquet hall. It wasn't difficult to disarm, but there were natural gas pipelines nearby.
Thomas picked up the toolbox from Wayne Manor and was about to pry open the bomb's casing when a hand stopped him.
Thomas looked back.
Very good, Batman.
"You get out of here first," Batman said. "I'll handle the bomb disposal."
Having bats in his house isn't enough to break Thomas's nerves; it would be strange if Batman weren't there at a dangerous scene.
However, judging from the time he arrived here, Batman was most likely already lurking here before the bomb was discovered.
“It seems there’s no time to defuse the bomb,” Thomas said expressionlessly. “I think we can throw it into the air; I know a route that gets us to higher ground quickly.”
The path to the rubber bullet machine gun tower.
Clearly, Thomas's proposed plan to use anti-air heavy machine guns was aimed at Batman.
Logically speaking, rubber bullets that are extremely far from the ground are unlikely to cause effective damage to targets, but they are more effective at interfering with chiropractors that are accustomed to diving in from high altitudes. Now Thomas is going to test why this thing is not reacting.
Batman, of course, couldn't figure out what Thomas was up to. He just nodded solemnly, quickly grabbed the bomb, and rushed to the top as fast as he could.
With a loud bang, he probably succeeded.
Thomas stood still and activated the analysis system for the automatic attack machine gun, a device he had designed himself, and of course, it had a hidden door.
There is only one record of automatic close-range identification, and the identification result is "passed," indicating that the target has permission.
He closed his eyes.
The unusual behavior of Alfred, the authorization granted, Wayne Enterprises' research achievements and Lucius's production line, Batman appearing as soon as Bruce returns...
Only a fool could not guess it.
Why do you always thwart my plans and defy my will, Bruce?
Thomas did not leave Wayne Manor tonight.
He sat at a chaotic table in the banquet hall, carefully pried open a bottle of brandy, and took a big gulp.
Or should we just kill him? Kill him...
Since everyone has to die anyway, why can't I kill them again?
Thomas, with a blank expression, opened another bottle of wine.
He had never drunk alcohol before. In Gotham, in the Syndicate, and even in this universe, he had to stay sober at all times, or he would be dragged down and torn to pieces.
He poured himself a glass, the wine spilling from the rim onto the table. It wasn't until the bottle was empty in his hand that he realized what had happened. He blankly let go, allowing the bottle to fall onto the table.
Thomas then raised his glass and gulped down the wine as if it were medicine, spilling it all over himself.
...This dry red wine tastes even worse than the brandy we just had. What was it called again? Louis XVI...
unimportant.
He pulled out another cigar, not knowing who gave it to him or how long it had been at Wayne Manor.
Thomas picked up a lighter, lit it, and then remembered.
Oh, you should cut the cigar before smoking it.
It doesn't matter.
He lay slumped on the table, one arm supporting his head, which was a mess from the alcohol, while the other hand, holding a cigarette, hung limply at his side.
Fortunately, Wayne Manor has marble floors, otherwise this drunkard would have definitely started a fire.
The smoke rose slowly, the ash settled on the ground, and he was caught in the middle, looking neither like a human nor a ghost...
What's the point of dying and coming back to life? Am I going to live again just to mock my powerlessness and stupidity?
"What's wrong, young master Thomas?" Alfred walked over to him.
“As you can see,” Thomas said without moving, “I’m bravely trying new things.”
"Dare to attempt arson?"
“Try to suppress the urge to kill.” Thomas gripped his cigar tighter. “I rarely feel this strongly about killing someone.”
Most of the time, he genuinely wanted to kill everyone.
"who?"
“I won’t tell you.” Thomas threw his cigar on the ground. “You’ll find out on the day he’s buried. Because I’ll put his body in a museum, tell everyone it’s the most perfect sociological paper I know, then have everyone sing Ode to Joy, and finally blow it all up.”
He was truly drunk, unlike his usual mature self. Instead, he displayed a cruel naiveté, the cruelty of a child who pins an insect's wings down with a pen and watches it struggle, the naiveté of a child who peels open a small animal's skin to observe its heartbeat.
What he said might be the truth, or it might be drunken ramblings, or even nonsense—who knows?
Alfred couldn't tell, so he simply reached out to help him up.
“…Ignore me, Alfred, just let me rot here.” He murmured, “I…I really wanted to kill him, why…why…”
He was asleep, fast asleep, and didn't even know when Bruce came back or when he and Alfred carried him to bed.
The next day, Bruce got up and saw Thomas, who was eating breakfast at home, a rare occurrence for him.
"Good morning, Bruce," he greeted his family warmly, cutting his steak with a silver knife.
Perhaps he had drunk too much yesterday, because he was a bit rough with his knife, rudely scraping the plate with a harsh sound.
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