Chapter 46 Blue ~ Is Indifference (not really) Title unrelated...
"Me?" Thomas touched his forehead in surprise. "Do I have a fever?"
It does seem a bit hot.
This is completely illogical; Thomas believes his life has been quite healthy and regular during this period.
He has even reduced the number of times he goes out at night recently, in order to avoid running into Batman when he goes out or comes back.
"I think you should go to the hospital."
“There’s no need for that. I’m perfectly sober,” Thomas waved to the police. “There’s a gas bomb in the corner. Be careful when you move it.”
"A poison gas bomb?" Bruce glanced into the corner and, sure enough, saw the strange bomb that had been dismantled into pieces. "How did you..."
“I’ve dismantled the ignition device,” Thomas explained calmly, seemingly unaffected by the fever. “The most difficult thing to deal with now is the two gas cylinders. I suggest sending them to a professional laboratory for analysis.”
After saying that, he nonchalantly ignored the unconscious loser beside him and deliberately disregarded the policeman who had mustered the courage to suggest that he give a statement. He then walked down the stairs before everyone else.
Everything seemed normal, but a careful enough person could tell from Thomas's slightly agitated state of mind and his unsteady movements that something was wrong.
Bruce stayed upstairs for a while, gave the police a few words, and then rushed downstairs.
Thomas sat nonchalantly in the passenger seat, fiddling with the seatbelt with a bored expression.
Did I forget to lock my car?
Bruce quickly opened the car door.
It won't open.
He took out his car keys, opened the car door, and got into the driver's seat.
How did you get up here?
"I teleported in." Thomas took the black box out of his pocket, opened it, and a beautiful pale blue fluorescence illuminated his face. "This is teleportation fluid. As long as it's used with the teleportation gun, you can go anywhere in the world. Do you want to try it?"
"...Have you been watching too many cartoons with Dick lately?" Bruce fastened his seatbelt and then tapped twice on the control screen.
Thomas's silhouette was reflected on it. He first approached the car door, using his silhouette to block the camera, and then with a slight movement, the door opened.
"Who told your car door to open so easily?" Thomas said with a slight smile, adjusting his seat back and leaning back, still holding the small blue-glowing cylinder in his hand. "I suggest you upgrade your car locks."
Bruce ignored the suggestion and instead asked Thomas, "When...did you find out?"
“On the day of the party,” Thomas turned to look out the window, admiring the somewhat cheap but colorful neon lights of the East End, “I’m very good at these things.”
"Thomas!" Dick's angry voice came through the speakerphone, "So you knew all along!"
“I’m sorry, gentlemen.” This time it was Alfred’s voice. “I really couldn’t stop Young Master Dick.”
“It’s okay, I believe you ‘tried your best,’ and…yes, I knew that all along.” Thomas chuckled twice, seemingly finding the whole thing quite amusing.
Dick's muttering came through the phone; he seemed genuinely angry.
But in the end, his desire to learn reasoning prevailed.
How did you do that?
"It's very simple, just live long enough. At first, I wasn't good at these things either, but later I realized that humans are very simple creatures. Just like gasoline powers cars, what powers humans are nothing more than some very simple things. And when people see a car moving, they can always deduce what it might do next based on traffic rules and city maps..."
“…You’re not that much older than me, Thomas,” Dick retorted. “I’ve only ever heard that from people over sixty. I really doubt you consider yourself old.”
Dick paused to think for a moment, then added cautiously, "Older people generally don't eat that many desserts, except when you're eating them."
"That's not necessarily true. If I'm unlucky enough to actually live to sixty, I won't change my lifestyle because of some stupid health problem," Thomas said with a laugh. "Anyway, everyone dies eventually, so what's the difference between dying sooner or later? I'm going to do something I like more in this meaningless, garbage life."
The car fell completely silent.
“Thomas has a fever,” Bruce tried to defend Thomas. “He’s a little out of it right now.”
Dick seemed relieved.
Thomas turned his head to look at Bruce with displeasure, then turned his head away again.
Okay, although he said he wanted to see Bruce's face, he spent most of his time looking at Gotham's street scenes under blue light.
What is that in your hand?
The question was asked to change the subject and prevent Thomas from saying anything outrageous, but Bruce was genuinely curious.
Thomas rarely really cares about anything.
"Hmm? This?" Thomas held up the small cylinder that was emitting a blue light. "This is the culmination of my hard work over the past few months."
"Is the sample in your lab a new product from Wayne Enterprises?" With the light red, Bruce had a chance to turn his head and admire the soft, bright blue light in Thomas's hand. "What's it for?"
“It’s from my lab, I developed it myself.” Thomas’s tone carried a hint of pride, it seemed the high temperature had indeed disturbed his senses. “It’s…it’s a wick, I’m planning to go back and find a lampshade to put on my bedside table.”
"Lamp wick?"
“Yes, the wick,” Thomas replied. “It doesn’t need any external energy input and it will keep shining.”
“Wow, that’s really cool,” Dick said. “What’s the principle behind it?”
“You can refer to my paper from last year,” Thomas replied. “If you want to learn, I can send you all the raw data.”
...Then forget it.
Dick was a little curious about what was on the piece of paper Thomas had put in his wallet, since most people would put photos of their family and themselves in their wallets, but Thomas had put a piece of scrap paper in there.
With Alfred's help, he managed to see the paper about quantum mechanics, new energy sources, and machines, but after reading it for a long time, he couldn't understand it at all.
"How much does it cost to manufacture? Once Wayne Technology or Wayne Home Furnishings puts this lamp on the shelves, I will definitely buy one for everyone I'm close to, to boost your sales."
“Then you’ll probably need to save up some money, or wait to inherit my estate,” Thomas replied. “This little thing cost hundreds of millions to make.”
Although the main costs are in materials and laboratories, this thing is indeed very difficult to manufacture.
Otherwise, there would be no need for the Super Queen to travel through the universe to retrieve it.
"So...you spent hundreds of millions," Dick asked, somewhat surprised, "and just made a light bulb wick that never goes out?"
“Ah, firstly, nothing in this world is eternal; it will eventually perish. Secondly, don’t measure the value of a new item by its price and function, just as no one expects a newborn to learn to ride a bicycle immediately, especially since it’s not entirely useless,” Thomas eloquently stated.
"What's it for?" Bruce asked.
"Its biggest use right now is for its looks. The light isn't bright enough, and the color is off. It's not suitable as a waterproof flashlight or a desk lamp; it can only be used as a nightlight. (But I don't think most people will sleep with a nightlight on all the time.) ("Maybe young Thomas is afraid of the dark," Alfred said.) Thomas held the fuse of the quantum bomb up to his eyes. "I like this blue. It's vast, free... the sky, the ocean... it's like Gotham in the daytime, Bruce Wayne. It's like our eyes, reflecting my future. My future is blue."
The car gradually drove towards Wayne Manor, the interior of the car flickering under the streetlights.
“I think you’re suited to writing too?” Dick said. “Why don’t I think of these things when I’m writing poems about Gotham?”
“Of course, it will come in very handy later,” Thomas continued, to himself. “I believe it can change the world… and bring true equality to the world…”
“New energy sources?” Bruce pondered. “Innovation in energy and power sources will indeed change the world.”
"Yes, a new energy source with high energy density..."
They passed through a somewhat dark area, where blue light reflected Thomas's expressionless face onto the car window.
-
Thomas was greeted with ice packs, fever reducers, and a private doctor.
“I personally think I just need a good night’s sleep.” Thomas placed an ice pack on his forehead and frowned in dissatisfaction. “Think about it, I might die tomorrow with the bitter taste of medicine still in my mouth.”
Alfred coughed and glanced at the wooden table.
Thomas pretended not to understand him: "You have a cold too, Alfred?"
"I think I'm just overreacting to what you're saying."
“I’m sorry, Alfred,” Thomas said, bypassing the private doctor, “but I need sleep more now. You can go back home; you’ll still get your paycheck.”
"Wow, are you a little kid, Thomas?"
"Goading won't work on me, Dick," Thomas retorted loudly, like a child.
The private doctor grabbed his things and left; he dared not disobey the orders of this "renowned Gotham" Mr. Wayne.
Thomas walked steadily upstairs, entered his room, and collapsed onto the bed.
"He just fell asleep like that?" Dick asked uncertainly.
“He’s asleep.” Bruce took a deep breath. “I have to continue my night patrol… and I also need to investigate that gas bomb. Some people say that some GCPD officers have spotted a lot of gangs gathering unusually. I suspect they’re planning a bigger conspiracy than this playful ‘kidnapping’.”
“That ‘Bat Girl’ told you,” Dick said. “I always said teenagers can be very useful. You should have let me join the night patrol too, since Thomas already knows about it.”
“...You should really learn from Thomas, Dick. I don’t think anything can stop him from sleeping.”
Thomas is the first one to go to bed in this family every day; he goes to bed early and gets up early, maintaining a regular schedule.
"It seems the only way to get the Wayne family's average sleep duration to be more normal is through young Thomas," Alfred said with dissatisfaction. "I really wish everyone in this family could have some personality quirks, and that young Thomas could stay up a little later and take his medicine before going to bed..."
He looked at Bruce and Dick, but didn't finish his sentence.
"I'm going to bed right now! Goodnight, Alfred."
Dick slipped away nimbly; it seems he hadn't neglected his practice.
Only Bruce was still standing there.
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Author's note: I listened to "Farewell to the Dead" today and found the lyrics to be perfect for a Syndicate trio handwritten piece (unfortunately, I can't draw)...
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Playing as a wandering merchant, oh my, all the characters in Dogma are so delicious! Thank you for sending me both a nun and a legal psychic, they're really good. Of course, my closest friend is still my loyal and somewhat humane steward.
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In short, I had a burst of inspiration today because of tomorrow's driving test results, and my typing speed has increased. I feel like typing whenever I have an exam. Typing gives me the illusion that I'm doing something important, and it also helps relieve stress. When I don't have an exam, I just want to play games... I'd rather go to jail than type...
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