Chapter 48 Santa Claus in a Hearse ( ) In short, it's that abstract...
"I thought you weren't coming."
Jason looked at Thomas, who was sitting in the driver's seat, with some surprise. In fact, he hadn't taken what Thomas said yesterday seriously at all.
The main reason is that Thomas's reputation is really... outrageous and resentful, even exceeding his trust in Batman.
After all, Thomas has been deeply involved in Gotham for many years, while Batman is still seen by most people as an urban legend whose authenticity is unknown.
“I have no reason to lie to save 240,000.” Thomas opened the car door and gestured for Jason to get in.
In fact, he didn't even need to make a special trip for 240,000, but he forgot to inform his subordinates about this task last night...
It just so happens that he's probably the only truly free person at Wayne Group today, so he came by himself.
"Thanks," Jason fastened his seatbelt and looked back curiously. "Why doesn't your car have a back door?"
“When I bought this car, I thought no one would want to ride in one of my cars, so I chose this one,” Thomas said casually. “You are my first passenger in this car, and probably the last.”
"...Do you rich people drive your cars once and then throw them away?"
"What are you thinking about?" Thomas looked at him suspiciously. "I just sped and ran a few red lights. My driver's license is about to be revoked, and I don't plan to drive myself anymore."
Wait, what is that?!
No wonder nobody wants to ride in your car!
Jason gripped the seatbelt in terror and yelled at Thomas, "Watch where you're going!"
“Okay.” Thomas turned back to look at the road ahead. “I still think flying is more comfortable… Gotham’s roads are too complicated, you have to turn and stop all the time. Want to try flying in my plane? I’m better at flying than driving.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever ride in anything you drive again in my life, never,” Jason replied weakly. “I don’t want to die yet.”
“Okay, but I don’t actually plan to commit suicide by causing a car accident. Dying like that is all sticky and messy, not neat at all.” Thomas continued to accelerate.
So you really want to die?
Jason swallowed hard, gripping the seatbelt tightly.
Help! This feels more than just being on a pirate ship, it's even more thrilling than getting into a hearse!
In fact, Thomas's driving skills were quite... dangerous. He would suddenly accelerate or brake, shaking Jason so much that he almost threw up the little food left in his stomach.
"Do you have a birth certificate and vaccination records?" Thomas then asked.
Do you think I am?
“…Okay.” Thomas took the opportunity to turn around and drive back. “Let’s go to the hospital for a medical check-up first. I’ll have someone take care of the paperwork.”
After a while, he had a sudden inspiration: "How about I be your guardian?"
"...What the hell?"
“You’re missing too many documents. If you have to go through the procedures for each one, it would be faster to just threaten your parents to hand over custody,” Thomas emphasized. “And I only have today off.”
Bruce and Alfred forced him to take the day off, and it won't be for him again tomorrow.
Jason thought there was probably someone in that car who had gone mad.
And this crazy person is most likely not Jason.
“I’ll contact the lawyer who’s handling my case in a bit…” Thomas said thoughtfully. “That will be much faster, and with me as your guardian, your enrollment will be much simpler.”
After saying that, he started dialing, which startled Jason so much that he pursed his lips.
“…Yes, call a few more bodyguards,” Thomas said into the phone. “Just bring handguns.”
I would never ride in a car driven by Thomas again in my next life! Never!
-
“I believe Thomas is a genius.” Bruce sat in front of the Batcomputer, re-simulated the simulation, and finally came to this conclusion. “His research is absolutely of epoch-making value.”
"So what does all this mean?" Dick asked, still confused.
"It's actually just a method of utilizing new energy sources, but he added a lot of theoretical stuff," Bruce explained. "Even just the theories in it would have been enough for him to make a fortune... and he actually managed to complete a series of related designs for energy storage, conversion, and utilization in just a few years."
"Wow," Dick exclaimed, "I knew Thomas was good, but I didn't know he was this good."
The image of Thomas, the spoiled big kid who refused to take his medicine, the rebellious Thomas who secretly drank iced cola behind Alfred's back, the hunter Thomas who shot and killed owls, and the murderous Thomas who wielded an axe, all disappeared from his mind. In their place was Thomas, the scientist wearing a white coat and goggles!
“And he’s probably already succeeded.” Bruce showed a portion of the in-vehicle surveillance footage, zooming in on the “light bulb” in Thomas’s hand.
“Based on the structural analysis, this should be a kind of battery-type storage device,” Bruce pointed to Dick and Alfred. “It has interfaces on both sides, so it’s probably meant to be used in some compatible device.”
"Then why did he change the data?"
“Probably because this technology is extremely dangerous.” Bruce pulled out a string of data. “I just did a quick calculation. If that ‘wick’ in Thomas’s room were to explode due to improper storage… it could probably raze Wayne Manor to the ground.”
"You mean, young Thomas changed his work a few years ago because he was worried that the new technology was too dangerous..."
“Yes, Alfred,” Bruce replied. “I think this is undoubtedly the most important thing Thomas has put into taking over Wayne Manor. Even Lucius said that Thomas has paid a lot for these technologies and regrets that this mature technology cannot be widely adopted. From his perspective as a scientist, this technology will definitely promote the progress of human society, but it is indeed worthwhile to make concessions for the sake of security.”
"...Then recently he suddenly picked up this research result that had been shelved for a while, and instead placed a bomb on his bedside table?"
Alfred's question was very sharp.
“…That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Bruce replied. “I believe you’ve also noticed that Thomas’s mental state has changed rather…abnormally in the last few years.”
It was more than just unusual; it was like riding a roller coaster.
Thomas writing his thesis was like a bright, sunny young man (though not exactly overtly sunny, but definitely a far cry from his current gloomy self), actively contemplating the future of humanity; while Thomas during this period…
"Do you have any ideas, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked seriously.
“At first I suspected he might have bipolar disorder,” Bruce replied seriously, “but now I suspect he has schizophrenia.”
?
"Do you have any evidence?" Alfred asked hesitantly. "I don't see any signs that young Master Thomas has this kind of mental illness. Although it's not very obvious, I believe he is probably a normal person."
“In fact, a few days ago I was invited by an academic advisor from Gotham University to attend a small gathering where we talked about Thomas’s studies. At that time, I really believed that Thomas had just skipped a grade again…” Bruce explained. “But he said that Thomas only attended school for a few days, then missed classes for a long time, and finally submitted his medical records for schizophrenia.”
Dick struggled with his conscience for a moment, but finally decided to defend Thomas: "Thomas said his medical records for dropping out were forged? He just thought it was a waste of time."
“I have reservations about that,” Bruce retorted. “What are the chances that Thomas is telling the truth?”
"..."
Well, it seems unlikely that Thomas is telling the truth.
“And every time Thomas mentions murder, he says ‘go to Arkham to recuperate for a while.’” Bruce pressed a button on the Batcomputer, his voice trembling with frustration. “I suspect he has at least that inclination.”
"So, are we sending Thomas to Arkham?"
"Of course not. I think the most important thing is to determine whether Thomas has a mental illness."
-
Thomas had no idea that the medical retirement he had taken a few years ago to save time was about to become a batarang that would hit him on the head. He was currently sitting in a fast food restaurant with Jason.
"Aren't you going to eat?" Jason swallowed a bite of his burger and asked Thomas with a puzzled look. "This place is really good."
“I don’t usually eat out, I’m afraid someone might poison my food.” Thomas took out paper and pen and started doing some calculations. “Besides, I’ve already had breakfast.”
“…Well, your self-awareness is pretty accurate,” Jason muttered. “You know what? On average, one and a half people from every family around me want to kill you.”
“That’s a bit too few. I thought the gang would be more ruthless, at least they would send more capable assassins. But in the end, it was Penguin’s men who actually managed to sneak into Wayne Manor.” Thomas said while writing and drawing. “I remember a long time ago, apart from half of my loyal subordinates, most of the people in Gotham dreamed of killing me.”
"What about the rest?"
"The rest of them wouldn't even dare to dream of how to murder me, and they'd have to be careful what they say in their sleep," Thomas sneered. "A bunch of useless trash."
Jason hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but then stopped.
He felt that Thomas was more like a mob boss than all the mob bosses he had ever seen combined.
His mood was going from extreme highs to lows, like discovering someone by his bedside only to find out it was Santa Claus delivering presents.
Excitedly, I opened the window and discovered that Santa Claus's vehicle for delivering presents wasn't a reindeer and sleigh, but a flying hearse with reindeer antlers!
"So this is probably the time when I'm most popular." Thomas put down his pen. "You can rest assured that you don't need to worry about your safety."
"Let me confirm," Jason asked, half-jokingly and half-seriously, "you really don't have any mental illness, do you?"
"Of course not, I only have medical records for schizophrenia."
"Cough! Cough..." Upon hearing this "unexpected delight," Jason nearly choked on his cola. "...What's the difference?"
“A few years ago, when the Romans were still alive, it was easier for normal people to forge medical records of mental illness than for real mental illness,” Thomas said nonchalantly. “And it was easier to retire on medical grounds than to retire on duty. So, I took advantage of the internal strife in Falcone and coerced a psychiatrist who specialized in forging medical records of mental illness for members of the Falcone family to get away with their crimes. I told him that if he couldn’t forge a medical record for me, I would make him go to jail until he died.”
"Then what?"
“He’s in jail, and he’ll be there until he dies.” Thomas casually crossed out part of the paper. “It’s quite a coincidence that it’s a private prison under the name of a correctional company I own shares in.”
...As expected of you.
-----------------------
Author's note: I originally wanted to write a joke about confusing schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder, and also to popularize some knowledge, but the two English words are completely different ( ), so I gave up.
P.S. I remember there was a cute commenter with the ID "Personality Split, Not Schizophrenia" [rose emoji]
-
The shaved ice shop near my house has closed down [crying emoji]. I can't get watermelon shaved ice anymore, sob sob sob. The auntie there was so kind; she would always cut up a fresh watermelon for me to make shaved ice.
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