Chapter 45 is probably for normal people, maybe.
All of this is annoying.
It was incredibly annoying. The gift box and the bomb inside, the idiot's screams behind him, and the noise from the bar downstairs—all of this was giving Thomas a headache. He frowned, covered his ears, and used his toes to flip the bomb.
He'd seen plenty of classic Joker-style bombs on Earth.
The best way to deal with the clown's bomb is to throw it away.
But the windows of this room appear to be sealed shut with bricks and cement.
Looking back at the door, it was indeed locked.
Knock on the interior wall; it's not a drywall wall.
Thomas took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.
He had defused this kind of bomb countless times.
Thomas and the Joker always have to deal with these things when they fight. Although Nite Owl is a supervillain, Gotham is still his property, and to prevent these things from damaging buildings and property, he occasionally chooses to defuse the bombs himself.
The Joker's bombs are always full of uncertainty, but this one is relatively simple in structure. Thomas guessed that this Joker was probably a novice and did not expect that Thomas was a time traveler who was very familiar with him.
The first part is the bomb itself, which seems to be significantly less powerful, at least not enough to kill the two people in the room. The truly lethal part is probably the other part.
The two gas cylinders were welded on in a very crude way. God knows how he managed to do it. With that kind of skill, there are many other things he could do.
Thomas pulled a small gas mask from his clothes, put it on, and squatted down to examine the bomb closely... a poison gas bomb.
The Joker probably wanted to create some sound and light effects with the bomb, and incidentally blow up the gas canister to release the gas inside.
Upon closer inspection, sure enough, there was a small tape recorder and a timer on it.
Thomas pulled out a knife from his sleeve, first disassembled the tape recorder and threw it aside, then chopped the tape recorder in half with one stroke.
For no other reason than that I don't want to hear the clown's shrill voice and screams; they give me a headache.
He then disassembled the bomb's casing; it was probably a homemade weapon by the gang, crudely made and simply structured.
Thomas easily located the detonator, but disarming it with one hand seemed a bit too difficult. This wasn't some industrial masterpiece like a quantum bomb, with a sophisticated identification system and safety mechanisms (mainly designed by Night Owl to prevent certain members of the Syndicate from wasting his precious quantum bomb on Earth-3). This kind of industrial junk could easily produce an electric spark and ignite if not handled carefully.
So he flipped the magazine in his revolver, put it on the ground, and focused on dealing with the bomb.
The guy behind him made a slight movement, trying his best to keep his footsteps down, but it was completely useless to Thomas, who simply couldn't be bothered to pay him any attention.
Thomas would rather die at the hands of the Joker than be held at gunpoint by a pathetic human being; his pride would not allow him to lose to the Joker.
Moreover, he was really having a headache and just wanted to get rid of these messes as soon as possible.
Fortunately, his headache did not affect his hand movements, and he quickly and steadily dismantled what appeared to be a lighter-modified firing mechanism.
After disarming the bomb, Thomas briefly examined its other components to ensure it wouldn't explode. He then stood up, took out a communicator from his pocket (not the one Batman gave him; apparently, it seemed to have a built-in locator), used the internal wires to locate Batman's communicator, and dialed.
Batman seemed to be in the crowd, the noisy sounds coming through the communicator. Thomas kicked the Joker's tape recorder in frustration ("Ha ha!" The Joker's shrill voice, accompanied by a crackling sound, pierced Thomas's eardrums. This damn tape recorder was as nauseating and tenacious as the Joker).
Thomas accurately stated his location and asked Batman to come pick him up.
Batman paused for a moment, then casually asked, "So you knew?"
"What do you know? The time when you were a kid, you secretly watched a horror movie and got so scared you couldn't sleep, so you ran into my room in the middle of the night, got caught by Alfred, were laughed at by Thomas, and then ran to Martha's arms and cried?"
"..."
“Please come pick me up, Bruce.” Thomas emphasized the word “Bruce.” “I really need your help right now.”
“That’s really rare,” Alfred said with some surprise. “I rarely hear young Thomas say that he needs anyone’s help.”
Since Thomas has said so, the situation must be quite urgent.
Batman imagined a series of dangerous scenarios, such as Thomas being subdued due to carelessness...
“If you’re really worried, you can call the police and say there’s a gang’s hideout nearby, and they probably have contraband inside. But you can come alone. I’m not kidnapped and I’m not in any danger. I just don’t have my wallet and can’t get a taxi,” Thomas paused for a moment, “and I also want to see your face.”
Thomas seems a little off today.
"Then you wait for me where you are."
Batman hung up the call and turned the Batmobile around: "I'll take you to the Gotham Police Department."
“I’m not a criminal,” the Batgirl said, sitting in the passenger seat. “I only learned about the unusual gang gathering from the police, and Thomas Wayne is a partner of the GCPD. I’m worried about him…”
“I know, but kids your age should be focused on their studies,” Batman advised her. “This is too dangerous. Think of your family.”
"You don't seem to be that much older than me."
"At least I'm an adult."
-
The call was disconnected, and Thomas felt a little better; at least his head wasn't hurting so much anymore.
He tilted his head slightly, a less-than-proper movement that seemed to make him more comfortable, watching the ridiculous guy pull the trigger while spouting threatening trash talk.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...
He emptied all six magazines.
When he pulled the trigger the first and second time, his face was filled with ugly, ecstatic joy.
On the third and fourth attempts, he began to panic.
The fifth bullet still didn't come out of the muzzle. He stopped pulling the trigger, shifted his feet, adjusted his posture, and tried to kill Thomas in a more "decent" and "elegant" way.
But on the sixth shot, the bullet still failed to fire.
Undeterred, he pulled the trigger for the seventh time...
"Sigh." Thomas shook his head, taking the bullet out of his pocket. "Are you looking for this?"
I'm not stupid, why would I just leave the gun and bullets there?
And even if this guy had a loaded gun, he wouldn't be much of a threat...
This simple action completely shattered his mental defenses.
"It's all your fault! It's all your fault! You stole my family's property!" The kidnapper retreated while frantically pulling the trigger of his empty revolver, as if there was still a bullet hidden inside. "It's all your fault! If you die..."
“Then let’s continue playing this game. My brother is still on his way.” Thomas snatched the revolver, loaded the bullets back into the magazine, casually fiddled with the magazine, and then waved the gun at the thug.
"I fired six shots into the sun, you only need to fire one."
After saying that, he actually pressed the pistol against his temple and pressed it six times without hesitation.
Then he threw the gun, the gun that had bullets and could kill, into the hands of the robber.
His expression was calm and natural, as if he were really just playing a little game with someone else.
The robber, however, was crushed by the weight of the gun. He knelt on the ground, his hand holding the gun hanging limply, like a puppet with its strings cut.
“There’s only one reason you failed—because you’re a coward.” Thomas walked around behind the kidnapper and pressed his cold hand against his trembling shoulder.
Gradually, the robber seemed to calm down, stopped trembling, calmly picked up the pistol, opened his mouth, and slowly brought the muzzle to his lips.
"Shooting yourself to death, very good. I personally think this is the most suitable method of suicide for ordinary people, efficient and quick, suitable for those who are skilled in using firearms. I think if the angle is right, you could even have that bullet hit my heart at the same time as you commit suicide... But unfortunately, it seems you don't intend to do that."
Just as he predicted, the robber tilted his head, rested the pistol on his shoulder, and prepared to shoot Thomas. But Thomas grabbed the hand holding the gun and twisted it sharply—
The bullet hit the wall.
“Sir, you are more laughable than a clown’s joke… A person who values worldly success above all else has never possessed any of the qualities necessary for worldly success.”
Thomas released his grip.
"If you were rational and shameless enough, you would have pointed the gun at me instead of yourself when you got it back; if you were honest and resolute enough, you would have followed your own rules and decisively shot yourself; if you were weak and cunning enough, you would have begged me for mercy when you realized you were about to fail, instead of taunting me with an empty gun; of course, if you were smart enough, you wouldn't have cooperated with the Joker, or at least you would have seen through my ability to cheat and actually done so... But you have none of those qualities, sir. You have no talent for success; you only have a mediocre and tasteless laughable soul."
He circled the kidnapper, observing the man with astonishment.
"You are a boring ashes, a born loser, a cancer cell in the world, reminding me of the trash from my hometown—I think maybe the meaning of your life is to fail?"
“I overestimated you, I really overestimated you, sir,” Thomas said. “You don’t even have the guts to break Gotham’s curfew. You’re about to kill someone, but you don’t dare to break the curfew. How ridiculous. You want to kill someone, but you don’t dare to defy this laughable and absurd curfew.”
Thomas, seeing that the robber had lost the courage to resist, completely lost interest: "You should be glad that it wasn't Night Owl who came today."
He then kicked the kidnapper in the neck, knocking him unconscious, and waited listlessly for Bruce to come and pick him up.
Bruce arrived very quickly, slightly later than Thomas had anticipated.
The noisy music downstairs finally stopped, followed by the clattering footsteps of a group of people going upstairs, and then the sound of heavy objects being moved.
Bruce was the first to enter, followed by several GCPD officers.
Bruce quickly and warily surveyed the room before fixing his gaze on Thomas.
“Thomas,” he said hesitantly, “do you have a fever?”
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