Chapter 1216: The Cry of the Lamb (28)_1

The wave of enforced calm brought on by a copious amount of painkillers began to slow Bruce's heart rate. Discarding the euphoric trance induced by the medicine, fragments of innumerable scenes started playing in his mind.

On countless nights, he dreamed of the perfect family life he should have had, with his tall and steady father Thomas and the gentle and beautiful Martha. They stood by his side, ushering in one peaceful and blissful day after the other.

Yet, the Thomas in his dreams couldn't coincide with the one he encountered that day. The discrepancy was too significant.

What Bruce found conflicting was that this Batman-version of Thomas' actions and behaviours were completely consistent with his father's in his memories. He didn't believe that this could be the result of plastic surgery or cloning.

More fragments, more details - his extraordinary brain started working overdrive, conducting a thorough analysis of all details within those short few minutes.

In an instance, fragments shattered like a mirror. Bruce opened his eyes, feeling slightly bewildered.

Finally, he understood where that feeling of contradiction came from. This Thomas made him feel unfamiliar, yet at the same time, strangely familiar.

This familiarity didn't come from Thomas' face or figure. The Batman-version of Thomas was considerably older and his physique was different from what Bruce remembered.

The original Thomas was a businessman. He would work out to maintain his authoritative image, but he could never have the robust and smooth muscular lines of Batman-Thomas or his dark demeanor.

Normally, such significant differences should have made Batman-Thomas feel unfamiliar to Bruce. However, inexplicably, Bruce found his expressions and words somewhat familiar.

After pondering for a while, Bruce stood up from the sofa. A wave of pain hit him again, causing him to cover his chest and gasp for breath. He then called out to Alfred, "Alfred, where's that potted plant I brought back from hell?"

Alfred came over and helped Bruce up. "That little demon named Hexagon kept fighting with Aisha, so I sent it to Rodriguez Manor."

Upon hearing the familiar surname, Bruce showed a slight frown but pretended not to hear. To Alfred, he said, "Could you bring it back? I need it tonight."

Alfred nodded. There was no difficulty in this. It was only fostered at Merkel's place, he only needed to drive over to fetch it.

After Alfred left, Bruce pursed his lips, seemingly uncomfortable. Holding onto the railing, he slowly descended to the basement. The basement was his lab now. The bats were gone, the bat-equipment was all kept in a cave in the suburbs.

When he arrived in the basement, Bruce wanted to start the lathe and make something for himself, but his injuries were too serious. He could only lie on the operating panel and move every few minutes.

Bruce slowly got up and turned to sit down with his back against the lab table, taking slow, heavy breaths.

Amidst the sound of his breathing, a series of rapid footsteps could be heard.

Just as Bruce's vision was swimming and he was about to take more painkillers, he felt his arm being pulled.

In his daze, he heard anxious calls.

"Bruce! Bruce! Wake up!... Bruce!"

Bruce felt an inexplicable anxiety. He worried that once he regained his senses, a series of troubles would be waiting for him.

His body, at its breaking point, instinctually wanted to escape. But the last bit of his reason told him that the voice waking him up was very naïve; therefore, he had to wake up.

Amongst the intertwining dark mist and dreamy light, Bruce saw Jason and Tim's faces, and Dick standing far away at the entrance of the lab.

"I told you something must have happened!" Tim stretched out his hand and snatched away the pills in Bruce's hand. Jason took the bottle and screamed, "Oh, my God, where did he get this good stuff?!"

Jason quickly shoved the bottle into his pocket. Looking at Jason's actions, Tim asked in confusion, "What? What kind of medicine is it?"

"This is a legitimate painkiller! Not those second-rate stuff! Even if you took it to the living devil today, it could fetch a high price of forty to fifty dollars. For those junkies, they would even trade their lives for it."

As Jason spoke, he stepped forward and lifted Bruce's eyelids, sighing and saying, "He took too many painkillers and is now in a state of consciousness dispersion, what happened?"

Tim turned around to bring Dick over, and while walking, he said to Dick: "Didn't you notice? He seems a little off. He must have encountered something last night."

"He..." Dick hesitated for a while, but when he saw the pale Bruce leaning against the lab table, he still said: "The night I quarreled and ran out, I met a weirdo who claimed to be Batman, and I think..."