Chapter 29: Bruce's Midlife Rebellion

Chapter 29: Bruce's Midlife Rebellion

"I'm back. Saving the world is exhausting."

As soon as Allen returned to the Batcave, he walked straight to Bruce's bedside.

Bruce, still weak, had yet to recover his strength and needed a day or two of rest. Thanks to his exceptional physique and access to top-tier medical equipment, he was in no real danger physically.

Under the gaze of everyone present, Allen shamelessly sat on the bed, leaned against Bruce, and casually draped an arm over his shoulder. With the air of an elder offering wisdom, he said, "Bats, take my advice—flowers bloom again, but premature… departures should be accepted. Learn to manage your resources wisely."

"..."

Bruce, still weak, asked, "Allen, you must have noticed something, right?"

"Of course!" Allen said proudly. "Who do you think I am? The embodiment of justice, the comic relief, a guy whose poop even smells fragrant!"

He then added in a solemn tone, "Without me, this world is doomed sooner or later."

Everyone's faces darkened at his words.

Honestly, the world seemed more normal without him.

Ahem...

Clearing his throat, Allen shifted to a chair, clasped his hands under his chin, and spoke seriously. "In the Nest, I found not only the Court of Owls' judges but also the Strigoi Priests lurking underground."

"Strigoi Priests?"

Bruce cast him a puzzled look.

He had seen the Court of Owls' judges while trapped in the Nest. They all wore masks, concealing their true faces, and their voices had been altered. Because of this, he couldn't recklessly target Gotham's elite, as it would leave him vulnerable to a media-driven counterattack.

"The Strigoi Priests are a humanoid race—horrifying in appearance. They're followers of Barbatos."

As he spoke, Allen mimicked pincers with his hands and placed them at the corners of his mouth, describing them, "They look like Predators—four tusks in their mouths, two on top and two on the bottom—just not as tough as actual Predators."

"Predators?"

Bruce grew more confused. What kind of nonsense was this?

"You don't know about Predators? They're an alien hunter civilization, specializing in hunting powerful creatures as part of their trials. Their technology is as advanced as a four- or five-story building. They especially love hunting Xenomorphs." Allen became more animated as he spoke. "You know Xenomorphs, right? They hatch from eggs, release facehuggers that latch onto a host, implant an embryo, and then—bam!—the mature alien bursts out from the chest. Super intense."

"You could probably find them at Weyland Corp now. Or maybe even deep beneath the Antarctic ice, where they keep the Xenomorph Queen locked away in a pyramid."

Are you narrating a movie script?

Bruce and the others didn't believe a single word.

Would anyone take a madman's ramblings seriously?

That said, they had indeed heard of Weyland Corp, one of the world's top biopharmaceutical companies—far superior to Wayne Enterprises in that field.

"You're getting off track, Allen," Bruce reminded him.

"Back to the point."

Allen's eyes lit up as he continued. "So, there's a bunch of people with more money than they know what to do with. Then they come across some cultists—quick note, not the ones from Silent Hill—who offer them a pitch: immortality."

"Now, I've got some connections in the Dark Multiverse. High risk, sure, but also high reward. Fortune favors the bold. If you're up for it, we split the profits—70% for me, 30% for you."

Hearing this, Bruce frowned.

"That group thought, 'This project is ridiculously extravagant. Sounds perfect!'" Allen chuckled. "So, they moved forward with the plan: manipulating you into coming into contact with five metals—Electrum, Dionesium, Promethium, Nth Metal, and, of course, Batmanium."

Bruce asked, confused, "Why me?"

What had he done to deserve this? Why were they stuffing rare metals into his body?

"Excellent question." Allen pondered for a moment before answering, "Because you're popular. The story revolves around you. Gotta sell those comics, man."

"..."

Allen blinked. "Wait, where was I?"

"Batmanium," Bruce reminded him.

"Right, grilled gluten!" Allen continued. "So, Bats, once you've got Batmanium in your system, you essentially become a temporal anchor."

"This allows Green Winged Bat King to smoothly invade our world, leading the charge with his Dark Knights. Superheroes fight to the death and win—"

"But then, the big boss appears, and things go sideways."

"Luckily, we find a rice cooker—the one that sealed away King Piccolo. Inside, we retrieve the Tenth Metal, defeat the boss, and free Perpetua from the Source Wall."

Everyone exchanged glances, struggling to process the information.

But one thing was clear—this was bad.

Just as they were digesting it all, Allen suddenly stood up, his expression grave. "Damn, this is worse than I thought."

He grabbed Bruce's shoulders, warning him, "Bats, you've already been exposed to three of the metals. Whatever you do, don't touch Hawkman's weapon, Doctor Fate's helmet, or Deathstroke's gear—they all contain Nth Metal."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you're not just telling me to steal their stuff?"

"Who, me?" Allen turned away, suddenly shy.

Why are you blushing?

Bruce asked, "When did I get exposed to three metals?"

As far as he knew, he had never encountered any of these so-called special metals. The idea that he had already come into contact with three of them was deeply unsettling.

And how the hell did Allen know all this?

"So, in the Labyrinth, did you drink from the fountain?" Allen asked.

Bruce hesitated before nodding. He had been trapped for days without food or water—drinking from the fountain had been a natural choice.

"That was Electrum. They wanted you to drink it," Allen revealed.

He continued, "Then, there's a hidden underground pool in the Batcave filled with pure Dionesium. And the Talon gear that Dick and Jason brought back probably has a Promethium coating. That's three metals right there."

If the Court of Owls were here, they'd be shocked.

They thought they were still on step one, but they had already reached step three.

"It's late. Time for me to return to my home planet."

Allen glanced at the nonexistent watch on his wrist, adjusted an imaginary monocle over his right eye, and said meaningfully, "Every gift from fate has already been secretly marked with a price."

Like clockwork, he left on time.

As they watched him leave, the Batcave fell silent.

"Nightwing, bring me the Talon's weapons," Bruce ordered.

"But Allen said you shouldn't touch them," Nightwing hesitated.

"You're really trusting a lunatic's words?"

"..."

Bruce examined the finely crafted blade but found nothing unusual. Then he gave another order.

"Dig deeper under the Batcave. See if there's Dionesium."

Reality always followed its original course.

In the original timeline, Bruce ignored the Justice League's warnings, stubbornly studying the five metals in hopes of stopping Barbatos' invasion. Instead, his actions directly led to the disaster.

To put it simply—

Bruce's rebellious streak ran from his neck down to his tailbone.

In solving problems, he always managed to create new ones.

A true case of midlife rebellion.

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