The one driving is always the first to get home.Especially when that driver happens to be in the Batmobile.
Bruce arrived at the Batcave ahead of Jessica and the others.
The Bat stumbled a bit as he got out of the Batmobile.His helmet vanished, revealing a noticeably pale face.
It was the result of blood loss and pain.
Although the Black Knight's previous attack hadn't taken his life, it had still left Bruce severely wounded.
Fortunately, his suit had already been upgraded to a nanobot-based design; otherwise, he might not have made it through the ordeal today.
Of course, that was also one of the main reasons Bruce eventually ended up the way he did.
Right now, Bruce's priority was to get his injuries under control as soon as possible.
He headed toward the Batcave's medical room.
As someone who constantly leeches tech from S.H.I.E.L.D., Bruce had long since acquired a fully equipped medical pod from them.
Still, Bruce had made his own modifications to the pod, customizing it to suit his specific needs—And also to make sure there was nothing from S.H.I.E.L.D. left inside.
Truth be told, Bruce had made the right call.The bugs and listening devices he had found in various medical tools could practically carpet the floor of the medical pod.
Once inside the pod, Bruce quickly issued all the necessary commands—Ensuring he would receive treatment immediately.
On the way back, Bruce had already used the nanobots to scan and analyze the condition of his wounds.
And in his mind, there was also a highly skilled doctor.
With a diagnosis from Thomas Wayne, Bruce could be confident that he would recover enough for normal activity in the shortest time possible.
Bruce lay facedown on the bed inside the pod.The nanobots on his body had already completely receded.
Only then did the injury on his back become fully visible.
The wound stretched from his right shoulder down to his left waist.
The skin had been torn open, and in the area near his spine, even the bone was visible.
And this was after the nanobots had blocked that guy's sword strike.
Without them, Bruce was certain the attacker would've sliced him clean in half with one blow.
Though the wound looked terrifying, the nanobots' emergency treatment had already stopped the bleeding as much as possible—Now, it just looked grotesque.
Bruce calmly lay on the operating table, waiting for the machinery to finish stitching up his back.
He closed his eyes and entered the prison inside his mind.
This time, he didn't look at any of the familiar Bats he usually consulted.Instead, he walked toward a cell where no Bat had ever appeared before.
Bruce stood at the cell's gate, calmly observing what lay inside.
If anyone else were there, they'd likely be shocked—possibly even horrified.
After all, very few people could stay calm when faced with someone missing their lower half, both arms, and even a neck.
Yes, the Bat in front of Bruce looked exactly like that.However, his body was still held together by a dense mesh of nanobots, keeping him alive.
"What's wrong? Scared?" the Bat asked with a smile, showing no shame about his mutilated body.
"No."
Bruce answered truthfully, openly expressing his emotions.
When he had decided to release this guy, Bruce already knew what he really looked like.So what was there to fear?Not to mention, this Bat was still Bruce Wayne—Just a version of him that had been imprisoned and tortured for many years—A shattered Bat.
How many people are truly afraid of themselves?
"You know," the Bat said, "those monsters you let go today? They'll be back to cause you trouble sooner or later."
He manipulated the surrounding nanobots to reassemble his body.
Behind him unfurled an ink-black cape, wild and unrestrained.
It was an illusion formed by countless nanobots dancing in the air without breaking connection—A scene that looked purely for show, merely to raise his intimidation factor—
But in reality, its lethality was no joke.
It was precisely when Bruce began using nanobots to treat his near-fatal wound that this Bat had reappeared in the mental prison.
Bruce had released the Shattered Bat right then and there.He knew that although this version's personality had drastically changed over time—Even inheriting the mantle of the Angel of Death and beginning his own reign over Gotham—
He was still one of the most controllable yet powerful Bats within the prison.
All his strength was dependent on the nanobats within him.
His personal combat ability was negligible.
That made him the best choice for the situation at hand.
Bruce had considered calling Barry Allen, the Flash—But the Speed Force had better uses.
He wouldn't waste it on something so trivial.
Even if Barry could summon the Speed Force again, Bruce was unwilling to squander such world-altering velocity.
"For that, you'd kill them all?" Bruce asked coldly in response to the Shattered Bat's warning.
"What else? They threaten the Bat's city," the Shattered Bat said with a grin.
As the one who had inherited control of Gotham under the Angel of Death, mercy was not in his vocabulary.
"I was imprisoned for thirty years. Tortured for thirty years. I learned one thing—Evil must be eradicated completely."
He suddenly appeared at the cell gate, his glowing yellow eyes locking onto Bruce.
"You're just afraid they'll disrupt your control over the city."
"My control?"The Shattered Bat laughed, as if Bruce had told a joke.
"My control gives them food in that kind of environment.A place to sleep.A chance to raise their children."
"And what have you experienced?You're just a rookie, fresh out of the nest."
Clearly, Bruce's words struck a nerve.The Shattered Bat didn't believe his rule over Gotham was a bad thing—In fact, he saw it as a blessing.It was only because of him that Gotham had become the safest city in the world.
"No. You're just feeding your own lust for power."
Bruce held his gaze without flinching.
As a fellow Batman, Bruce understood all too well—That the Bat had always suppressed his own desires—Be it emotion or ambition.
All of it was buried deep within Batman's heart. He always put Gotham's safety above everything else.
He wouldn't allow his desires to consume him, nor would he let anything outweigh the importance of Gotham's security.
Unless, one day, Gotham truly becomes the safest city in the world.
"You've long forgotten your original reason for donning that suit. During those thirty years of torment, you completely gave up on yourself."
Even though the two Batmen were the same height now, it felt as though Bruce was always looking down at the Broken Bat.
It was Batman crushing a version of himself that had gone astray.
"What difference is there between you and those Gotham officials who used to sit with Falcone, chatting away?"
Bruce's gaze at this moment felt like it was burning into the Broken Bat's heart.
He clenched his teeth tightly, refusing to say a single word of concession—of course, that was a common trait among Bats.
If a Bat ever showed weakness to others, or expressed a willingness to surrender, it was best to consider whether that Bat had a hidden card ready to strike back.
"Do you remember what you said to those people back then?"
Bruce stared at the Broken Bat, as though passing judgment.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you've eaten well. You've been feasting on Gotham's wealth, Gotham's spirit." The real Bat, sitting in his cell reading a book, finally spoke. That was his first year back in Gotham—the first time he truly witnessed its darkness and corruption.
"But your feast is over. From this moment on, none of you are safe."
That second half wasn't spoken by the real Bat, but by the LEGO Batman, who had somehow appeared beside Bruce without anyone noticing.
Bruce's gaze returned to the Broken Bat.
"You let your desires consume you."
With those final words, Bruce turned and left.
He had no intention of speaking with this Bat any further, nor any intention of ever reactivating the Broken Bat.
This Bat, in a way, might have just been an accident.
The Broken Bat said nothing. He simply retreated into the darkness of his cell, leaving only those glowing yellow eyes and the flashing yellow bat symbol on his chest.
"How's the injury?"
Just as Bruce was about to exit the mental prison, Thomas finally spoke.
"I already used nanobots to stop the bleeding before returning, but the wound still needs stitches," Bruce replied seriously.
"I suggest you avoid training or doing anything strenuous for now. That stab damaged a lot of your back muscles." Thomas pointed this out not just as a doctor, but also as a father, making clear the risks if Bruce kept moving recklessly.
"If you act impulsively, you'll only aggravate the injury further and leave behind more hidden damage."
But Bruce didn't answer. He simply looked at Thomas and asked in return:
"Could you do it?"
Thomas suddenly had nothing to say. He knew that even if he had suffered such injuries himself, he would still go out and continue his mission to eradicate crime.
Of course, he rarely sustained injuries like that—because he typically spoke through the barrel of a gun.
Bruce said nothing more and left the mental prison.
"How could a Bat give up action because of an injury? If he did, he wouldn't be a Bat anymore." LEGO Batman had somehow trotted over to Thomas's cell again.
Thomas treated this tiny Bruce Wayne the same as any other—after all, no matter what, this LEGO Bat was still his son, in some form.
And seeing LEGO Batman always brought him a strange sense of comfort.
Among all the Bats trapped in this prison, only this little guy could maintain such a cheerful and lively spirit.
The rest of the Bats—every single one—were like pressure cookers radiating deep, overwhelming darkness.
At this moment, Bruce, now back in his own body, could no longer feel the pain of the needle piercing his back.
The wound had been stitched up.
Thanks to the nanobots stopping the bleeding at the time, otherwise Bruce would probably still be cleaning off the blood now.
After throwing on a T-shirt, Bruce stepped out of the med bay and headed toward the kitchen.
But halfway there, he stopped in his tracks, reconsidering his cooking skills.
In the end, he could only bite the bullet and go in—after all, the two who actually knew how to cook hadn't returned yet.
He had to make something for himself—at least enough to get something in his stomach to help recover from the injury.
Not long after Bruce entered the kitchen, Jessica and Gwen returned to the Batcave.
All they saw was the Batmobile already back in its usual place.
But Jessica immediately noticed something—when she left, the house didn't have this thick, choking smell of oil and smoke.
"Oh no!" Jessica rushed toward the kitchen in a panic.
Gwen, on the other hand, was completely confused. She wanted to ask Jessica what was going on, but seeing how anxious she looked, Gwen knew she probably wouldn't get an answer.
So she simply followed behind Jessica, wanting to see what kind of disaster could possibly happen in the kitchen.
"Haven't I told you already? Stay out of the kitchen from now on!" Jessica stormed in and, sure enough, saw that hulking figure fumbling with the kitchenware.
If we used the "wooden bucket" theory, then Bruce would be a giant barrel with thousands of planks—most of them exceptionally long. But there's one plank that keeps Bruce from ever being a usable bucket.
His cooking.
If every other plank measured ten meters, Bruce's cooking plank would be barely one centimeter.
Edible—but just barely.
Hearing Jessica's words, Bruce silently turned off the stove and placed the abused kitchen tools into the sink.
Then turned and walked out of the kitchen.
"Let's just go eat at Aunt May's."
With that, Bruce headed out, leaving behind a helpless Jessica and a thoroughly baffled Gwen.
(End of Chapter)
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