American comics: Starting with replicating Superman's talent

Chapter 93 Bruce's Reflections

early morning.

When Bruce opened his eyes, he was awakened by excruciating pain.

The tingling sensation coming from my waist felt like worms were wriggling and crawling inside my bones.

Bruce stared blankly at the familiar ceiling, his waist and abdomen wrapped in white bandages.

He remembered that his spine was broken, that the mysterious man had shattered his spine with a knee strike.

"What should I do?"

Now that he's disabled, how can he carry out his will and change this city?

Bruce struggled to straighten his back.

Then, a strange scene unfolded in the room.

Despite the excruciating pain in his lower back, as if dozens of gangsters were stabbing him with knives, he miraculously managed to sit up.

"That's impossible."

Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

He was aware of his injuries and also knew about Afu's abilities.

His butler did not have the ability to straighten the back of a person with a broken spine.

Having eliminated all other options, the only thing left is the truth.

The mysterious masked man saved him.

Bruce recalled his experience in the underground labyrinth.

They suffered both mentally and physically.

But what concerned him even more was the information revealed in the other person's words.

"He once said 'your Gotham City,' which means he's not a native."

Bruce began his reasoning.

"His physical abilities far surpass those of ordinary people, and he has close ties with the League of Assassins."

"He mentioned the word 'clown,' but I'm not sure if anyone actually calls themselves a clown. Perhaps we should let Afu investigate."

Bruce's mind was racing through a series of trivial matters; even after stepping down from his Batman identity, he still hadn't found a moment of peace.

"I need a powerful set of equipment to fight against this supernatural being."

"at the same time."

Bruce frowned and clutched his aching back: "We must also put the modification of the armor on the agenda, especially the back armor."

The feeling of being gay is unpleasant, and he doesn't want to experience it a second time.

"Knock knock."

There was a knock on the door. The familiar butler still had that elegant British gentleman demeanor. Ah Fu was carrying some food, and his slightly aged face was full of sorrow.

"Young Master Bruce." Alfred sighed. He knew Bruce's personality; once he made a decision, he wouldn't change it. All he could do was silently support Bruce from behind.

"I think you need to eat some late-night snacks to help your broken spine recover."

Alfred placed the food in front of Bruce's bed, then took out a stack of letters and an empty bottle from his left hand, which was behind his back.

"I think you should know that when I found you outside the manor, these things were beside you."

"So, you found me at the manor gate."

Bruce pondered, realizing that the other party's words were true; the mysterious man indeed did not want him to die.

But the more this happened, the stronger Bruce's sense of urgency became.

He was afraid of running into that person again; if he couldn't satisfy him, that madman might drag the whole of Gotham City into playing games with him.

As he pondered this, Bruce picked up the letter on the table and opened it. As his gaze swept over the contents of the letter, Bruce fell into a long silence.

"Young Master Bruce?"

Looking at Bruce, who had his head hanging low, Afu asked with concern, "What's wrong?"

"Ah Fu." Bruce looked up and handed the letter in his hand to his butler.

"This is an assassination list that records the political and powerful figures killed by the Court of Owls since the founding of Gotham City."

"Gotham City Deputy Sheriff Michaeldy Davis."

"Miegel Vadarupe, spokesperson for the city council."

Bruce rattled off the names of politicians, whose deaths, as far as he knew, were all attributed to various accidents.

Michaeldy committed suicide by hanging himself in the bathroom due to excessive work stress.

Miguel was confirmed to have been struck and thrown several meters by an unlicensed vehicle while jogging at night, and died at the scene.

What chilled Bruce even more was that shortly after these people died, new politicians quickly took their places.

This proves something very cruel.

Bruce has always believed that the non-existent Court of Owls is secretly interfering with the operation of the entire city.

They eliminate dissidents and assassinate enemies, thus constantly growing stronger, feeding off Gotham City and growing wildly.

Bruce looked at the bottle again, at the remaining transparent liquid inside. He guessed that this was what had healed his injuries, although he didn't understand what it was.

Silently contemplating putting the task of researching the mysterious liquid on the agenda, the silent Bruce picked up the second letter. Unexpectedly, there were only a few words on the paper.

"The Court of Owls is dead; this is a little gift I'm giving you."

Signed: Anonymous.

"Is the Court of Owls dead?"

Bruce "chewed" over the sentence, put down the letter, and a series of fragmented clues in his mind began to connect and flow.

"The Court of Owls is dead."

"When did you die?"

He closed his eyes, recalling everything that had happened recently, and the clever Batman quickly gave Bruce the answer.

He blurted out:

"They are the same group of wealthy and political figures who died at Wayne Tower last week."

Suddenly, a sense of sorrow enveloped Bruce.

He struggled to his feet, and under Afu's worried gaze, he took the white paper and walked to the window, looking up at the dark night sky.

He said to the butler:

"I've always believed that the best way to understand a city is to be down-to-earth and feel the cracks in the sidewalk beneath your feet."

"The scorching heat waves from the parking lot, which was covered by the blazing summer sun."

"It wasn't until recently, with everything that happened, that I realized how terribly wrong I was."

A bitter look appeared on Bruce's face.

"Ah Fu, if only I had discovered these things sooner..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but his weathered eyes conveyed Bruce's thoughts.

He considered himself an arrogant fool.

He took all the blame upon himself.

If I had discovered these things sooner, perhaps I could have saved everything, brought the guilty to justice, and allowed the innocent to live happily.

"No one can predict everything, Master Bruce."

Alfred, the elderly man who had been with Batman for a quarter of his life, walked gently to Bruce's side and patted his broad shoulder in encouragement: "You always tend to take the blame for mistakes that aren't yours."

"But sometimes, fate is like a mischievous child; you can never guess what it's thinking."

"Then what should I do?" Bruce covered his face in pain.

He heard the old man's voice slowly rise: "Do your best."

Bruce's previously dull eyes gradually brightened, and he raised his head, his gaze firm: "You're right, Alfred."

"I need to become stronger!"

"Find me a full-body photo of Gino Luther."

"Also, establish an anti-'anonymous' archive project!"

Priority: S!

(End of this chapter)