"Let's not talk about that yet." Constantine held out a hand to stop Schiller from continuing, then raised his voice. "Isn't this plan of yours a little too... too...?"
Constantine stammered for quite a while, but the only phrase he could think of was "too Schiller."
At the same time, everyone's gazes shifted from Schiller to Bruce. Their expressions more or less said, "You should probably say something now, but for your own physical safety and mental health, I suggest you say absolutely nothing."
But at that moment, Jack, sprawled in an armchair, suddenly slumped sideways against the armrest as though drunk. The wood on the side of the armrest struck his forearm, and the wineglass he failed to hold onto fell to the floor.
"Oh, sorry, sorry." Jack immediately laughed. Like a drunk who had had too much, he bent down to pick up the shards. Alfred reacted quickly, but he was still a step too late to stop Jack's hand.
The instant Jack's index finger touched the largest shard from the bottom of the glass, it was cut open. Jack cried out in pain, then whined as he stuck his finger into his mouth and sucked on it.
Alfred immediately wrapped the broken glass in a towel and threw it away, then fetched a small first-aid kit from the room. When Jack took his index finger out of his mouth, Bruce looked at the wound on his fingertip, smeared with saliva and blood, and smiled.
Then he looked at Schiller, who was only watching the screen.
At that moment, Helen and Harley on the screen were frantically communicating through dark energy, seemingly discussing whether the plan that had appeared in the Necronomicon was feasible. In the end, Harley made the call. "I reckon it'll work!"
"Then who exactly