"Bullets again this time?" the old man asked.
"7.62 and 5.56. Nothing new," the deep voice replied.
The black bodysuit and cape lay to one side. The man's upper body was bare, revealing a handsome, thickly muscled physique. From front to back, his entire body was covered in dense scars, leaving hardly a patch of uninjured skin.
The old man looked at the scars covering him and suddenly fell silent.
There were knife wounds, gunshot wounds, burns, cat scratches, claw marks from large beasts, umbrella punctures, bruises from blunt impacts, and holes left by arrows and crossbow bolts. Some were old, some new, and some layered over one another. The ones still bleeding were more than a dozen fresh wounds.
Those were only external injuries. The inside of this body could also be described as battered beyond recognition.
How many more scars would he need before he was willing to rest? How many more wounds would this city have to inflict on him before it could find redemption?
"Please allow me to remind you that your armor's protective layer is merely bulletproof, not immune to bullets. Besides, your invigorating flower tea is almost gone. We cannot grow it or replicate its key substance—you need proper rest."
"I'll return to sleeping in micro-rests, taking five minutes every so often."
The old man said nothing.
At that moment of silence, a red alert marker suddenly appeared on the computer beside them.
"Massive gunfight reported at 176 Old Street, East End! Everyone proceed to assist immediately! Repeat, everyone proceed to 176 Old Street in the East End immediately!"
Watching the man stand and reach for the Bat-Suit beside him, the old man opened his mouth. In the end, all his tangled thoughts became nothing more than a brief reminder.
"Please come back early,