Although it was not as well equipped as the Batcave, the Second Base still had everything they needed.
In the dim room, computer screens flickered blue, and several unidentified pieces of large equipment hummed in the corners.
William noticed a misshapen punching bag hanging at the far end of the room, with stacks of weight plates piled in a corner. When he switched on the lights, the harsh overhead glare illuminated a thick iron chain and a truck tire at his feet.
"What's this for?"
William lifted the chain, nearly as thick as his forearm, between both arms.
Alfred fiddled with a machine and extracted a test tube.
"That's for rope swings."
"You mean the exercise where you grab it with both hands and whip it up and down?"
William could hardly believe his ears. He struggled to lift this chain with one hand, yet Bruce used it as a battle rope.
He tried the truck tire next, crouching down and gripping a gap.
Heave-nothing.
"I shouldn't even have bothered!"
"Indeed. If you could lift that weight right from the start, Master Wayne's ten years of training would be a joke."
Properly suited up, Alfred entered the sterile room and poured the plasma onto a slide.
A few minutes later, he emerged with a grave expression, a report still pinched between his fingers.
7-hydroxychlorpromazine, dehydroaripiprazole, fluoxetine... One glance told William these were traces of psychiatric medications. They could not prove that Zsasz had undergone illegal human experimentation.
"Do you think it's possible Victor Zsasz lied to escape Arkham?" Alfred offered a reasonable hypothesis.
William said nothing. He did not think Zsasz was lying, but he had no evidence to offer.
Alfred picked up the landline. He had decided to inform Bruce after all.
Batman would surely be able to judge