"Thank you, Doctor Fries."
Perhaps Mister Freeze's icy embrace had helped Batwoman calm down. He rose to his feet and slowly exhaled, his willpower reclaiming control over his reason.
He stepped away from the freezing metal armor. After only a brief touch, the bat emblem on his chest was covered in white frost. In the nearly lightless room, Batwoman looked like a ghost.
He glanced down at Thomas. The paraplegic old man was still trying to reach for his gun, but Batwoman sent a kick flying and knocked him out completely.
Then he hurried toward Alfred, who was tied to a chair. He needed to take the old butler for treatment with the Final Machine in the Batcave.
Batwoman was a decent doctor, the kind forged by long illness. He had seen every kind of injury on himself and quickly determined that Alfred's main problems were hunger and external wounds.
"Alfred, I'm back. I'll treat you right away. Hold on."
He untied the butler's ropes, picked up the old man's gaunt body, and walked straight through the hall toward the exit.
"It's good that Master Bruce has returned."
Alfred seemed half-conscious. His head had suffered a severe blow, and he now had a serious concussion and cerebral edema, yet he still managed a smile.
"Talk less and save your strength. Think about what we're having for breakfast tomorrow. Don't worry about anything else." Batwoman's voice was as steady as ever. As he passed Constantine, he added, "Watch the prisoners. Don't let them escape or die."
Constantine spat. A yellow blot appeared on the expensive handmade carpet, and the phlegm quivered like jelly. Zha Kang pushed off the wall with his waist and sprang upright.
"Fine, fine, fine. The bat is always the boss. Say, do I get paid? Cigarettes or