He knew he could not be everywhere at once, but when he watched people around the world being snatched away by Strange Hand through the satellites, always arriving a step too late himself, he felt helpless.
But he understood perfectly well that this was exactly how the enemy wanted him to feel.
Wayne Manor was impregnable for the time being. There was no need to worry about any enemy breaking through its defenses, unless they were the Joker reincarnated.
As Bruce Wayne, he had installed more than enough security equipment in his home. As Batwoman, he had increased both the quality and quantity of those defenses tenfold.
He could ensure the safety of himself and his teammates now, but they were only a few among humanity. If there was one thing he had learned from gathering intelligence during this time, it was that everything had only just begun.
"Batwoman, do you have any toilet paper? I didn't bring any! This diarrhea has made all three of my legs go weak, and it isn't because of my wife and girlfriend. Also, the water in this underground river is way too cold. I can't wash my delicate little butt with it. Could you send some paper down here? Oh, right, you're so rich, don't tell me you wipe your ass with gold foil? I mean toilet paper, can you understand that? No other meaning—I'm just saying you capitalists really make people jealous, envious, and hateful."
The glow from countless screens lit Batwoman's face. He remained expressionless until an absurd scream rose from beneath the platform.
All right, Batwoman wanted to revise that statement. Apparently, not all of his teammates were human.
He had once again encountered something he could not understand: how exactly did Deathstroke tolerate a relative like this? Just imagining