Wayne Manor.
The last half of the setting sun had vanished completely below the horizon. The city's neon lights glittered like stars, gradually erasing the final streaks of crimson and gold lingering in the sky.
Bathed in the sunset's afterglow, the elderly butler Alfred had graying hair and a neatly trimmed gray mustache.
He stood before Lynn, every inch the meticulous English gentleman's gentleman.
"Master Bruce, was putting yourself in such danger also part of your plan?" A hint of worry crept into Alfred's voice.
"Of course, Alfred," Lynn replied, mimicking Bruce Wayne's tone.
Although he had none of Bruce Wayne's memories, he figured his stereotypical impression of the man should keep Alfred from recognizing him quite so quickly.
"Master Bruce, could you please refrain from taking such risks next time?"
Alfred sighed and gently tried to persuade him:
"The last time you caught Joker, you injured your kidney. When you caught Scarecrow, you accidentally inhaled fear toxin and suffered nervous exhaustion. When you caught Two-Face, you fractured your leg, and the cartilage in your knees is nearly worn away.
You're already covered in injuries. You won't necessarily escape such dangerous situations every time.
You should know that everyone has limits, and you've already reached yours."
Lynn froze for a moment.
So this was Batbro, the legendary king of taking punishment?
"Then I'll stop being human, Alfred."
He waved a hand and headed toward the Batcave, looking utterly carefree.
"Batman has no limits!"
Alfred remained where he stood, his cloudy eyes fixed on Master Bruce's retreating back, the worry still etched on his face.
His tone and voice sounded very much like his young master's.
But his many years with Bruce Wayne told him that the man before him might very well not be Master Bruce.
Entering the kitchen, Alfred carefully recalled everything that had just happened and murmured, "Perhaps I'm imagining things?"
He looked at the chicken soup simmering on the stove, unable to shake the feeling that something was off.
"I need to test him. If something really has happened to Master Bruce..."
Inside the Batcave.
Lynn sat before the Batcomputer, the screen's glow falling across his face and lighting up his eyes.
His fingers clattered over the keyboard. The computer raced through its processes, searching the database Lynn wanted to access.
As the head of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce Wayne had countless files stored in his Batcomputer.
They contained not only key clues from every case in Gotham over the past five years, but also some of the city's most serious problems affecting its residents.
He had even collected personality profiles on numerous criminals and potential threats, complete with lists of contingency plans.
"Sheesh... nobody's convincing me Bruce Wayne doesn't have issues."
Lynn scanned the files on the Batcomputer, clicking his tongue in amazement.
"Stalking someone, collecting information about their personality and preferences, and planning how to win them over-that's a creep."
"Bruce Wayne stalked a whole bunch of people, collected piles of information, and planned how to take down these criminals. He's a goddamn creep among creeps."
Soon, the screen displayed files on people who had come to Gotham from elsewhere over the past few months.
"Sure enough, I'm here."
Lynn immediately spotted himself in the Big Bear Outfit right in the center, along with the contingency plan beside his picture.
"Joker's laughing gas or Scarecrow's fear toxin to deal with me?"
His expression turned strange. "Batbro, you little bastard."
He kept scrolling, and the files on the screen refreshed rapidly.
"There are a few other out-of-towners here. One got caught by the Penguin Gang during a robbery, and another works in the sex trade on Bowery Street..."
Apart from a few ordinary people, Lynn unexpectedly discovered that an employee of the Lex Industries Group was actually at Wayne Enterprises.
"Logan Howlett?"
Lynn's gaze turned odd. Why did that name sound familiar?
"Could this guy be Wolverine from Marvel next door?"
Reading further, Lynn found that the man's file was utterly unremarkable. He was just an ordinary employee of the Lex Industries Group.
"That's what I thought. How could someone from Marvel cross over here? It's not like he's Deadpool."
"Master Bruce, what do you mean by 'cross over'?"
"Obviously..." Lynn started to answer, then immediately caught himself and turned to look behind him.
"Alfred, how did you get in here without making a sound?"
Alfred held a bowl of chicken soup, a kindly smile on his face.
"I thought you could use some chicken soup to fill your famished stomach."
Without thinking much of it, Lynn took the chicken soup Alfred had brought, tipped his head back, and drained the bowl.
"Thanks, Alfred."
Alfred's pupils suddenly contracted.
Now he was certain. This man... wasn't Master Bruce.
Because Master Bruce would never do that!
After finishing the soup, Lynn handed the bowl back to Alfred and resumed searching through the files on Gotham's newcomers.
Click!
A cold gun muzzle pressed against the back of his head.
"You're not Master Bruce... who are you?"
Lynn went rigid.
He'd been found out already?
"I am Bruce Wayne. Alfred, are you so tired you're imagining things?"
"Still pretending?" Alfred narrowed his eyes, an intensely dangerous aura radiating from him.
He had served in British Military Intelligence in his younger years, received professional training, and fought countless battles with his life on the line.
To save Master Bruce, Alfred would give up everything, even... his own life.
"I've lived with Master Bruce for all these years. I can tell at a glance whether you're him!"
Hearing the certainty in Alfred's voice, Lynn sighed.
"All right, then. I'll stop pretending and lay my cards on the table."
Lynn shrugged and used the Intelligence-Reducing Aura ability card on Alfred.
[Intelligence-Reducing Aura ability card: the same kind as Peter Griffin's. Upon use, lowers one designated person's IQ to Peter Griffin's level. Duration: 48 hours.]
Almost instantly, Alfred's IQ began to drop. Even his chin turned into a ballsack chin, making him look like some ultimate piece of
shit.
Seeing himself pointing a gun at his young master's head, Alfred's solemn expression gradually became a brilliantly idiotic smile.
"Master Bruce, do you want me to put a hole in your head so you can cosplay President Kennedy?"
"OMG, we're geniuses! All we need is a hole in our heads to cosplay the president of the United States! What genius figured that out... let me guess, it must've been a grad student!"
Lynn: "..."
So this was what Peter Griffin's Intelligence-Reducing Aura did?
"Alfred, I don't want to cosplay Kennedy."
"Master Bruce, I think once you cosplay him, you could lead Wayne Enterprises in taking over Gotham and issue a law allowing women to wear nothing but bikinis..."
Alfred's eyes grew increasingly idiotic, and a perverted grin spread across his excited face.
"Then we could see their huge tits whenever and wherever we wanted. Real or fake, we'd know with a quick feel."
"What if their husbands object?" Lynn asked.
The Peterfied Alfred rubbed his chin, then said as though it were only natural:
"Then give their husbands sex changes. Chop off their little buddies and install fake tits."
Lynn's mouth twitched at those words.
This wasn't an Intelligence-Reducing Aura. This was fucking possession by Peter Griffin, wasn't it?
It didn't just make him stupid. It made him a bastard, too.
"Alfred, there's a free lunch in the kitchen. Want to go take a look?"
Alfred froze.
He discreetly put away his pistol, his eyes darting around as he surveyed the entire Batcave.
"A free lunch? Oh, Master Bruce, stay here on your own. Perhaps you'll sneak in a few adults-only films while I'm away..."
"Er, I mean, I'm going to clean the kitchen... certainly not because I'm thinking about that free lunch."
With that, Alfred hurried out of the Batcave, afraid Lynn might compete with him for the free lunch.
"Phew... didn't expect him to spot me right away. Peter Griffin's Intelligence-Reducing Aura really does make people fucking stupid."
Lynn shook his head, gathered his thoughts, and returned his gaze to the computer screen before him.
A man's profile was displayed on it.
"Logan Howlett. Sex: male. Preference: men. Age: 33. Hometown: Smallville, Metropolis. Employee of the Lex Industries Group's construction department..."