Barry mechanically chewed a piece of steak, the meat getting drier and drier in his mouth, scraping his throat painfully as he swallowed.
Nora sat opposite her, her movements slowing as she cut the meat, the fork making a soft sizzling sound on the porcelain plate.
" Barry, are you even listening to me?" Nora put down her knife and fork and poured some lemonade into his glass.
"You only ate three bites of your meal, and spent the rest of the time spacing out. Did the station assign you another case involving a deranged serial killer?"
"Huh? No, no." Barry snapped back to reality, quickly swallowing the food in his mouth, almost choking.
He grabbed a tissue and wiped his mouth haphazardly. "I'm just... a little tired, Mom. I suddenly remembered I still have an urgent evidence report to finish at the station, I have to go back now."
He needs to find out the truth as soon as possible.
What on earth is going on with this ghostly place?
Nora looked at him suspiciously, and instead of agreeing immediately, she took out her phone from her bag, opened the calendar, and swiped a couple of times.
"Alright, go back and get some rest. But you have to be free next Tuesday. I've made an appointment with Dr. Lois at the city hospital to get your brain checked. I hope you didn't hurt your nerves from that fall today."
"Okay, next Tuesday, no problem." Barry grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and pushed open the glass door of the restaurant as if he were fleeing.
The cold wind from the street blew in through his collar. Barry had no sense of direction and relied entirely on muscle memory to walk back to his apartment.
My mind is a jumbled mess— Themyscira, Atlantis, World War II.
These words struck his nerves like heavy hammer blows, making even breathing difficult.
Along the way, he tried countless times to activate the Speed Force within his body.
No, there's nothing there.
That familiar feeling of a racing heart and a slowed-down world around me has completely disappeared.
He's just an ordinary person now, and he gets out of breath even if he runs a few steps faster.
Insert the key into the lock and turn it forcefully.
He barged in as soon as the door opened a crack, not even bothering to take off his shoes, and strode to the computer desk in the bedroom.
The power button was pressed hard, and the case fan emitted a buzzing roar.
The moment the screen lit up, Barry's fingers, hovering above the keyboard, trembled slightly.
Who should we investigate first? Clark.
That all-powerful Boy Scout—as long as Superman is around, this damned war can be quelled in an instant.
He typed " Superman," " Clark Kent," and " Metropolis Flyer" into the search bar.
The page loaded and scrolled halfway before popping up nothing but boring gossip from the Daily Planet, along with an old news story about a redneck farmer named Clark Kent Champion the Kansas Pumpkin Contest.
There was no steel body draped in a red cape, no Heat Vision, and not a single word about Kryptonian.
Damn it!
He continued searching for " Victor Stone" and " Cyborg ".
The pop-up window displayed sports reports about the rugby league.
Victor Stone, Gotham University's star quarterback, a promising athletic student.
The report also included a photo of him laughing while holding a rugby ball on the field.
He wasn't a cyborg, nor was he Mother Box; he was just an ordinary college student with all four limbs intact, preparing to participate in a talent show.
Hal Jordan, Green Lantern.
It remains empty.
Hal Jordan was just a test pilot for Ferris Aircraft who narrowly escaped death in a flight accident two years ago and is currently undergoing rehabilitation.
Everything's gone.
Barry slumped into the swivel chair, grabbing his hair with both hands and pulling it back forcefully. The real pain in his scalp told him that this was not a hallucination.
The Justice League doesn't exist!
He glanced at the real-time trending topics list on the right side of the webpage.
The bold red headlines are alarming: [ Atlantis tsunami hits Western Europe, death toll surpasses 100,000], [ Diana beheads United Kingdom Prime Minister, Themyscira announces takeover of London ].
Diana and Arthur have really gone mad!
This is no small-scale conflict; this is a war to destroy the world!
If this fighting continues, the entire Earth will be completely torn apart by the seawater and the Amazons swords.
We need to find someone to help! We absolutely must find someone to help!
Barry sat bolt upright, staring intently at the screen.
There was another person, the Old Bat who always had a backup plan and could always find a way out of Extremis.
If even he is not here, then this world is truly beyond saving.
Barry's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a full ten seconds before he swallowed hard and typed three words.
Batman.
You absolutely must!
Please, Bruce, you have to be here!
The Enter key was struck hard.
The webpage refreshed instantly, and a dense array of terms and images popped up.
have!
Barry let out a long sigh of relief, his tense shoulders instantly slumping.
That's great! Gotham's Dark Knight is still here. As long as Batman is here, even if the sky falls, someone will hold it up.
He eagerly clicked on the news link that was at the top of the list.
Title: [ Wayne Casino See Record Profits; Gotham Retains Title of Safest City in America for Third Consecutive Year]
etc?!
Barry was stunned.
Wayne... a casino? When did Bruce start getting into the gambling business?
And Gotham? The safest city in America?
Putting these two sentences together is even more absurd than the Joker being elected President of the United States.
The mouse wheel scrolls down rapidly.
A high-resolution photo occupies the center of the screen.
It was a giant building in Gotham City, with flashing neon lights and a huge "WAYNE CASINO" sign hanging at the top.
The article's content was like a heavy hammer blow to Barry's skull.
"Since Batman appeared, Gotham's crime rate has plummeted. This ruthless vigilante refuses to surrender or negotiate."
The Penguin, the Riddler, Two-Face... these former Gotham mob bosses have all been confirmed to have died at Batman's hands. He used absolute violence and carnage to transform Gotham into an impregnable fortress, a place no criminal dared to tread.
Slaughter?
Barry gasped and jerked his face closer to the screen.
Bruce killed someone?
Batman, who had the "no-kill principle" ingrained in his bones and would rather be tortured than cross that line, actually slaughtered all the villains in Gotham?
This is impossible! Absolutely impossible!!!
He frantically typed on the keyboard, searching for " Bruce Wayne ".
A Wikipedia page popped up.
Bruce Wayne (1983-1991)
[Cause of death: Shooting; Location: Crime Alley, Gotham City.]
[Synopsis: Bruce Wayne, the only son of Thomas and Martha Wayne. One rainy night, the family of three left a movie theater and were walking through Crime Alley when they were attacked by robber Joe Cher. Eight-year-old Bruce Wayne was shot and killed on the spot.]
Barry froze in his chair, his blood rushing to his head.
The person who died in Crime Alley... was it Bruce?
Were those two gunshots meant to kill not the Wayne couple, but that young child?
So who is Batman now?
Barry's hands trembled as he clicked on another interview with the current head of Wayne Enterprises.
In the photo, a gray-haired man with a stern face stands in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, holding a glass of whiskey and looking down at Gotham.
His features bore a resemblance to Bruce's, but he appeared more weathered, exuding an undisguised rage and weariness.
Thomas Wayne.
Bruce's Papa.
The whole truth instantly came to Barry's mind.
His son died before his eyes, and the desperate father completely broke down.
He didn't choose to become the patient and restrained Dark Knight; instead, he transformed into a vengeful demon, donned the Batsuit, and cleansed Gotham with bullets and blood.
There is no principle of not killing, no moral bottom line, only pure violence and Carnage.
Barry leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily.
Go find him?
Looking for a ruthless killer like Thomas Wayne, consumed by revenge?
Barry looked down at his hands. There was no golden lightning, no surging Speed Force; he was just an ordinary medical examiner for the Central City Police Department.
One bullet could easily kill him.
If you just went to Gotham and told that crazy old man, "Hey, I'm your son's friend. I come from another universe, and the world is about to end. You have to help me."
The other party would definitely pull out a gun and blow his head off.
But...
The news on the webpage is still scrolling.
The army of Atlantis has landed on the coast of Europe, and Amazons warriors on Themyscira are Carnage civilians.
Thousands upon thousands of people are dying every day.
Can he simply ignore it?
Stay here and spend the rest of your life with your mother who has come back from the dead? Pretend none of this happened?
Barry slammed his fist on the table, the coffee cup jolted, and brown liquid splashed onto the keyboard.
No!
He's the Flash!
Even without the Speed Force, even without his red suit, he is still Barry Allen, the fastest man in the world, one of the founders of the Justice League, and a superhero!
The world is on the verge of being torn apart; he has to do something.
Thomas Wayne, the ruthless character who could single-handedly kill all the villains in Gotham, is now his only reliable ally.
No matter how brutal the other party is, no matter how difficult they are to communicate with, he has to give it a try.
Because only Wayne, regardless of which Wayne it is, possesses the resources and intellect to save the world.
Barry suddenly stood up, opened the wardrobe next to him, and pulled out a travel bag.
A few changes of clothes, wallet, and identification documents.
He opened the drawer and stuffed the empty, gleaming gold ring into a hidden compartment.
Finally, he picked up his phone from the table and opened the ticket booking app.
Destination: Gotham.
The ticket issuance success screen lights up, and a green QR code flashes on the screen.
Barry grabbed his backpack, turned around, opened the bedroom door, and rushed out without looking back.