Gotham is a magical place. All year round, there are always more cloudy days than sunny days, plus the occasional rainy day, making the whole city's atmosphere dark and oppressive.
Therefore, Gotham is not strictly speaking a habitable city on Earth.
Moreover, there are just too many criminals, or rather, supervillains, here. Any ordinary person who isn't stupid wouldn't come to join the fun.
After all, even Aquaman came to Gotham and said that the water here isn't water at all.
But all of this changed because of the Dark Nights: Metal, Barbatos, who led the Seven Evil Batman to invade the Prime Universe, and subsequently caused a cataclysmic change.
After all, on that day, most of the world witnessed Batman's ascension to godhood, leading some to believe that Gotham might have been subtly changed by the godlike Batman. Otherwise, why would this godlike place now have more sunny days than cloudy days?
This is not Gotham at all!
Bruce Wayne was unusually absent from his patrol today, not wearing his bat costume. For some reason, crime in Gotham seems to have decreased significantly lately, something that would have been unthinkable in the past.
He is currently investigating this situation.
Bruce stood atop the Wayne Enterprises building, looking at this city that felt both familiar and strange, and for a moment felt lost.
The sunlight felt warm and comforting on my skin, a luxury that was once a luxury in Gotham.
But he couldn't feel any warmth at all.
The crime rate has dropped by 37 percent, and serious crimes have almost disappeared.
His mental database was working at lightning speed, comparing all the data from the past twenty years.
'Was it because of the shock of the Barbatos incident? Or because of... something else?'
His thoughts inevitably drifted to the man who claimed to be his father, and to the message about " Martha ".
"Thinking about your father again, Bruce?"
A voice came from behind.
Tim Drake, the current president of Wayne Enterprises, walked over, holding a whiteboard in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other, mumbling incoherently.
Bruce glanced back at Tim.
This kid is starting to look more and more like a CEO, but he still has that rude mouth.
He didn't answer, which was taken as tacit agreement.
"I'm wondering... what exactly is Thomas's purpose? Is he just here to help us resolve this crisis?" Bruce's voice was deep, as if it came directly from his chest.
Tim shrugged and took another big bite of the apple, making a crunching sound, without caring at all.
"Maybe it's just a father helping his son, that's normal." He handed Bruce a whiteboard with a progress report on the reconstruction project. "Don't overthink it. You just saved the world, you should relax."
Bruce took the file board, but his gaze didn't fall on it.
"But he took the Tenth Metal."
These words are light, but they carry great weight.
Tim paused in his chewing, stunned for a moment before realizing what was happening, his eyes widening slightly.
"Is that the thing that turns you into a platinum bat?!" He lowered his voice, as if afraid someone would hear him.
Bruce nodded slightly, his gaze still fixed on the distant city skyline.
"But when he gave me power, I felt another radiant force, which, along with the power of this Tenth Metal, elevated me to a level where I could contend with Barbatos."
He paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts, or perhaps recalling that feeling.
"This is very abnormal. How could a proxy of death possess such luminous power?"
That power, pure and vast, brimming with the essence of creation, was the exact opposite of death. He was lying, or perhaps he himself was a lie.
Bruce made up his mind.
Tim swallowed the last bite of the apple and casually tossed the core precisely into a trash can several dozen meters away.
He clapped his hands, opened his palms, and said in a joking tone:
"Maybe this will make others less afraid of him? And obediently go to Hell with him? Look, I have a new service here, the 'Warm Passing Away' service. Death agent Mr. Thomas will provide you with a smiling service throughout, guaranteeing you a peaceful and comfortable journey."
Bruce ignored his banter.
Tim looked at Bruce's profile, which was harder than a stone statue in Gotham, and his joking expression disappeared.
He leaned closer and asked softly, "So you suspect he's not your father, is that right?"
Bruce didn't say anything.
Doubt? No, he was almost certain.
But the question is, if he's not Thomas Wayne, then who is he?
Why is he impersonating Thomas Wayne? And what does he mean by mentioning the resurrection of Martha?
Countless questions were like a net, trapping him tightly. What unsettled him most was that at the other end of this net was something he could not fathom.
A "person" who could grant him divine power at any time—this made Bruce wary. What exactly was this person's purpose?
What kind of damage will this cause to Earth next?!
Just as Bruce was pondering, a faint whooshing sound came from outside the office.
A red and blue figure instantly appeared outside the building, hovering in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.
The person who arrived was Superman Clark.
Bruce walked to the window and pressed a button on the wall. The thick bulletproof glass slid silently to one side.
Superman walked in, his red cape cascading down his back.
Clark's face no longer held its usual gentle smile; instead, it bore a solemnity familiar to Bruce.
That was the expression that only appeared on his face when something big happened.
Tim tactfully stepped back a few paces, giving them space.
He knew that the conversation that was about to begin didn't belong to the president of Wayne Enterprises, but to the Justice League.
Bruce looked at Superman and asked directly, "What is it?"