"Is it bullets this time?" the elderly voice asked.
"7.62 and 5.56. Nothing new." The deep voice replied.
Black body armor and cape lay discarded to the side. The man's upper body was exposed, revealing beautifully sculpted, powerful muscles. From front to back, his entire torso was covered with dense scars. Almost no unblemished skin remained.
The old man studied the wounds and fell silent.
Knife cuts. Gunshot wounds. Burns. Cat claw marks. Larger animal scratches. Puncture wounds from umbrellas. Bruising from blunt force trauma. Crossbow bolt holes. Some old. Some new. Some layered atop each other. Now, over a dozen fresh injuries still bleeding.
These were just external wounds. Inside, this body was riddled with damage.
How many more injuries must he sustain before resting? How many more wounds must this city inflict on him before achieving redemption?
"Please allow me to remind you—your armor is only bullet-resistant, not bulletproof. Also, your medicinal tea is almost depleted. We cannot grow or replicate the key ingredients. You need proper rest."
"I'll return to microsleeps. Five-minute naps periodically."
The old man remained speechless.
During this silence, a red emergency location appeared on the computer beside them.
"Large-scale gunfight at residential building, 176 East End Old Street! All units respond immediately! Repeat, all units to 176 East End Old Street immediately!"
Watching the man stand and reach for the bat suit, the old man opened his mouth. In the end, all he could manage was a brief reminder.
"Please return soon, Master."
"The Holiday Killer, who terrorized Gotham, has struck again—wiping out all five members of the Irish Gang!"
"Who is the Holiday Killer? Is Gotham facing another serial killer threat?"
Jude sat on a small stool, the tiny pumpkin lantern glowing beside him as he read the newspaper. He had nothing to do today. Actually, it was more accurate to say there was nothing he could do today.
"AHHHHHHH—!"
A figure plummeted from an upper window, screaming, nearly making intimate contact with the pavement beside Jude.
A swift shadow passed through the air. Suddenly caught the falling man. Black bat wings spread, gliding in a circle before depositing him on the ground.
Somewhat roughly.
Crack.
Jude had become numb to that sound. He'd heard it dozens of times that night at the restaurant. Perhaps hundreds. Every time Batman broke a bone, that distinctive sound followed.
Even sleeping that night, he'd heard broken bones cracking in his dreams. The stimulus had been particularly strong.
Perhaps he'd become desensitized. He sighed and turned another newspaper page.
"AH! MY LEG! MY LEG IS BROKEN!"
"Yes, yes, yes. Can you please stop yelling?" Jude sighed, lowering his newspaper. "Be a man, okay? You chose to start a shootout in this building. You're lucky you didn't get shot. Please thank God, or Batman."
Upstairs, thick gray smoke and gunfire poured endlessly from windows. Jude could see yellow flames licking outward from below.
His indifferent attitude clearly stung the burly gangster. Perhaps accustomed to civilians showing fear and deference, he felt particularly disrespected at this moment.
"You son of a bitch! Call an ambulance! Or I'll shoot—"
"AH! MY HAND! MY HAND!"
Batman swooped from the night sky and stomped on the hand reaching for a gun, breaking it cleanly.
"Don't let it happen again." The words came cold and final. Then he fired his grappling hook and ascended toward the building again.
"There won't be a next time," Jude muttered absently, continuing Batman's thought. He flipped another page. "Nothing left to fear. Why even ask why?"
"Someone call the fire department! There's a fire! The building's on fire!"
"Is anyone calling?!"
"I already did. Stop shouting." Jude replied irritably, switching off the pumpkin lantern.
This newspaper was completely unreadable anyway.
"How long since you called?"
"Fifteen minutes. If the fire truck moves faster, maybe they can save the electric toilet I just bought yesterday." He paused. "It's okay if they're slower. I didn't really like that toilet anyway. Just worried about the money."
A passerby patted Jude's shoulder with sympathy. Obviously, judging by how fast the building burned, there'd be nothing left of his home after the fire finished.
"You don't seem too upset?"
Jude listened to the passerby's question. Watched rising flames illuminate the night sky. Heard gunfire continuing from the building.
He couldn't help laughing.
Laughing bitterly.
"It's like this," he said. "Imagine you're a worker. You worked hard all month. Got harassed by coworkers. Had cops visit your workplace. Got dragged into a bizarre shootout. Got scolded by your supervisor. And at month's end? Your boss got arrested and you didn't receive a single cent."
"Fortunately, your boss found you another job. Tomorrow's your rare day off. You planned to sleep until noon. But you got woken by stupid gangsters having a shootout in your apartment building. A bullet went through the wall and hit your refrigerator. Another hit your TV. So, of the figures' worth of stuff in your home, only an automatic toilet remained."
"You were furious. Then you realized those idiots weren't just shooting—they were starting fires. Your room was already burning. At that point, you didn't dare stay a second longer. So you grabbed everything within reach and ran downstairs through the hail of bullets."
"Now, a superhero in tights comes along, breaks the bad guys' bones one by one, and throws them outside. The whole scene is as lively as five hundred ducks escaping from a farm. And all you managed to grab is a newspaper, a cell phone, and a small pumpkin lantern."
"Is that why you're only wearing underwear?"
Jude glanced down at himself, then calmly wrapped the newspaper tighter around his waist. "Then you called the fire department, even though you know perfectly well fire trucks always arrive in the East End after shootings end."
"And guess what? You look at your phone at this exact moment—it's precisely midnight."
DONG. DONG. DONG.
The bell from the distant clock tower rang out perfectly on cue, as if confirming Jude's words.
"Now." Jude's face remained completely expressionless. "Look me in the eye, and let me repeat my question."
He paused for effect.
"Are you sad?"