When Bruce opened his eyes again, it was Gordon's face that appeared in front of him. However, instead of concern or inquiries, Gordon said with a slight urgency, "Bruce, this morning Mayor Roy was assassinated and seriously injured!"
Bruce woke up instantly, but alongside his awakening came severe pain and a dizzying sensation that made him feel somewhat suffocated.
He found himself completely unable to straighten up. Hurriedly, Gordon helped him to sit up and asked, "Who on earth did you fight with last night? You broke three ribs, your lungs got injured, and you lost two molars."
Bruce's eyebrows furrowed deeply, a hint of anger flashing across his eyes, but instead of answering, he asked, "How's Roy?"
"Not good at all," Gordon looked grim as he sighed and continued, "He's still alive, but the problem is, many people now believe that it was the Falcone family's work, and the situation has become very tense."
Gordon sat down by Bruce's bed, pouring him water and saying, "You know, the Falcone family is, after all, a gangster family. Little Falcone has to take responsibility for the family's interests."
"His prestige is not as high as his father's, so in some matters, he must have the heart to execute thoroughly in order to establish his authority."
"He and Roy also have disagreements on some issues of city development. Roy feels that he is too self-interested, focusing only on the Falcones and the Twelve Families, incapable of addressing Gotham's problems from the root."
"Alberto thinks Roy is unrealistic, wanting to copy Emperor City's success plan without making local adaptations, leading everything to failure."
"Roy thinks Alberto is seeking private benefits for the Falcone family, while Alberto feels that Roy is only out for his political career. The problem is neither of them can prove their lack of ulterior motives."
"Their rivalry wasn't too severe previously since you were there to mediate. Both of them didn't dare to offend you too much, but recently, with you missing several banquets, their feud has escalated out in the open."
"Then this morning, on his way to City Hall, Roy was assassinated. Shot four times. Luckily, he was near a hospital and thus survived."
"He said he didn't get a good look at the assassin, but everyone believes Alberto is responsible. Honestly, the Falcone family does not have a clean record in this regard. Everybody knows how the previous mayors died."
Bruce struggled to get out of bed, only to crouch down instantly, showing signs of pain. Still, he forced himself to stand and yelled towards the door, "Alfred... Alfred! Prepare my clothes. I need to go to Falcone Manor."
With Gordon's help, Bruce managed to dress, although he looked rather ashen and sickly. Bruce took a deep breath and said to Gordon, "Get me some painkillers and don't let Alfred know."
Gordon was about to say something when Bruce cut him off with a wave of his hand, saying, "I am more aware than anyone of the risks of painkiller abuse. But under the current circumstances, Gotham's transformation is at a crucial stage and I cannot let all of our efforts go down the drain."
Gordon sighed. Helping Bruce to the bed, he hesitated for a moment before pulling out the walkie-talkie on his belt.
A little later, a sack hung from a rope appeared outside the window. Gordon went over and opened the window to bring in the sack, which contained several bottles of medication. Just as Bruce was about to take them, Gordon withdrew his hand, saying,
"I have to remind you, this stuff may affect your intelligence. Your precious, genius brain should not be harmed by drugs. So you have to swear to me that you won't abuse the painkillers."
"Don't worry, I swear, I care about my brain more than anyone else."
Gordon hesitated a lot, but in the end, it was not Bruce's guarantee, but the pain between his brows, that persuaded him to give the medicine to Bruce.
After taking the medicine, Bruce felt a bit better. They decided to go out. But just as they were about to open the door, they saw Dick Grayson at the end of the corridor.
Dick approached, school notebook in hand, lips pursed in indecision. Finally, he said, "Last night, Tim and Jason talked to me all night long. Okay, I'm sorry, Bruce, I know I've been..."
Frantic footsteps echoed from the stairs. A uniformed patrolman dashed up to Gordon and whispered something in his ear. Gordon's complexion changed, and he said to Bruce, "Roy's sister went to Falcone manor with a gun. She shot Alberto and then herself. Mrs. Falcone fainted from the shock, and when she was examined at the hospital, it was discovered she was pregnant. But the prognosis does not look good."
"Alberto is furious. He wants Roy and his sister dead. The heads of the Twelve Families are trying to dissuade him, but their efforts are proving fruitless. We have to get over there right now and stop Alberto."
Bruce's face hardened. He knew that the Falcone family, being Italian descendants and traditional Catholics, put great emphasis on family. If Mrs. Falcone got hurt, the conflict would definitely escalate to a very dangerous level.
Bruce could not afford to lose any more time, he sprinted downstairs, yanked open the police car door, pulled out the driver, hopped in, and sped away.
Dick stood where he was, watching Bruce's retreating figure. The courage he'd gathered all night slowly faded.
By the time Bruce had mediated all the disagreements and returned to the manor, bone-tired and in pain, Dick had already packed his school bag. Bruce sat down next to him and said, "Dick, I'm back. I think we can talk now."
"I'm really sorry." Tears filled Dick's eyes as he looked at Bruce, "I had no idea you were injured. That you were injured this badly."
The dark-haired boy turned his head away, stuffing the last book into his bag before saying, "You should go rest. Get a good night's sleep. I don't have any problems, or at least, compared to the ones you're facing, mine are insignificant. I can handle them myself."
Bruce looked at him, somewhat dazed. He felt as if his chest was choked by something. This sensation was even worse than pains caused by his broken ribs.
"I had just called the teacher to apologize. I assured her that I will do my homework diligently, and I convinced her to allow me to board at school. Today is Friday, so I won't be coming home this weekend," said Dick.
Having finished speaking, Dick put his backpack on, approached Bruce, looked him in the eyes and said, "We should all try to not worry you. Then, you can rest in your spare time."
"Dick, stop it. Dick..." Bruce repeated Dick's name, "We need to talk seriously."
"You should go to the hospital now." Looking at Bruce's pale complexion, Dick said very seriously, "I can solve my own problems, so you should solve yours as well."
Afterwards, Dick tried to take his leave. Bruce caught hold of his arm. Dick looked back at him, somewhat helplessly, took his homework from his backpack, and showed it to Bruce, "Look, I did my homework diligently yesterday. I understood all the questions and I even corrected my previous mistakes."
Bruce glanced at the neat and tidy handwriting in the notebook. Instead of feeling pleased, he felt a surge of anger and bitterness which he was ashamed of a moment later.
Dick closed the notebook, ran his hand gently over Bruce's face and said, "I'm going to school."
When the boy turned around, he walked into the rays of the setting sun streaming through the French windows. At that moment, something inside Bruce broke.
"Come back, Dick!"
Not feeling the pain anymore, Bruce stood up, grabbed hold of Dick, and yanked him back. Dick grimaced, it was clear that Bruce had hurt him, but Bruce didn't let go. He repeated, "I said, come back! Dick! What the hell are you playing at?"
"I'm going to school!" Dick emphasized.
"I said I wanted to have a serious talk with you, and you thought there was nothing to talk about, then you threw a temper and now you want to run away from home. Do you think I'm going to let you get away with it, Dick Grayson?!"
Bruce felt as though his whole body was on fire. He walked briskly to the phone and while dialing, he said, "If you don't want to study, I'll call your teacher and take a few days off. You must develop a good study habit at home before returning to school."
Dick was shocked, his backpack slipped and fell onto the ground. He looked at Bruce in disbelief and said, "Do you think I'm lying to you? Even though I diligently did my homework, you still don't trust me? Or do you want to call the teacher to confirm whether what I said is true or not?!"
Suddenly, his eyes turned red. Clenching his teeth, he said, "If you hate me, you can just say it! You scolded me when I didn't do my homework and now when I've done it properly and intend to go to school, you won't let me do it. Is it that whatever I do is wrong?"
"Last night, you had a nightmare because you were mentally distressed. This afternoon, you're telling me you're going to board at school, Dick Grayson, is this how you take responsibility for your health?!" Bruce also raised his voice.
"I understand my mental health better than you do!" Dick had started to scream.
But then, he showed an extremely sad look, standing still, talking to himself, "You wouldn't treat Tim and Jason this way. I shouldn't have given you the benefit of the doubt for being a first-time father, you don't appreciate it!"
"I just want you to be better!" said Bruce.
Dick stepped back two steps, shaking his head and speaking, "As good as you are now?"
Bruce's eyes widened, Dick wiped away a tear, stepping backward and saying, "How can you expect me to do something that you can't do yourself?"
Having said that, he turned and ran out the door. Bruce's phone dropped to the floor with a clang.
Bruce leaned against the back of the sofa and sat down. Uncontrollable intense pain flared up in his chest, he had never felt such pain in his life.
Bruce felt as if breathing itself was an effort, like a fish that is about to die from lack of water. The suffocation brought a sudden dizziness, his vision filled with black fog. An inexplicable fear enveloped him, he felt he was dying.
Though he had never felt this way before, this time, he was consumed with dread. He firmly believed he was going to die, he truly feared death.
He rummaged in his pocket for his pain relief pills, poured out a handful shakily and shoved them into his mouth.
Semi-conscious and dreamy images appeared before Bruce's eyes, as if he was back on the rooftop of Wayne building, watching the neon lights of Gotham every night.
The real Thomas, who had seen these neon lights, unholstered his pistol. With his hand in black gloves, he loaded the magazine with four bullets. There was no joy of victory in his brow.
Surprisingly, the old Batman, whose wrinkles were tamed by suffering, squeezed out even more pain from his pain.
Just like, the continuous cold rain of Gotham's every night.