Gordon, lying in bed, had his eyes closed, but the intermittent sound of the radio beside him was audible, the only device through which he could hear news from the outside world. It was broadcasting news about The Clawed Killer.
Upon hearing that a family of four had been successfully rescued from their home, and that the little girl, who had been targeted by the killer devil, had only sustained a cut on her leg, not life-threatening, Gordon breathed a sigh of relief.
Yet, when he heard that they still hadn't caught the dangerous murderer, Gordon's hand clenched the bedsheet tightly, his face showed a pained expression, and when he heard that the officer in charge of this arrest was Ge Yin, Gordon's expression became one of bewilderment.
He remembered when this young woman had first come to the police station and knew nothing, but she was smart and learned quickly. He could never forget how Ge Yin, once she finally became a police chief, cried at his bedside saying she couldn't find the man who shot him.
Of course she couldn't find him.
Gordon turned his head to look at the photo on the bedside table that included four people: himself, Bruce, and Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.
He had also failed to find the killer who murdered Mr. and Mrs. Wayne back then.
All this was his own fault.
Embracing the radio once again, Gordon turned the stations with the only hand he could move, trying to listen again to the whole affair on another station's program. This was the only thing he could do lying in bed, and the only thing Bruce allowed him to do.
How could this not be considered a punishment? He hadn't been able to find the murderer of that boy's parents, and now people couldn't find the one who had hurt him, while he could only be paralyzed in bed, powerless to do anything.
With a click, the door opened, and Bruce brought in the meal, adjusted the backrest, placed the dinner plate on the small table, and let Gordon eat with the hand he could move.
The food smelled delicious, obviously carefully prepared, not just thrown together, and Bruce took very good care of him, impeccable in all aspects of daily life.
Gordon understood that this was because he had already received enough punishment. It was punishment to let someone full of justice, who had tried with all his might to turn the situation around, now lie withered in bed, listening to an increasing number of criminal incidents from the radio, one bad news after another about uncaught criminals, with only regrets and sighs to spare.
Gordon was being slowly killed by this way of life, and who did he know was the killer?
"Uncle, give me the radio, you've listened enough for today," Bruce said, bending down to take the radio from Gordon's hand, which was tightly clutching the handle of the radio.
But, after all, he was just a patient paralyzed in bed, limited in how much he could move his arm and without enough strength, so the radio was taken away, Gordon just stared blankly at Bruce.
Bruce's face, enveloped in the dim light, looked somewhat pale, showing extreme fatigue, he really had been living his best in such a life.
From the original young master to an orphan with both parents dead, having lost all property and had to start from scratch, it was like falling from Heaven to Hell, but he did not give up on himself and kept trying to live. He also took very good care of the benefactor who had adopted him.
Who could blame him?
So Gordon would never say that on the night he passed through that alley, he actually saw the silhouette of the gunman who shot him. It wasn't some ferocious thug; it was just a scrawny kid.
Clark stumbled back to the homeless shelter, but there was no place for him there anymore. He didn't want to take spots belonging to those who were truly needy, so he asked the shelter's staff where Spider Man had come from.
Spider Man had arrived in a school uniform, and the shelter staff knew which school he attended. However, since students from the school often came as volunteers, the staff found it unremarkable.
He merely cautioned Clark that it was best not to disturb Spider Man. Admittedly, there were some who were grateful here, who felt that since someone had helped them, they should try to give back in return, but such actions often didn't yield good results, as no one wanted a homeless person waiting for them at the school gate.
Fortunately, seeing that Clark looked presentable and was probably just temporarily down on his luck, the staff still gave him the school's address.
What took Spider Man ten minutes to walk, took Clark half an hour. Besides his physical condition now being no different from an ordinary human's, Batman's words kept echoing in his mind, unable to dissipate for a long time, affecting his thoughts.
Almost at the school, Clark could see the school's sign, and it was the time for school dismissal. There was a crowd at the main gate, and various vehicles picking up students obstructed the view, so Clark felt he might not be able to spot Spider Man clearly. He decided to go around to the side alley, which offered a better view.
But as soon as he made his way there, he saw a group of people rushing aggressively towards the back alley. Clark knew at a glance that there wouldn't be anything good happening, so he hurried to the back as well.
Indeed, just as he peeked around the corner, Clark saw that group cornering a slender figure against the wall, pushing and shoving, cursing and swearing.
The other party didn't seem to want to resist, just trying to escape through the gaps between the people. Clark couldn't stand by and watch this happen, so he yelled out and charged in.
That group was Thompson and Spider Man. Spider Man had no way and couldn't possibly bring Jason here. Thompson, of course, knew he couldn't do it; he didn't believe that poor Peter could command the muscled man several times. Last time was just luck for him, and this time Thompson came looking for trouble with Peter.
Knowing Peter couldn't bring the man over, he found a justified reason to bully him again. So right after class, he grabbed Peter and took him to the back of the school.
This time he wouldn't let Peter off easily, because last time the strong man truly hit him hard, and he had to pay him back with interest.
Thompson had just raised his fist to hit Peter when a muscular man pounced on him. Thinking it was the same scarred-faced man he had encountered that day, Thompson got so scared he crashed into a wall.
The impact on himself wasn't very strong; after all, Thompson was a football player. Through the strength and angle of the hit, he could gauge the other person's power and skill. Rather than saying he was knocked down, it was more accurate to say the man used his size to tackle him.
When Thompson turned his head, he saw a handsome face, but the paleness and weakness on that face were too obvious.
Where did this homeless man come from?! Thompson obviously noticed that Clark's clothes were not clean, and he was wearing the kind of shoes distributed by shelters, obviously some junkie homeless person.
Upon a closer look, wasn't this the same guy he had picked up and thrown into the trash can that morning?
Thompson immediately lost his fear; he knew that although some homeless people looked big and seemed like gang bangers, these people lived meal to meal without adequate nutrition. They might get fierce and vicious in a fight, but lacked skill and certainly were no match for him.
Thompson swung a punch and, with a bang, Clark was knocked down to the ground, but he still managed to get up. Leveraging his body size, he pinned Thompson hard against the wall.
Thompson's cronies were no pushovers, mostly fellow football team members. They rushed over and pulled Clark off, throwing him to the ground and began to pile on punches and kicks.
Spider Man was shocked as he yelled, "Clark! What are you doing here?! Run!"
The lackeys did make way at that point, so Spider Man could definitely have escaped, but he couldn't possibly leave Clark behind.
Just as he was about to go rescue Clark, Thompson blocked his path and said, clenching his fist, "Good kid, another one of your friends, huh? You think finding these losers will make me afraid of you?"
Spider-sense tingled, and Thompson's fist struck the side of Spider Man's face. Spider Man didn't have time to dodge because he was keeping an eye on Clark's situation.
This punch didn't hurt much; after gaining his mutant powers, his resistance to blows had also increased substantially. But what really enraged Spider Man was that this group continued to beat Clark while he was down on the ground.
Clark was already in bad shape, and taking such a beating could have been life-threatening. They had gone too far!
Previously, Peter didn't want to squabble with them because their bullying was mostly verbal mockery; they'd corner him against a wall but wouldn't really do anything, just push him around, laugh a bit, and at most kick him a few times as he tried to escape. But things had not escalated to bodily harm.
After being beaten up, Thompson clearly lost his cool, his blows showing no restraint, not even realizing that he might be killing someone. This had completely surpassed Spider Man's threshold of tolerance.
He took a deep breath, tried to relax his fists, and gave Thompson a light punch, all the while praying desperately that he wouldn't exert too much force. He still couldn't control it well, and the slightest misjudgment could lead to a horrific tragedy.
With a bang, Thompson was sent flying. Fortunately, he only flew a little over two meters. Although his cheekbone looked like it was shattered, at least his brain seemed to be intact, with no brain matter spilling out.
Spider Man breathed a sigh of relief, but the others were stunned. They stood there, dumbstruck, staring at Spider Man as if he were a monster.
Spider Man couldn't worry about their reactions. He quickly ran over to Clark, helped him up, and dragged him away in a panicked flight, as though he was the one who had been sent flying.
Fortunately, the cronies were all concerned about Thompson's condition, which allowed the two of them to successfully escape.
As soon as they got out, Spider Man let out a sigh of relief. He placed Clark against a wall and saw blood at the corner of his mouth, a bruise around his eye, and when he lifted his shirt, bruises from being beaten covered his body.
Spider Man was both angry and saddened, asking in frustration, "What were you thinking, coming here? Don't you know you're sick right now?"
"I just wanted to find you," Clark replied.
"Then why did you rush in?"
This question seemed to stump Clark. He stared at Spider Man, and Spider Man stared back, their eyes locking for a good thirty seconds before Clark incredulously said, "Why did I rush in? To save you, of course!"
"But you're sick yourself, you couldn't have saved me!"
"So was I supposed to just stand there and watch?!" Clark claimed in disbelief: "Are you saying that if I saw you getting bullied... no, not just you, if it was any ordinary high school kid surrounded and pushed around, insulted by a bunch of goons, I should just do nothing and stand there watching?!"
"Didn't you think about your own physical condition..."
"When would I have had the time to think about that?!" Clark raised his voice and said: "Am I supposed to witness something like that and take ten minutes to thoroughly consider my physical condition, check for any pain or discomfort, calmly analyze the likelihood of rescuing you without hurting myself and then rush to your aid?!"
Clark spoke somewhat despairingly, "Am I the one who's crazy or is it the world that's gone mad?!"