American comics: Start by copying Superman’s talents

early morning.

When Bruce opened his eyes, he was awakened by severe pain.

The numbness in my waist felt like there were insects crawling around in my bones.

White bandages were wrapped around his waist and abdomen, and Bruce stared blankly at the familiar ceiling.

He remembered that his spine was broken, and it was shattered by the mysterious man's knee.

"what should I do?"

Now that he is disabled, how can he fulfill his will? Change the city?

Bruce struggled to control his body and wanted to straighten up.

Immediately, a strange scene appeared in this room.

Although his lower back hurt as if dozens of gangsters were stabbing him with knives, he miraculously sat up.

"This is impossible."

Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly and pulled the corners of his mouth slightly, showing a suspicious look.

He is aware of his injuries and also knows Afu's abilities.

His butler did not have the ability to straighten an injured person with a broken spine.

With all options eliminated, the only thing left is the truth.

It was the mysterious masked man who saved him.

Bruce thought back to his experience in the underground maze.

Mentally and physically tortured.

But what concerned him more was the information revealed in the other party's words.

"He once said, 'You Gotham City,' which means he's not from here."

Bruce began his own reasoning.

"His physical fitness is far beyond that of ordinary people, and he has close ties with the League of Assassins."

"He mentioned the word "clown". I don't know if anyone would really call themselves a clown. Maybe Afu should be asked to investigate."

His mind was sorting through trivial matters. After taking off his identity as Batman, Bruce still didn't have a moment of leisure.

"I need a powerful set of equipment to fight against this extraordinary existence."

"at the same time."

Bruce frowned and covered his waist: "We must also put the transformation of the armor on the agenda, especially the back armor."

The feeling of having his back broken was uncomfortable, and he didn't want to experience it a second time.

"Tuk-tuk."

There was a knock on the door, and the familiar butler was still acting like an elegant British gentleman. Ah Fu was dragging some food in his hand, and his slightly old face was full of sadness.

"Master Bruce." Ah Fu sighed. He knew that Bruce was a character, and once he decided on something, he would never change it. The only thing he could do was to silently support Bruce behind his back.

"I think you need some late-night snacks to recuperate your broken spine."

Afu placed the food in front of Bruce's bed, and took out a stack of letter paper and an empty bottle from his left hand behind his back.

"I think you should know that when I found you outside the manor, these things were lying next to you."

"So, you found me at the gate of the manor."

Bruce thought thoughtfully. It seemed that what the other party said was not false. The mysterious man really didn't want him to die.

But the more this happened, the stronger the sense of urgency in Bruce's heart became.

He was afraid of meeting the other person again. If he couldn't satisfy that person, the madman might bring the whole Gotham City to play games with him.

While thinking about it, Bruce picked up the letter on the table and opened it. When his eyes scanned the contents on the letter, Bruce fell into a long silence.

"Master Bruce?"

Afu looked at Bruce, who had his head hanging down, and asked in a concerned tone, "What's wrong with you?"

"Afu." Bruce raised his head and handed the letter in his hand to his butler.

"This is an assassination list that records the dignitaries and dignitaries killed by the Court of Owls since the founding of Gotham City."

"Gotham City Deputy Sheriff Michael Davis."

"City Council Spokesperson Miguel Valdalupe."

The names of politicians popped out of Bruce's mouth one after another, and as far as he knew, the causes of death of these people were attributed to various accidents.

Michalty hanged himself in the bathroom due to too much pressure at work.

Miguel was confirmed to have been hit by a speeding unlicensed vehicle while running at night, flying several meters away and died on the spot.

What made Bruce even more chilling was that not long after these people died, new politicians quickly took their place.

This just proves a very cruel thing.

Bruce has always believed that the non-existent Court of Owls is secretly interfering with the operations of the entire city.

They eliminate dissidents and assassinate enemies, thereby growing stronger and growing barbarically on Gotham City, constantly absorbing nutrients.

Bruce looked at the bottle again, looking at the remaining transparent liquid in the bottle. He guessed that it was this kind of thing that restored his injury, although he didn't understand what it was.

Silently thinking about putting the task of studying the mysterious liquid on the agenda, Bruce, who was silent, picked up the second letter. Unexpectedly, there were only a few sentences on the paper.

"The Court of Owls is dead, this is my little gift to you."

"Signed: Unknown."

"The Court of Owls is dead?"

Bruce "chewing" on this sentence, he put down the letter, and some fragmented clues connected with each other in his head.

"The Court of Owls is dead."

"When did you die?"

He closed his eyes and recalled everything he had experienced recently, and the smart Batman quickly told Bruce the answer.

He blurted out:

"It's the group of wealthy politicians who died en masse in Wayne Tower last week."

Suddenly, a sad mood enveloped Bruce.

He stood up with difficulty. Under Afu's worried eyes, he walked to the window with the white paper and looked up at the dark night sky.

He said to the butler:

“I’ve always believed that the best way to understand a city is to get down to earth and feel the cracks in the sidewalk beneath your feet.”

“Scorching airwaves over a parking lot covered in summer heat.”

“It wasn’t until everything that happened recently that I realized how wrong I was.”

A trace of bitterness appeared on Bruce's face.

"Afu, if I could discover these things earlier..."

He didn't finish his words, but those vicissitudes of his eyes expressed Bruce's thoughts.

He thinks he's an arrogant fool.

He took all these mistakes upon himself.

How can I discover this earlier, maybe I can save everything, bring the crimes to justice, and let those innocent people live happily.

"No one can predict everything, Master Bruce."

Alfred, the old man who has accompanied Batman for a quarter of his life, walked to Bruce's side with a gentle tone. He reached out and patted the broad shoulder to encourage him: "You are always used to carrying away mistakes that do not belong to you. On yourself.”

"But sometimes, fate is like a naughty child. You can never guess what he is thinking."

"Then what should I do?" Bruce covered his cheek in pain.

He heard the old man's voice slowly ring out: "Try your best."

The dark eyes gradually brightened, and Bruce raised his head with firm eyes: "You're right, Afu."

"I need to get stronger!"

"Help me find a full-body photo of Geno Luthor."

"Also, establish an anti-"Anonymous" file plan!"

"Priority: S!"