During Bruce's journey to train himself to become Batman, he traveled all over the world, learning skills from many people.
He discovered that in different cultures, humans have similar views about the heart, often seeing it as the place where emotions are stored.
Whenever people talk about how sincere an emotion is, they always clutch their chest and say it's 'from the heart'.
Though, from a certain perspective, this indeed has some scientific basis.
Emotions like happiness, joy, and tension, when they erupt, require the heart to supply more blood to the brain, obvious enough for people to feel their heartbeat.
Fear is no different.
When people face guns, they always like to protect their chest rather than other equally lethal weak points like the throat or nerves.
Just like that night in the alley, when that man pulled out a gun, Bruce remembered his father's hand was covering his small chest, like an extra rib, filling the gap in front of his chest.
The gun fired, and Bruce thought he was surely hit, so his heartbeat stopped.
But it only stopped for a moment, and after the gunshot, his father's hand was gone.
Bruce's heart started beating faster, fear beneath the bat wings captured him, and the world was different from then on.
He felt that his entire life had slipped away in that moment of his heartbeat stopping.
"Young Master, he's dead."
Alfred was dressed like a doctor, and the Joker was already placed on the Final Machine. Just the computer-controlled mechanical arms weren't enough, so Ah Fu also had to don a sterile gown upon Bruce's request, trying to snatch the Joker back from death.
"No, he can endure it, he has the Dionysus Factor, he won't die."
Batman locked himself in a nearby darkness, a multitude of syringes injecting colorful liquids into his body.
Those were antidotes to Laughing Gas, over a dozen kinds.
All he could feel was madness spreading like wild grass in his heart at a terrifying speed; a bizarre smile involuntarily appeared on his face.
Ah Fu's hand holding the laser scalpel trembled for a moment; he wasn't used to hearing such a mocking tone from the Young Master.
"Forgive me for saying, Young Master, the Dionysus Factor is not some life-saving Divine Artifact. The Joker's brainwaves have disappeared, his body temperature has dropped to the Bat Cave's room temperature of twenty-two degrees, he's even lost control..."
"I said he can endure it, save him," Batman replied with a smile.
"His thoracic cavity is full of toxic blood. Damn, I can't see anything clearly. Even if the Midnite Strange Doctor were here, he couldn't save a dead filter jar."
Ah Fu squinted his eyes, trying to discern the scene of crimson before him, but long-term exposure to toxins had rendered the Joker's internal organs in an eerie pathological state.
His abnormalities not only reflected in his internal organs; this lunatic's brain scan showed his skull filled with the left brain, and the right brain shrunk to the size of a walnut, encased entirely by the left brain, like ice cream wrapped in chocolate puff pastry.
If an ordinary person's physical condition were like the Joker's, they might not even be able to muster a silly grin, let alone wreak havoc in Gotham.
"Then start the suction machine to draw blood; you can pretend to be the Midnite Strange Doctor." Bruce's answer was still simple.
"Right time, wrong person." Ah Fu retorted, confident in his medical skills but acknowledging the gap between him and the best doctors: "This is a corpse, I can't do it."
"Hurry, draw the blood! Alfred! You're wasting time!"
"...Alright, I'll listen to you, Young Master, but I still have a suggestion: if you want him to resurrect, it's best to find a Mage. If you want him not to look too horrific when buried, now is the time to find a Priest to take over my work."
"Or I could get a Mummy Maker, take out his internal organs, put them in jars, put the body in a cat-shaped Golden Coffin for exhibition in the Bat Cave, hehe..." Strange murmuring came softly from behind.
"Sorry, what did the Young Master just say?" Ah Fu was stunned.
"No, Ah Fu, I..." Batman regained his composure, biting his own tongue.
"Don't say anymore, Young Master; those antidotes aren't working, am I right?" Ah Fu turned around, looking at Batman full of syringes in the darkness.
"...Sorry, it's very difficult for me to control my emotions and thoughts now; they're too active...the antidotes work, I used all types at hand, which probably extends my madness by a week."
Batman replied in his usual tone, earnestly answering the butler's question.
Ah Fu widened his mouth, showing a disconcerted expression for the first time: "Considering your habits, this date should be exaggerated several times. Tell me honestly, Bruce, who will bathe in the sunlight at dawn, you or the Joker?!"
"...."
Batman remained silent; he truly did not know the answer anymore, and Ah Fu was not a bit wrong. The antidotes were meant to counteract Laughing Gas, but for the Joker Poison... they had no effect.
He could control himself from bursting into laughter and dancing on the Joker's corpse solely through willpower restraint.
But how long this restraint could last, he was unsure.
"I'm fine now, save him first. I know you wish him dead, but you can't kill him. We currently face a more severe situation, to defeat the Laughing Bat, we don't need a madman's help, but to uphold our core, do not kill, just let them feel fear."
"Alright, I'll try again, Final Machine, shock defibrillation."
Ah Fu turned away and closed his eyes; Bruce was already mad, because he was asking him to save a cold corpse.
Bruce simply wished the Joker alive, so in his heart, there was always hope for life for the Joker, emphasizing the no-kill principle, speaking more to himself.
He feared forgetting this point.
Can the dead be resurrected through surgery? Clearly not. If Alfred had such medical skills, he would have chosen to save Selena first, rather than this Joker who died with a laugh and wide-open eyes.
Paranoia and madness, these dark traits have infinitely expanded in the young master's body. No matter who it is, someone please help him.
The old butler's prayers seemed to be answered, as a writhing doorway appeared out of thin air under the shadowless lamp not far from the operating table.
It quivered rapidly a few times, squeezed out a few people from within.
Leading them was that black and yellow armor; a streak of red light shone in the darkness like ghost fire, followed by the golden Fire God Sword and the Trident emitting a blue glow.
"The Justice League is here, young master." Alfred breathed a sigh of relief; he could finally find a chance to free himself from this hopeless task.
"That's Deathstroke, not a member of the Justice League." Batman said ambiguously in the dark, biting his fist, feeling an impulse to join Deathstroke in a stage play.
But he forcibly suppressed this idea because it was completely unreasonable.
He just didn't know how much longer he could maintain such judgment; his vision was already beginning to blur.
Alfred cast an apologetic glance at Su Ming. In the old butler's view, although this Deathstroke disguised himself with various excuses, his actions were undoubtedly all for the continuation of the world.
Such a person could be called a hero, albeit a hero in the dark, not to be understood by others.
Many people saw Deathstroke's cunning and greed but did not see his original intention, forgetting that all Deathstroke had achieved was meaningful only as long as the world still existed.
He and Batman both chose the path of order, although their methods were different, they were both on a misunderstood and tragic journey. He just had fewer self-imposed restrictions, appearing a bit more optimistic.
"Step aside, let me take a look."
At this moment, Alfred heard a familiar voice. Although he hadn't heard it for decades, he could never forget it.
From the darkness behind Deathstroke and the others, another Batman emerged from the doorway. His shoulder pads curved upwards like horns, and on his chest was the bat emblem over the rising sun, with terror-inducing red light shining from his goggles.
However, Alfred was not afraid. On the contrary, he was somewhat excited. Someone who could act with the Justice League couldn't be a bad person, could they...?
"Master Thomas, is that you?"
Thomas pushed back his mask, revealing an aged yet gentle face. His snow-white hair and beard did not obscure his appearance. Though decades had brought many changes, Alfred could certainly recognize him.
"Long time no see, old friend. I've heard about your affairs. You've been through a lot these years."
"No, it's what I should do. Oh my god, am I dreaming? Master, this is really...
Alfred, somewhat incoherent, dropped the scalpel. Amidst a series of misfortunes, the one joyous thing appeared—Thomas Wayne, the Wayne Clan leader who had been dead for decades, was back!
Thomas placed his hand on the Joker's neck, then turned to look at the equipment readings beside him, and the smile on his face disappeared.
"He's dead, the body is already stiff."
Alfred wiped his tears and nodded, "Yes, I know, but Bruce insisted on saving him."
"He had you try to resuscitate a corpse?"
Thomas searched through the darkness for his son. He had imagined what his son would be like grown up, what their meeting would be like.
Never did he imagine it would be like this.
"Uh, some things are hard to explain, uh, Young Master Bruce, aren't you going to speak with your father?" Alfred organized his thoughts, awkwardly steering the conversation in a more normal direction.
Watching the three interact, Su Ming discreetly pulled Arthur and Diana back a few steps, whispering to Diana, "Uh-oh, looks like someone's in trouble."
"???", Diana's beautiful face showed a puzzled expression.
Green Arrow had long backed up to the wall, combining the previous lies from Deathstroke, he knew how Thomas would react upon seeing this scene.
Better keep some distance to avoid getting sprayed with blood later. An archer should elegantly keep the three warriors in front.
Oh right, he forgot he was the boss spending money, uh.
Bruce emerged from the darkness, completely stunned, even suspecting he was hallucinating.
But seeing Alfred and his father interacting, and Barry beside him narrating the previous actions of the others, Bruce knew this was truly his father. The Flash's character was trustworthy, and no one else could impersonate the Divine Speed Force.
He had received letters from his father, knowing that in that wrong timeline, it was himself who died and his father became Batman.
But none of that mattered now; his father, in good health, was alive and standing right before him.
Though it wasn't the best time, with Earth still facing many troubles, seeing him just once removed any regrets for Batman.
"I..."
"I'm your father!"
Just as Bruce was about to say something, Thomas abruptly leaped across the Joker's operating table, punching Bruce in the chin.
Bruce's feet left the ground like a rocket launch, the heavy uppercut sending him spiraling high, crashing into the instruments behind with a clatter.
Diana, standing beside Su Ming and involuntarily cringing at the sight, shrugged as if to say: 'See, I knew this would happen'.