PFC Chapter 4234 Possession by Evil Spirits (4)
Chapter 4234 Possession by Evil Spirits (4)
Chapter 4234 Possession by an Evil Spirit (Part Fourteen)
This dream was exceptionally deep and exceptionally long. Bruce dreamt that he was walking through a dark passageway. Countless dark passageways led to one circular room after another, each room glowing with a faint pink hue.
Suddenly, the cries of a baby rang out. Bruce saw a baby in the center of the room, fair-skinned and very cute, but it kept crying.
Then suddenly, a giant hand appeared above the rooms and grabbed all the little pink houses. Then flames erupted from beneath their feet, as if they had fallen into hell in an instant.
Bruce felt a searing, excruciating pain. The piercing cries of the babies echoed in his mind, making him feel dizzy and torn apart, almost causing him to lose consciousness.
But Batman wasn't so easily defeated. The more this happened, the more Bruce realized that someone was trying to break his will, and he wouldn't let them succeed. So he bit his tongue hard, and the sharp pain jolted him awake.
He suddenly found himself waking up from a dream. But Kent wasn't there, and the dilapidated house wasn't there either. He was also very dry; clearly, he hadn't actually woken up. He knew he was dreaming, but he couldn't wake up.
As Bruce gradually regained consciousness, he began to look around. He found himself in a very clean house. It was a very new house, with clean white walls, high-quality wood used for the furniture, and dazzlingly shiny tiles on the walls. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, and a faint scent of lily of the valley filled the air.
Bruce sat up, feeling nothing unusual about himself. On the contrary, he felt powerful, energetic, and even somewhat excited.
But this immediately put Bruce on alert. In order to hone his ability to cope with various dangerous environments, Bruce tried almost every stimulant in the world, and repeatedly, to find out the different ways each stimulant stimulated his body, so that if he found himself in any uncontrollable state of excitement, he could quickly determine which one he had been under.
Exceptional talent combined with relentless hard work has honed Batman into a near-perfect being. Just like now, Bruce immediately realized that this excitement wasn't something he was generating himself; it must be related to the fragrance he had just smelled.
He immediately rushed to the window and opened it. However, he didn't get any fresh air; the faint fragrance still lingered in the air outside. He then realized that ventilation wouldn't solve the problem.
Bruce took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly. This was an ability he had learned in his previous training: when external stimuli caused excessive dopamine secretion, he could manually reduce his body's natural dopamine secretion through meditation, even to a dangerous level close to severe somatization. This could almost balance the euphoria brought about by all drugs except for strong neurostimulants, including most drugs known to the public.
People often ask why villains like the Joker don't try to inject Batman with drugs. They had many opportunities, even Hugo, who controlled Batman back then. The answer is: they may have tried, but it didn't work.
The hardest part of drug withdrawal is the psychological withdrawal, because drugs disrupt the body's dopamine secretion mechanism, leading to a series of chain reactions. But Batman has long since developed countermeasures to prevent this, so the drug only causes him physical harm. And because he's rich, some of the physical harm can be alleviated with other medications.
This time was no different. Bruce immediately suppressed dopamine secretion by regulating his emotions, and the excessive excitement of being overly alert vanished instantly, returning him to normal.
Just then, the door suddenly opened. Standing outside was Aunt Kane—a younger version of Aunt Kane.
Aunt Kane was very beautiful. She had shiny blonde hair, amber eyes, fair skin, and a healthy complexion. She looked stunning in a bohemian dress.
“You’re awake,” Aunt Kane said to him. “You young people are really something, why don’t you drive a car instead of riding a motorcycle? I was terrified when I found you in the ditch on the country road. Here, have some hot water.”
Bruce remained silent, his face expressionless. He didn't believe a word they said. If this was a carefully laid trap, he could only conclude that their skill was utterly clumsy. If they hadn't given him the drugs beforehand, he might have been a little suspicious, but to inject someone with stimulants right off the bat—no one would believe a word they said.
"Thank you. Where is my companion?"
"Companions? What companions? Have you lost your mind?" Aunt Kane said in surprise. "Could this be a murder? But you were the only one in the ditch. Who were you with?"
“It’s nothing,” Bruce said without even looking at her. “I probably had a concussion and was hallucinating.”
“It’s alright,” Aunt Kane suddenly sat down next to Bruce. Bruce smelled that faint fragrance on her too, so he began to adjust his breathing to prevent himself from inhaling too much.
“You’re so handsome,” Aunt Kane suddenly said.
Bruce glanced away slightly. The infatuation in Aunt Kane's eyes couldn't be more obvious. But Bruce ignored it. From birth, almost everyone had looked at him like that. Not just ordinary people, but celebrities from all walks of life—who wouldn't envy, be jealous of, and resent Wayne?
Suppressing his emotions, Bruce didn't have time to act like a playboy. He sat there with a cold face, which only added a touch of ancient Greek melancholy to his already handsome face.
Aunt Kane placed her hand on his shoulder, and Bruce instinctively slapped it away. Aunt Kane seemed to realize her lapse in manners; she stood up and said, "Alright, sir, shouldn't you tell me your name?"
“Wayne,” Bruce said casually. Since nobody in the world knew about the Wayne Enterprises anyway, it didn’t matter if he used his real name.
"Okay, Mr. Wayne. I'm downstairs. Call me if you need anything."
“Wait,” Bruce suddenly called out to her, “you found me overturned in the ditch and then took me home. I told you I had a concussion, and you'd rather seduce a patient like that than take me to the hospital?”
To his surprise, Aunt Kane looked bewildered. She said, "A hospital? What's a hospital?"
Bruce immediately narrowed his eyes. He said, "You don't know what a hospital is? What will you do if you get sick?"
“If you’re sick, just rest,” Aunt Kane said. “We’ll pray at home, and you’ll get better quickly. By the way, you don’t know how to pray yet, do you? Let me teach you…”
“Thank you, but no need,” Bruce said.
"What? How can you not use it? Didn't you say you had a concussion? You said you'd be fine after just a few prayers."
Bruce shook his head. As he turned his head, he glanced at the teacup on the table next to him and paused, momentarily stunned. Aunt Kane had simply brought him plain hot water.
Bruce, unconvinced, even picked up the cup and smelled it, confirming there was indeed no aroma of tea or coffee. He even risked taking a sip, identifying it as pure boiled tap water.
"Do you have coffee?" Bruce asked casually, finding it odd. Aunt Kane gave him that blank look again.
"Coffee? What is coffee?"
"Tea?"
"Tea? What's tea? You mean the alphabet?"
Bruce immediately realized something was off about this place. It was one thing to be unaware of hospitals—after all, modern hospitals haven't been around for very long—but tea and coffee were a different story. These two things had a long and rich history in Western culture; even a three-year-old knew them. Was Aunt Kane unaware, or was she playing dumb?
But judging from her bewildered expression, it seemed she genuinely didn't know, which made it even stranger. This kind of memory loss seemed very much like it was intentional.
"Do you know anything about 'medicine'?"
"what is that?"
What about 'treatment'?
"Of course you need treatment, I know. That's why I wanted you to come and pray, so you'll get better soon."
Bruce understood immediately. In this world, all words related to hospitals had been replaced with prayer. Medicine meant prayer, and healing was done through prayer. But the question was, did this prayer really work?
Bruce wanted to know, but he hesitated to try. After all, following along in prayer might cause problems, so he said, "I feel much better. Can I go downstairs for a walk?"
"Of course. You are free. I'm leaving now."
If she hadn't said those words, Bruce wouldn't have thought anything of it, but as soon as she did, his vigilance immediately spiked.
As we all know, the most sophisticated form of manipulation is not restricting freedom, but rather making you feel free. You can make the choices you want at will, but in reality, all choices ultimately point to the same point. And this kind of shoddy freedom is most likely to numb people.
If a young person, unaware that the air quality might be problematic and lacking social experience, were to hear that there were no restrictions on movement, they might actually think that this was the real world and that the strange situation they experienced earlier was just a dream.
However, Bruce certainly wouldn't think that way. On one hand, he's a player, his health bar still above his head; on the other hand, as mentioned before, the trap's mastermind was too rudimentary. Even a slightly smarter person, or someone with similar experience, wouldn't be fooled by such a method. Trying to fool the battle-hardened Batman—taking a class with the Joker would be a masterclass; I suggest turning left and finding Amanda.
Downstairs, Bruce saw another young and beautiful girl, who looked about fifteen or sixteen years old. She was blonde like Aunt Kane, but looked completely different from Linda. She was much prettier than Linda, but she also had a simple and honest air about her.
“Oh, so you’re the weirdo my mom picked up,” she said. “My goodness, you’re so handsome, better looking than the most handsome young man in town. May I know your name?”
"Bruce Wayne. And you?"
"Patrie Farmiro."
“Familo?” Bruce frowned. “Where’s your mother?”
“Katherine Kane, oh, now she should be called Katherine Famillo,” the girl said shyly. “Wayne is a really nice surname.”
Bruce understood the implication, but he ignored it and asked instead, "What's your nickname? Linda?"
“Linda? Of course not. How could Patrice’s nickname be Linda? My nickname is Lily. Of course, only close people call me that.”
"Okay, Lily, could I have a cup of coffee?"
"Coffee? What is coffee?"