This time, the dream was unusually deep and long. Bruce dreamed he was always traveling through a dark passage. Countless dark passages lead to one round room after another, each room tinged with a faint pink.
Suddenly, the crying of a baby rang out one after another. Bruce saw a baby appear in the center of the room, very cute with pale white skin, but it kept crying.
Then suddenly, a huge hand appeared above these rooms and grabbed all the pink little houses. Then flames ignited beneath their feet, as if falling into hell in an instant.
Bruce felt the heart-wrenching pain of being scorched. The sharp cries of those babies lingered in his mind, making his whole being daze and tear, almost losing consciousness.
But Batman isn't so easily defeated. The more it was like this, the more Bruce understood someone was trying to break his will, and he wouldn't let them succeed. So he bit his tongue hard, the intense pain waking him up.
He suddenly realized he had woken from the dream. But, there was no Kent, no broken house. His body had become very dry, clearly indicating he hadn't actually woken. He knew he was dreaming, but he simply couldn't wake up.
As consciousness gradually returned, Bruce began to survey the surroundings. He found himself in a very tidy room. This was a very new house, the walls painted pristine white, the wood used for the furniture appeared high-quality, the tiles inset in the walls were so shiny they dazzled the eyes, the curtains gently swayed in a light breeze, and the air carried a faint scent of lilies.
Bruce sat up, feeling nothing unusual about his body. On the contrary, he felt full of strength, lively, even somewhat excited.
But this immediately made Bruce cautious. In order to train his ability to cope in various sinister environments, Bruce tried almost all stimulants in the world, repeatedly trying them, identifying the different effects of each stimulant on the body, so that upon discovering any uncontrolled excitement, he could quickly determine exactly what had taken hold of him.
The perfect talent coupled with diligent effort had honed Batman into virtually a perfect persona. Just like now, Bruce instantly realized this excitement was definitely not self-generated but had to be associated with the fragrance he'd smelled earlier.
He dashed to the window, opening it. Yet, he didn't breathe in fresh air; the outside air still carried that faint scent. So he understood that ventilation wouldn't solve the problem.
Bruce took a deep breath, forcibly closing his eyes. This was also a capability he acquired through past exercises: when external stimulation leads to excessive dopamine secretion, he can manually lower his body's natural dopamine secretion through meditation, almost reducing it to a dangerously somaticized level, nearly able to neutralize the euphoria brought by all drugs except strong nervous stimulants, including most drugs known by the public.
People often ask why villains like the Joker wouldn't try to inject Batman with drugs, causing him to become addicted. They had many opportunities, even including Hugo who once controlled Batman. And the answer is: they likely tried, but it was useless.
The hardest part of drug addiction to overcome is psychological restraint because this thing destroys the body's natural dopamine secretion mechanism, causing a series of chain reactions. But to prevent this, Batman had long developed strategies to tackle it, making such things only cause physical harm to him. And because he's wealthy, most physical injuries can be mitigated with other medications.
This time was no exception. Bruce immediately regulated his mood to suppress dopamine secretion, that excessive clarity and excitement instantly vanished, and he returned to normal.
At that moment, the door suddenly opened. Standing outside was Aunt Kane—the young version of Aunt Kane.
Aunt Kane was beautiful. She had shiny blonde hair, amber eyes, fair skin, looking very healthy, wearing a Bohemian-style dress, charming in appearance.
"You're awake," Aunt Kane said to him, "You young people nowadays, you don't drive nice cars, you insist on riding motorcycles. I was almost scared to death when I found you in the ditch on the country road. Come, have some hot water."
Bruce kept a stern face, not speaking. He didn't believe a word of it. If this was a meticulously crafted trap by someone, all he could say was that their level was simply too clumsy. If they hadn't drugged him immediately, he might have been suspicious for a moment, but injecting a stimulant right away, only a fool would believe them.
"Thanks. What about my companion?"
"Companion? What companion? Did you get a concussion?" Aunt Kane said, somewhat surprised, "Was this an attempted murder? But there was only you in the ditch at the time. Who did you come with?"
"Never mind," Bruce said without even looking at her, "I might have a concussion, experiencing some hallucinations."
"Don't worry," Aunt Kane suddenly sat next to Bruce. Bruce could smell that faint fragrance on her, so he began adjusting his breathing rate to prevent inhaling too much of the scent.
"You're really handsome," Aunt Kane said suddenly.
Bruce slightly glanced away. The infatuation in Aunt Kane's eyes was clear as day. But Bruce ignored it. From birth, almost everyone looked at him this way, not just ordinary people, but celebrities from various fields; who wouldn't feel envy or jealousy toward Wayne?
In trying to suppress his emotions, Bruce didn't have the time to act like a playboy. He sat coldly in place, but it added even more of a melancholic Ancient Greek aura to his already handsome face.
Aunt Kane's hand rested on his shoulder, Bruce instinctively brushed it off. Aunt Kane seemed to realize her impertinence; she stood and said, "Alright. Sir, shouldn't you tell me your name?"
"Wayne," Bruce said casually. Anyway, no one in this world knew Wayne Enterprises, so using his real name didn't matter.
"Alright, Mr. Wayne. I'm just downstairs, call if you need anything."
"Wait," Bruce suddenly stopped her, then said, "You found me crashing in the ditch, took me home, I told you I might have a concussion, and rather than taking me to a hospital, you'd rather seduce a patient like this?"
To his surprise, Aunt Kane showed a bewildered expression. She said, "Hospital? What's a hospital?"
Bruce immediately narrowed his eyes. He said, "You don't know what a hospital is? What do you do when you get sick?"
"If you're sick, just rest," Aunt Kane said. "We will pray at home, and then you'll get well soon. By the way, you don't know how to pray, do you? Let me teach you..."
"No, thank you," Bruce said.
"What? How can you say no? Didn't you mention you have some kind of concussion? Just say a few prayers and it'll be better."
Bruce shook his head. When he looked around, he noticed the teacup placed on the table next to him and paused for a moment. What Aunt Kane had brought him was purely hot water.
Bruce, not believing in such superstitions, picked up the cup to sniff it. Indeed, there was no scent of tea or coffee. He even ventured a sip, confirming it to be plain boiled tap water.
"Do you have coffee?" Bruce felt puzzled and asked casually. Aunt Kane gave him a bewildered look in response.
"Coffee? What's coffee?"
"Tea?"
"Tea? What's tea? Do you mean letters?"
Bruce immediately realized there was something strange about this place. It's one thing not to know about hospitals, given that the development of modern hospitals hasn't been long, but tea and coffee are different. These two things have a long-standing history in European and American culture, and even a three-year-old knows them. Is Aunt Kane really unaware, or is she just pretending here?
However, seeing her confused expression, it seemed she genuinely didn't know, which made it even stranger. This kind of memory lapse seems very much artificial.
"Do you know what 'medicine' is?"
"What's that?"
"'Healing'?"
"Of course, you need healing, I know. That's why I want you to pray, so you'll recover quickly."
Bruce immediately understood. In this world, all terms related to hospitals have been replaced with prayer. Medicine means prayer, and curing illness is also about prayer. But the question is, does this prayer actually work?
Bruce wanted to know, but he didn't dare to try easily. After all, if he followed along with the prayers, something might go wrong, so he said, "I feel much better. Can I go downstairs for a walk?"
"Of course. You are free. I'll leave now."
If she hadn't said that, Bruce wouldn't have thought much of it, but her saying it immediately heightened his vigilance.
It's well known that the highest level of manipulation isn't restricting freedom; it's precisely making you feel like you're free. You can freely make the choices you wish, but in reality, all choices ultimately lead to one point. This kind of fake freedom is what most easily numbs people.
If it were someone unaware, perhaps there was something wrong with the air, or a young person with little social experience, they might think this is indeed the real world upon hearing there are no movement restrictions, and the previous strange situation was just a dream.
However, Bruce, of course, wouldn't think this way. On the one hand, he is a player, with the health bar still hovering above his head; on the other hand, as the saying goes, the planner of this trap is too amateurish. This trick wouldn't even fool a clever person or someone with similar experiences, let alone the battle-hardened Batman—it's like signing up for a Joker's workshop as a master class; my suggestion is to turn left at the exit to find Amanda.
Once downstairs, Bruce saw another young and beautiful girl, seemingly aged fifteen or sixteen. Like Aunt Kane, she had blonde hair, but she looked completely different from Linda, much more beautiful than Linda, yet exuding a simple aura.
"Oh, you're the strange person my mom brought home," she said, "Wow, you're really handsome, better-looking than the most dashing guy in our town. Can I know your name?"
"Bruce Wayne. And you?"
"Patricia Familo."
"Familo?" Bruce frowned, "Where's your mom?"
"Catherine Kane, oh, she should be called Catherine Familo now." The girl seemed a bit shy, "Wayne is indeed a really nice surname."
Bruce certainly understood the other's hint, but he didn't want to bother and instead asked, "What's your nickname? Is it Linda?"
"Linda? Of course not. How could Patricia's nickname be Linda? My pet name is Lily. Of course, only close people call me that."
"Alright, Lily, could you get me a cup of coffee?"
"Coffee? What's coffee?"