Chapter 253: Departure, The Fifth Timeline
Global communications returned to normal.
All ten major cities in America had suffered varying degrees of damage—without exception. Most surprisingly, even Gotham had seen a number of buildings collapse.
Not long after, Wayne Enterprises suddenly announced a one-hundred-million-dollar donation to Arthur's campaign team.
This move was... quite thought-provoking.
Media outlets speculated that Arthur now had over a 60% chance of winning the election.
Honestly, at this point, it would be hard for him not to win—his competition consisted entirely of sideshow comedians. They would all bow out of the race with various excuses in due time.
Meanwhile, the three branches of the American government quickly passed legislation restricting the research and production of artificial intelligence and robotics.
Lex Luthor showed up to the hearings with his signature toilet-plunger hairstyle, sincerely admitting to technical shortcomings and expressing willingness to compensate for damages.
His courage in owning up to his mistakes—and his performance during the fight against Skynet—made it unrealistic to fully pin the blame on the LexCorp Group.
After all, the government was their only client, and even had financial stakes in the company. Luthor couldn't be expected to shoulder all the blame alone.
As for Wanda's situation, it was quietly dropped and left untried.
Tony had led the way with cash, securing forgiveness letters from the citizens of Westview. Pushing for more would've just looked bad.
Especially since Director Fury had personally applied pressure.
Plus, the Avengers had saved New York, after all.
With so many factors in play, the authorities ultimately gave up on the idea of putting Wanda on trial.
…
Inside Arkham Fortress.
Allen was gripping Lefty and Righty—his two red bats—while enjoying a full-body wash, clearly relaxed and savoring every moment.
Far away in another city, Lilith instantly felt a wave of feedback.
"Damn it, again?!"
She was in the middle of a formal meeting with the vampire princes, forced to maintain complete composure and silence.
Her mind, however, couldn't help but drift back to Allen using her two bats as bath sponges.
Those were hers…
And he had the audacity to lather his whole body with them.
Stop thinking about it. Stop now!
The more she tried to suppress the thoughts, the more vivid her imagination became.
Her flushed cheeks turned bright red, the color spreading all the way down to her neck—like a fully boiled lobster.
Don't think about it. Don't visualize it.
Damn it, what's he washing now? Why is it... tube-shaped?
The twelve vampire princes noticed the change in her demeanor. They remained composed, but their eyes said it all—they knew.
Meanwhile, Allen clamped one red bat between his legs and used the other to scrub his fingers—though it really looked like he was washing somewhere else.
"Finally, I'm pure and pristine again."
Finished with his bath, Allen dried himself off and changed into a hospital gown. He then slipped a sock over each red bat and placed them carefully inside a birdcage.
"Unita Sun Sun, I'm going home."
"Safe travels, Commander," came the reply.
Through a portal, Allen returned to his hospital room, immediately pulled out a banana and stuffed it into his mouth, curiosity guiding him toward the recreation area.
A group of criminal patients were gathered, watching news reports about various cities on the television.
Since they were essentially inmates, none of them had cell phones. TV was only allowed during rec time, so they had no clue what had been happening in the outside world.
"Green's out already?"
Allen looked around and noticed someone familiar was missing.
"She got discharged two days ago," Killer Croc answered honestly.
Last time he had provoked her, it earned him two broken arms—so now he had learned to behave.
"That's a shame."
Allen pushed up imaginary glasses and said solemnly, "She only went from a small cage to a bigger one. I'm sure she'll be back."
"Lilian said she's not staying in Gotham anymore," Killer Croc reminded him. "She wants to settle in a quiet city."
"You actually believe what women say? Wake up, simp," Allen scoffed.
"…"
Killer Croc looked stunned. He had only been trying to help—how did that make him a simp?
Whatever. In Arkham Asylum, he was probably the only actual mental patient. Everyone else here was just a criminal caught by Batman.
Back in bed, Allen lay under the covers.
He hadn't brought King Shark back—Arthur had borrowed him as a campaign mascot. Having Nanaue around made him seem more relatable to voters.
[Temporal anchor locked. Host may now initiate traversal.]
Current class options: Archer, Warrior, Necromancer.
[Friendly reminder: leveling up a fifth class has a 75% XP penalty.]
It was happening again—
The Fifth Timeline.
Allen carefully weighed the three options before ultimately choosing Warrior.
"I already have three magic-based classes. Time to go all in on physical."
Other than Rogue, his Alchemist, Priest, and Mage classes were all magic types. It was time to diversify.
In fact, this was the first time Allen had proactively chosen a class.
Congratulations, Host, you have selected Warrior.
The prompt faded, replaced by another.
Available timeline factions:
Justice Factions: Green Lantern Corps, Titan Empire, Kryptonian Civilization.
Evil Factions: Annihilation Wave, Kree Empire, The Void.
[Congratulations, Host, you have selected: The Void.]
…
The Void—largest gathering hub for interstellar hunters in the galaxy.
Here, black market goods from every corner of the universe changed hands in an instant. Unsanctioned bounty contracts could be found casually posted in taverns.
Naturally, the place was a massive moneymaker, which invited the interest of outside powers. But with one of the universe's Elders—the Collector—stationed there, no petty force dared to make a move.
Allen crept around the unfamiliar alien planet with a shifty expression.
The strange and varied aliens passing by barely spared him a glance.
After all, beauty standards varied wildly. No one made a fuss over other species' appearance or behavior—something odd might just be a racial trait.
"Shit, I can't understand a single word."
Allen cursed loudly, "Stupid author—making me learn alien languages now? Don't you know mentally ill people are under a lot of stress already? Give me a break!"
At a crossroads, Allen nervously looked around like a lunatic, searching for prey.
"Target acquired: one drunk Smurf."
He grinned as he locked onto his quarry.
The blue-skinned alien, completely plastered, staggered into a side alley—probably looking to relieve himself.
Wham!
Allen struck from behind, sending the alien sprawling.
"&￥#&￥+"
Clearly furious, the alien turned over to see a bizarrely dressed man towering over him, and immediately launched into a string of profanities.
With a flick of his sleeve, Allen unfolded a mechanical bow, nocked an arrow, and fired.
The arrow flashed into a streak of silver light.
Allen tilted his head slightly and—cool as ice—caught the arrow in his mouth.
"…"
The blue alien was dumbfounded.
As Allen slowly advanced, the blue-skinned alien panicked and started begging for mercy.
Unfortunately, they didn't share a language. After a while of fruitless squawking back and forth, the alien seemed to realize something.
He pulled out a tiny device and gestured for Allen to attach it near his ear.
"Can you understand me now?" the blue alien asked.
"I can!" Allen responded in delight.
"That's a universal translator. Considering the situation... 12 energy coins, please."