Chapter 313 – Allen Shows Off a New Invention
"How do you know all this?"
Dr. Birkin still refused to accept the truth.
Anyone would struggle to accept the idea that they might not be who they thought they were.
"The Fourth Reich, of course."
Allen sat leisurely on the medical cart, speaking bluntly: "I've had quite a few run-ins with them."
"The Facehuggers in these containers—weren't they supplied by the Weyland Corporation?"
"Yes."
Dr. Birkin nodded honestly in response, but a flicker of unease passed through his heart.
"If I'm not mistaken, they were retrieved from the pyramid beneath the Antarctic ice."
"…"
Another hit.
Dr. Birkin's eyes first widened in surprise, then dimmed.
The more accurately Allen described things, the more credible the idea that Birkin was a clone became.
"I have a question," Dr. Birkin said. "What is the Fourth Reich?"
Heh...
Allen let out a disdainful chuckle, wounding Dr. Birkin's pride.
There was no doubt now—the true higher-ups at Umbrella clearly knew all about the Fourth Reich, while he himself was completely in the dark.
"You'll have to ask your original self."
"…"
Allen wore a smug grin, clearly enjoying keeping the secret.
Naturally, the Birds of Prey were just as clueless. They'd never even heard of the Fourth Reich.
Their strength simply wasn't high enough; they were only capable of patrolling neighborhoods and cracking down on street-level crime. In larger conflicts, they were virtually useless.
At best, you could label them as neighborhood-level heroes—nowhere near the caliber of city-level ones.
Perhaps Batman or Iron Man had managed to pick up a few scraps of intel here and there, but even then, it would be nothing more than speculation. No solid proof.
Bang! Bang!
Suddenly, Dr. Birkin pulled out a pistol and decisively executed two of his assistants.
Allen was momentarily baffled.
What the hell? Just straight-up killing your own people?
"Sir, I have a rather shameful request..."
"Save it."
Allen cut him off without a hint of hesitation.
Anyone who would kill their subordinates without a word was clearly ruthless.
Trying to silence them like that—clearly he wanted to form some kind of alliance without any risk of the secret getting out.
"Sir, don't you want to take control of Umbrella? I can help you take down the Weyland Corporation," Birkin pressed on, trying to tempt him.
"I, a dazzling and peerless man who treats money like trash, would stoop to working with you?"
Allen gave a proud toss of his head, then lazily looked up at the ceiling in contempt.
Truth be told, Allen really had no concept of money. He didn't even grasp the idea of spending it.
To put it plainly, even if you gave him a huge fortune, he wouldn't know what to do with it.
If he ever did need money, he could raise a fortune through the Comedy Troupe alone—not to mention his status as a major shareholder in Stark Industries.
"What would it take for you to help me?"
Dr. Birkin sounded utterly deflated, his tone carrying a hint of desperation.
He just wanted to know the truth—whether he was truly a clone. If he was, Umbrella would never let him live. He needed a powerful backer.
And someone like Allen—strong, unpredictable—might be the only person Umbrella couldn't control.
Besides, Umbrella's internal systems were run by artificial intelligence, which could revoke his access in an instant if he displayed any abnormal behavior.
"Help you? No problem."
Allen crossed his arms, striking a righteous pose. "The Fourth Reich lurking in the shadows is far too evil. As the embodiment of comedy, I, the Comedic Bat, will not allow them to destroy this world's laughter!"
"You're the Comedic Bat!?"
Dr. Birkin's face turned pale as if he'd stumbled upon some terrifying revelation.
In contrast, only Huntress in the Birds of Prey looked shocked. The others remained composed.
Barbara had Allen's full dossier and knew all the major events he'd been part of.
Harley used to be in the Suicide Squad—she'd seen Allen take on the Dark Knights firsthand via the Watchtower.
Back in Gotham, Pamela had frequent run-ins with him and was once lucky enough to hold the title of "Poison Ivy Robin."
Huntress's shock, however, stemmed from having heard how Allen had tricked the Justice League into kneeling and swearing fealty.
Because Allen had foiled the Fourth Reich's schemes so many times, they'd naturally labeled him a top-level threat.
"That's right—it's me!"
Allen opened his arms dramatically, ready to strike a pose, only to realize he wasn't in costume. Awkwardly, he pulled his arms back and muttered, "Sorry, the Comedic Bat is currently on vacation. Right now, I'm just a mental patient."
"…"
Openly calling himself insane. Yeah, that's not a good sign.
Or maybe it was a sign his cognitive functions had already gone past the point of no return.
"Hold on a sec."
Allen turned and walked over to a metal crate, placing his hand on the surface to unlock it. He glanced back with a sly grin. "Let me show you something cool."
Hiss…
In the next second, the women blushed furiously while Dr. Birkin looked deeply embarrassed.
Allen had pulled out… a large silicone "treasure."
Tah-dah-dah-daaaah…! Behold Allen's newest major invention: the Whip of Justice Giant Treasure Dart!
Holding the Giant Treasure Dart triumphantly over his head, Allen wore a smugly proud expression.
"What the hell are you trying to do?" Barbara asked, blushing and furious.
Are you seriously insane?
Couldn't you invent something normal for once?
And the size… who the hell could handle that!?
"Good question."
Allen strode confidently over to Dr. Birkin, casually slinging an arm over his shoulder, and handed him the giant treasure while solemnly explaining, "As we all know, Umbrella's management is extremely strict. Communicating by phone just isn't viable. Plus, I never use phones. My custom-made hidden weapon uses kinetic sensors to transmit Morse code through vibrations."
You… actual genius.
The women of the Birds of Prey couldn't help but look at Allen with newfound admiration—then turned their gazes toward the now-hesitant Dr. Birkin.
"How do I use it?"
Dr. Birkin had a bad feeling, but he still held onto a shred of hope.
"Kehehehe… take a guess," Allen chuckled, giving him a suggestive look.
"Don't tell me… it goes in?" Dr. Birkin asked cautiously.
"Shame on you! Heehee~"
Allen playfully covered his face, as if genuinely embarrassed.
Dr. Birkin shuddered. He looked down at the object in his hand—his hands visibly trembling.
It was practically as thick as his forearm.
The Birds of Prey looked on with expressions that mixed glee with pity.
Thinking of how Birkin had designed the trap to capture them—and how they'd suffered because of it—any sympathy they might have felt evaporated.
One villain to deal with another.
Allen was Birkin's karma.
Seeing Birkin hesitating, Allen gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and said solemnly, "Victory demands sacrifice. You owe it to yourself to live for you for once."
"Live for myself…" Dr. Birkin's eyes gradually hardened with resolve. "I am William Birkin. I've never been a clone."
With that, he took heavy steps toward the adjacent room.
As the door closed behind him, Allen and the four women exchanged mischievous glances—then quietly pressed their ears against the door, eavesdropping with wicked delight.
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