"Master Bruce! Please stop—you're going to kill yourself!"
Alfred's voice echoed through the Batcave, panic lacing every syllable. He rushed toward Bruce, who was swinging a sledgehammer with terrifying force against a reinforced tire.
But then… Alfred froze mid-step.
Because right in front of him, Bruce's chest—where a gaping wound had once torn through his heart—was completely healed.
No scar.
No bandage.
Nothing.
"What… what in the world?" Alfred blinked, dumbfounded. He remembered wrapping that very wound himself just hours ago. It had been huge, at least ten centimeters across, with shredded tissue. Fatal. Undeniably fatal.
And now?
It was like it had never existed.
"Master Bruce, what exactly is going on?" Alfred asked, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.
Bruce dropped the hammer, letting it thud against the cave floor. His chest rose and fell steadily. His breathing was calm, controlled. But his eyes… his eyes were heavy with something deeper.
"I died, Alfred," Bruce said softly.
"…Come again?"
"I'm serious." Bruce's expression didn't change. "I actually died."
Alfred just stared at him, unable to formulate a response.
"I know how it sounds. I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't seen it myself," Bruce continued. "But I was standing right there—my soul. Watching you bring that man… Shawn… to my body."
Alfred swallowed, processing the words slowly.
"He just… reached into my chest," Bruce continued, his voice haunted. "Looked me in the eye and asked: How do you want to live?"
"I was dead, Alfred. Gone. And then—he gave me two options. I chose the second."
Alfred stepped back slowly. "And now?"
Bruce looked down at his chest, placing a hand where the wound used to be. "Now I'm… this."
He looked up again. "Stronger. Faster. More alive than I've ever felt."
"But…" he paused, voice growing grim, "that man… Shawn. He's not normal."
Alfred shook his head. "After what you just told me, I don't think anyone would argue with that."
Bruce's voice dropped to a whisper. "He saw me, Alfred. Saw my soul. Spoke to me. And somehow—he brought me back."
He didn't say it aloud, but a thought echoed in both their minds: What kind of power does it take to defy death itself?
After a long silence, Alfred finally exhaled.
"But he saved you," Alfred said, stepping forward. "Whatever he is… he brought you back."
Bruce nodded slowly.
"You're right. And I need to thank him personally."
Meanwhile…
Shawn was cruising down the streets of Gotham in a candy-red supercar, the engine purring like a satisfied panther. The luxury machine had come courtesy of Bruce Wayne—technically as a parting gift, but Shawn accepted it like a war prize.
Suddenly, the system pinged in his head.
Ding! Mission Complete: Resurrection of Bruce Wayne.
Reward: +1 Lucky Draw, +10,000 System Points.
Nice.
That made two lottery chances stored up.
Still, Shawn didn't rush to use them. He had something more pressing to handle.
Up ahead, he spotted Selina locking the clinic door. She seemed ready to head out, though notably, Harley was nowhere in sight.
Shawn pulled up and lowered the window. "Need a ride, gorgeous?"
Selina turned—and her eyes nearly bugged out.
"Boss?! Is that—wait a minute—did you steal Bruce Wayne's sports car?!"
Shawn choked on air.
"What?! It was a gift!"
Selina narrowed her eyes. "Right. A gift. From a billionaire who doesn't know you. Totally believable."
"Get in the car before I leave you on the sidewalk."
With a playful smirk, she opened the passenger door and slid in.
As they pulled away, Shawn glanced at her. "Where's Harley?"
"She had to head home—something about checking in with her landlord."
Shawn nodded. "Good. That works out. I need you with me tomorrow."
"Oh?" Selina raised a brow. "For what?"
"You'll see when we get there."
Selina's eyes narrowed. "Every time you say that, things explode."
Shawn smirked but didn't answer. He had already accepted a mission involving the Rat Talisman—a powerful artifact he suspected would appear at an underground auction. He didn't need Selina to fight.
He needed her for something else.
Selina eyed him sideways. "Boss… you're not trying to pick me up, are you?"
Shawn nearly swerved off the road.
"Excuse me?!"
"I mean, it's just the two of us now," Selina said with mock seriousness. "Fancy car, mysterious destination… are you trying to seduce me or something?"
"I—what—no!" Shawn rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Can you not start drama in a supercar? I brought you because I need backup at an auction."
"Oh." Selina paused. "So… you want me to steal something?"
Shawn groaned.
"No! We're going to buy it. With actual money. Like civilized people."
Selina folded her arms. "You, Mr. 'Devil of the Moon', buying things legally? Color me surprised."
Shawn glared. "Do I look like someone who needs to steal? I have ten million dollars and a demon savings account. Behave, or I'll toss the check at your face."
Selina chuckled. "Okay, okay. Keep your devil coins. I'll be good."
The next morning…
Shawn and Selina set out bright and early, heading through several districts until they reached a shady part of town well off Gotham's beaten path.
The so-called "auction house" looked more like an abandoned furniture warehouse. The walls were crumbling. Weeds grew through the cracks in the floor. A rusted "No Trespassing" sign barely clung to the chain-link fence.
Selina stared at the place, then looked at Shawn like he'd lost his mind.
"This is your 'high-level auction'?"
Shawn stepped out of the car and adjusted his coat. "Trust me. What's valuable isn't always stored in marble halls."
She followed him reluctantly.
Nearby, stacks of second-hand chairs, broken filing cabinets, and cracked coffee tables lay in unceremonious heaps. A makeshift entrance had been cut into one side of the building, guarded by two massive men in trench coats.
"Name?" one of them asked.
"Shawn," he said. "Invited by a man called Chan."
The guard checked a clipboard, then nodded. "Room three. Don't cause trouble."
They stepped inside.
To Selina's shock, the interior looked nothing like the outside.
Elegant lighting. Display cases. Catalogs and registration booths. Black market dealers mingled with corporate buyers, each dressed to kill—sometimes literally.
Selina leaned in and whispered, "Okay. You win. This is real."
Shawn smirked. "Told you."
"And the Rat Talisman…?"
Shawn's expression darkened. "If the rumors are true—it'll be sold tonight."
Selina nodded, suddenly serious.
"Well then," she said, "let's make sure we're the highest bidders."
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