Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics

In the dense fog, a pale ambulance took another turn and shook off a legion of monsters, moving from a forest trail onto the highway.

The monsters hadn't given up the chase; the battle continued.

The pale knight settled back into the passenger seat of the ambulance, inventorying his spoils. There was no rush to disassemble the bulkier equipment. Inside the vehicle, he found many drugs, all incredibly useful for first aid—the kind that can save lives when popped at critical moments.

"How's it looking?" Bruce asked while driving.

"The haul is pretty rich," the pale knight replied. "But I still have to say, taking without asking is theft."

"You can pay for it."

"Where would I get the money?"

Bruce didn't respond. After a moment, the pale knight said in a low voice, "If I had it, I would give it. I hope to make some money before leaving this incarnation and then pay the hospital."

"You sound like a country bumpkin on his way to the big city to find work," Bruce shook his head and said, "If you're that poor, you shouldn't have to pay for medical expenses."

"You agree with that?"

"Why do you always care about opinions?" Bruce looked quite helpless, not turning his head as he gazed into the distance. "If you don't have money and can't afford medical expenses, don't worry about it, because it's not your fault."

"I'm not wallowing in self-pity. I just think it would be better to pay it back if I could," the pale knight lowered his head to look at the medication in his hands. "I don't support pharmaceutical companies charging exorbitant fees under the guise of encouraging new drug research but they know themselves, humans can't live without drugs. Even if each bottle of medicine only made a penny profit, there'd be plenty of takers."

"What did you manage to get?" Bruce turned to glance at his arms.

The pale knight seemed to think of something, shifted the medicine in his arms warily to the other side, and said, "You'd better not get any ideas about these drugs; even the lowest concentration in there could kill you."

"Fentanyl?"

"You've really tried it?!" the pale knight exclaimed, shocked.

"Misuse, misuse," Bruce said with a grin.

There was a long silence before the pale knight could only manage to say, "Drugs are bad, especially for Batman."

"I told you, I'm not Batman; and that was just a joke. Why would you think I'd stoop to using brain-damaging drugs like some poor sod?"

"You mean you have better options?"

Bruce shook his head and said, "People always say that the widespread use of drugs among the lower classes is due to a lack of willpower, otherwise, why isn't the proportion of drug users higher among the wealthy who can easily afford it?"

"In reality, if you have money, there are many ways to get dopamine, and for Batman, it's even truer. I could invest hundreds of millions of dollars to develop a machine that provides a drug-like high without harming the body, which would be the least interesting and low-level pleasure."

The pale knight looked thoughtful, but still asked, "So it sounds like you've pursued higher-level pleasures?"

"Of course. Guess how much money I have in my account now?"

"Showing off your wealth isn't interesting," the pale knight snorted coldly; he was somewhat envious because he lacked money.

It wasn't that he was personally short of money, but the city he governed was always short, Gotham was like a black hole, always needing money. Yet he was not Bruce Wayne, most of the money was robbing Peter to pay Paul, never a surplus moment.

"I've got just over 60 dollars left in my personal account."

"What?" the pale knight thought he had misheard.

"To be exact, 61.5 dollars," Bruce said with a smile. "Not enough to order a dish at a Green Street restaurant."

"You must have other accounts, right?"

"No, just this one."

"Then where did you put the money? In the company's account?"

"There's even less in the company's account," Bruce said in a relaxed tone. "If things go as they are, buying a storefront would be tough."

"You're bankrupt?" the pale knight looked at him with a hint of sympathy.

"For now, I'm managing, but if that damn redhead keeps hitting me hard, I don't know how long I can hold up," Bruce shrugged.

"But you don't seem worried at all."

"Of course not, because my assets aren't in the bank," Bruce said with a smile, looking at the pale knight. "I've revamped the entire Gotham City."

"What?" the pale knight thought there was a problem with his ears again.

"Maybe after the game is over, you can go and see for yourself," Bruce said, tilting his head toward him. "Then you'll understand what I mean."

The pale knight stared at him for a while, he looked very eager to get to the bottom of it, but in the end, he said nothing, pursing his lips and remaining silent.

He was a proud man with pride-worthy capital that let him stand tall in the face of any Batman.

But Bruce was special; he claimed he wasn't Batman; he didn't even seem like a superhero, even more like a villain than his pre-cure self.

The pale knight should have dismissed his words as the ramblings of a madman, but amidst the madness, he discerned a different kind of meaning, much like when a leaf, difficult to catch in a boisterous gust of wind, flutters before one's eyes, revealing the stunningly intricate patterns naturally etched upon its surface, making one realize he was speaking of substance, not daydreaming.

The pale knight felt he needed to give it some thought.

The car kept going, quickly leaving all the monsters behind.

Those creatures that relied on the oxygen in their lungs to breathe couldn't sustain high-speed running. In the village, where the road conditions were poor, the car could only hit sixty or seventy miles per hour, with narrow turns and multiple forks giving them the chance to chase.

But once on the highway, with the speedometer pushing 150 miles per hour, such velocity becomes like a gust of wind to any carbon-based life form—simply uncatchable.

This was still Bruce holding back for the sake of safety, not pushing the car to its top speed. The pale knight's physical condition, coupled with the type of vehicle, kept him from going all out; otherwise, reaching 180 wouldn't be an issue.

The highway at night was pitch dark, lit solely by the car's headlights. Even without hitting top speed, the roaring wind outside the window sent a shiver through the pale knight, a sensation he hadn't even felt when facing those half-human, half-fish monsters.

This world was too crazy—Batman had even resorted to kidnapping the Joker.

Under such speeds, Sigeltek, which wasn't too far to begin with, gradually came into view.

It wasn't a bustling metropolis like Gotham, far less so, comparable in size to Brude Haven, though still a modernized small city. And judging by the plane traffic, it was somewhat of a regional transportation hub.

"Are we going into the city?" asked the pale knight.

"Where else?" Bruce slowly stopped the car. In front of them was a bridge that led into the city, but he clearly had no intention of driving the ambulance over it—the vehicle's official markings were too easy to trace.

"Wait in the car for a bit and grab what you need to bring. I'll go find another vehicle."

The pale knight's lips moved, but he held his tongue. He wasn't an overly rigid or old-fashioned person. Stealing cars was a crime, true, but not a particularly heinous one. In most states, it hardly carried a sentence unless the stolen vehicle was used to commit other crimes or deliberately damaged.

After a moment, Bruce returned, his face alight with excitement. "We're in luck. This is a wealthy neighborhood, and I spotted a Dodge Ram. Let's head there now."

The pale knight raised an eyebrow. He was, indeed, a bit surprised. Their luck was good, and since they were going to steal a car, they might as well take a nice one. Dodge vehicles had decent performance, especially the engines, known for their quick acceleration.

The Dodge Ram was a pickup truck, weighing about 2.3 tons, heavy and high-torque. The one Bruce acquired was a modified version, looking even more like a violent beast.

Bruce patted the door of the truck with satisfaction. The pale knight placed the items taken from the ambulance into the back of the pickup, securing them before settling into the passenger seat.

The interior was spacious, the cushions comfortable—a world apart from the jolting ambulance. The pale knight let out a contented sigh. "I used to be quite a pickup enthusiast. I'll get one when we get back."

"If you like the big stuff, you might also consider a truck," said Bruce, expertly hot-wiring the vehicle. "Those things have real power on the road. No one dares mess with you."

"You've driven a truck before?"

"Of course, and I drove it well." Bruce said proudly, "I even held the record for the highest overload haul by a truck in Gotham for a while, though it was beaten after a week."

"What record?"

"Uh, nothing, I meant the legal cargo weight."

The truck started smoothly. For such a large vehicle with a powerful engine, it ran quietly, its wild acceleration not translating into a strong push-back sensation—it provided maximum comfort.

"Where to now?" asked the pale knight. "Maybe we should check out the Siltex Medical Insurance Company building first..."

"You're really a country bumpkin," Bruce said unsparingly. "We're already in the city. We have electricity and the internet. What can't you find online?"

"So we go online first?"

"Where do you want to go online?"

"Well, there should be some internet cafes around, right?" The pale knight wasn't too sure. Electronics like computers weren't very expensive in America, and home computers were more common, making internet cafes scarce—there might not even be one in a city.

"Even if there is an internet cafe, do you have any money?"

That did indeed stump the pale knight. Their initial gear was varied, but nobody had brought any money. Greed would have been able to withdraw cash from the bank, but he had died too early.

"So what do you plan to do?" asked the pale knight.

No sooner had he spoken than he found the truck had already stopped. Bruce got out, and the pale knight followed suit.

The parking spot was discreet, making the pale knight think Bruce worried about the truck being tracked down—after all, such a good vehicle would be hard to come by again.

They crossed the street, and Bruce quickly came to a halt. The pale knight looked up to see Bruce standing in front of a bank.

The pale knight had a bad feeling.

"Don't just stand there." Bruce jerked his head toward the bank. "This way, through the side door."

"What are you planning to do?"

"What do you think?"

Bruce snatched the rifle from the pale knight's hands, kicked open the bank's side door, and aimed the gun at the sky before pulling the trigger.

Bang!

"Good evening, Sigeltek! Everyone, hands on your heads and squat down where you are! This is a bank robbery!"