On the other side, Glad let out a long breath only after confirming the heavy metal security door was fully locked.
His taut nerves finally eased a bit.
Leaning against the cold, damp pipe wall, he wiped the sweat from his brow.
Honestly, in that first moment, he'd believed it—maybe seventy, eighty percent.
The black-clad man who'd appeared out of nowhere had an indescribable aura, completely out of place in this world of rigid rules and cold metal.
Not to mention, he'd somehow known "Diavolo"'s real name—a name nearly erased by time.
But…
Years of surviving underground honed his instincts, making him cautious.
Pretending to be casual, he'd tossed out a few test questions about the old days.
"What did people back then do for fun in their free time?" he'd asked offhandedly.
The guy's answer had been vague, fixating on "strawberry cake is delicious."
Unconvinced, Glad pressed further, asking where an old relic called a "television" was typically kept in a home.
The man's eyes had darted, mumbling as he tried to steer the conversation toward "the world" or something grand, his evasion painfully obvious.
It was like a bucket of ice water, dousing the spark of hope in Glad's chest.
Too suspicious. Full of holes.
What if…
What if this was the Ethics Committee's latest, more advanced infiltration test?
A disguise so seemingly impossible it could shatter his defenses?
He couldn't take the risk.
Even the slightest chance could doom the entire base.
So, playing it safe, he'd buried his doubts and followed protocol, luring the man into the "safe room" designed to isolate unidentified individuals.
The room was bare but had basic life support—timed deliveries of nutrient fluid and water, enough to keep someone alive.
This way, he could return to base, report to his superiors, and let higher-ups decide what to do.
Speaking of which…
Thinking of the base, Glad's mood grew heavier. He instinctively touched the ID card in his pocket.
His mother, still lying in a hospital bed at home, flashed in his mind.
By escaping like this, she'd likely be swiftly moved to a "regulated care facility" by the Ethics bots.
Sure, they'd meet her basic needs, but those cold, mechanical places…
He shook his head hard, forcing the thought away.
Now wasn't the time to wallow in personal feelings.
Survival instincts and duty to the organization overpowered the guilt and sadness that surged up.
Glad took a deep breath, got his bearings, and navigated the labyrinthine sewers with practiced ease.
After a series of twists and turns, he reached a secluded corner, its entrance hidden by a massive, rusted filter grate.
After scanning the area with extreme caution, ensuring no one was tailing him, he tapped a seemingly corroded wall panel in a specific rhythm, then entered a long, ever-changing dynamic code into a nearly invisible sensor.
Buzz—
A soft, reassuring hum of machinery sounded.
A heavy, perfectly camouflaged metal panel slid inward, revealing a brightly lit passage filled with faint voices and the low hum of equipment.
The branch base.
A hint of relief crossed Glad's face as he stepped toward the warm light.
But…
Just as his foot was about to cross into the glow, a calm, slightly amused voice stopped him cold from behind: "All those twists and turns just to get here? Your base, huh?"
"?!"
Goosebumps raced up his spine to his scalp.
That voice?!
Glad froze, his neck turning slowly, almost mechanically, with disbelief and dread.
There, leaning casually against a thick pipe not far behind, was the black-clad man who was supposed to be locked in the so-called impregnable "wartime safe room" made of the hardest alloy.
Arms crossed, he watched Glad with a relaxed, almost playful expression.
How was this possible?!
That tiny black box…
Even small energy weapons couldn't breach it instantly.
How did he get out?! When did he get out?!
How… how was he here?!
---
Sewer Hub
Rebel Base Headquarters
Unlike the damp, dark pipelines outside, this massive underground space was brightly lit, filled with rugged but functional equipment and pipelines.
In a relatively quiet, sectioned-off command area, two figures were talking.
The young man's three distinctive golden hair loops gleamed under the lights.
He stood by a sophisticated communication console, his brows slightly furrowed.
"I sent the device through the 'channel,'" he said, his voice tinged with faint exhaustion and uncertainty. "But whether Grandpa will choose to come, I…"
He shook his head, trailing off, clearly not holding out much hope.
Asking a "past" relative for help across parallel universes sounded like pure fantasy.
"It's alright," Charles said, his soothing voice cutting through. He smiled gently from his high-tech wheelchair, his wise eyes steady.
"It's alright, Joruno."
"You successfully delivered the 'key' and our request to that parallel universe. That alone is a remarkable feat." He maneuvered his chair closer. "At the end of the day, this is just one of many contingency plans we're trying."
"We've got other backup plans in motion to draw out His Majesty, who rarely leaves the palace."
"?"
"Professor," Joruno said, his mood not lifting, his frown deepening. "Didn't I already veto Uncle Lex's plan?"
"That 'entity' he's dreaming up—its power and unpredictability are way too dangerous! One misstep, and the energy backlash could…"
He paused, his voice dropping with deep worry. "It could destroy Earth itself!"
"Easy, child," Charles said, his natural mental aura flowing like a warm stream, calming Joruno's anxiety. "I'm not talking about Lex's plan."
"I mean the backup plans Mr. Bruce Wayne recently proposed."
Hearing it was Bruce's plan, Joruno's tense shoulders visibly relaxed.
Thank goodness it wasn't his mad-scientist Uncle Lex's insane idea.
While Wayne's plans often carried high risks and costs, they were logical and typically minimized civilian casualties and disasters—within Joruno's acceptable range.
"Professor," Joruno said, his curiosity piqued, "what new plans has Mr. Wayne come up with?"
"Good question," Charles began, nodding, ready to explain.
But…
He froze mid-sentence, his wise, kind blue eyes suddenly losing focus, becoming vacant and profound.
His consciousness seemed to snap away, pulled to some distant or deeply hidden place.
The moment was so brief it was like a flicker in Joruno's vision.
Then, Charles' eyes snapped back, refocusing.
But they now held a new spark—a mix of relief and wonder. He looked at a puzzled Joruno, a slow, incredulous smile spreading across his face.
"Joruno," he said, his voice carrying a strange, rhythmic cadence, as if he'd just witnessed a small miracle.
"We don't need to activate any of Bruce's backup plans."
He paused, then spoke clearly, word by word: "Barry's Speed Force is back."
"And that man…"
"He's coming."
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