"It looks like you've run into some trouble, more than just a hundred dollars' worth of trouble."
Seeing Thomas's embarrassed expression, Peter shrugged, "If you don't mind, you can tell us about your trouble. Perhaps we can help."
"No, sir, I just... I just want to borrow another hundred dollars from you. I will pay you back ten thousand dollars."
Thomas hesitated for a few seconds, but ultimately refused Peter.
"You don't seem to know the dangers of society yet, Thomas."
Peter slowly walked over to him, "Look at this street."
He gestured casually to two young men smoking on a street corner, "Those two guys are discussing where to rob someone tonight, or where to deal with some clueless homeless people."
"This city is full of such evil. They are carnivorous Raiders, and people like you, in their eyes, are harmless herbivores. If you have even one dollar, they will snatch it from you."
Peter said, glancing at the other party's bruised eye socket, "I guess the hundred dollars I gave you earlier was taken by them, right?"
Thomas, under Peter's seemingly penetrating gaze, rubbed his temple unnaturally.
His bruised eyes ached, making him irritable, and Peter's gaze made his mind restless.
Peter casually pulled out a "franklin" from his wallet and handed it to the other party.
"You can take it now, but you can also tell me about your little trouble, Thomas. How do you choose?"
"I…"
Thomas bit his lip, looked up at Peter's meaningful gaze, and then looked at the two guys at the other end of the street.
The two drunken men kept glancing over here, intentionally or unintentionally.
"Maybe…"
Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes suddenly becoming firm, and said to Peter, "Mr. Patrick, perhaps we can make a deal."
"Oh? What kind of deal?"
Peter became very interested in this young man who exuded the aura of a little adult in every gesture.
"I can buy this bar and give it to you!"
He pointed to a bar in front of them and said, startling everyone.
"I mean not now, I'll buy it later, but Mr. Patrick, you must help me with one thing."
Peter and Martian Manhunter exchanged glances.
Thomas continued, "A group of robbers stole my watch. If you help me get it back, I'll give you the bar, sir."
"Sounds like a fair deal, but why would I believe you?"
Thomas said confidently, "Because you will believe me, Mr. Patrick. From the moment you lent me a hundred dollars, you chose to believe me. Since you made that choice at the beginning, why not continue to believe?"
The Martian Manhunter next to him smiled slightly upon hearing this and said to Peter:
"I think he has a point, sir. You've already put in two hundred dollars. Giving up now might be a net loss."
Peter looked at Martian Manhunter in surprise.
You green-skinned Martian also understand "sunk costs"?
Peter turned his head, extended his hand to the young man, and narrowed his eyes, "Deal!"
The rain in the city grew heavier, and the hazy gray light was divided into strands by the rain, shining through the window into the car, creating a dim, decadent, and wet, sparkling atmosphere.
Peter drove to the location Thomas mentioned to retrieve his watch.
Thomas, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned his body to look at the Water stains on the window.
Without a word, the two quickly arrived at a street.
Several hipsters stood on the street corner, chattering about something.
Peter stopped the car, unbuckled his seatbelt, and said to Thomas, "Stay here. Don't get out of the car."
Thomas nodded, watching Peter walk among the hipsters.
The car window blocked his hearing, so he couldn't hear what Peter said, but their conversation must not have been very pleasant.
Peter, with lightning-fast movements, grabbed a hipster and slammed him against the wall by his throat.
A few minutes later, Peter opened the car door and got in, under Thomas's shocked gaze.
"This is your watch, right?"
Thomas swallowed, staring blankly at the watch Peter handed over.
"Yes, that's it."
"It looks like things went smoothly."
Peter started the car with satisfaction.
Watching Thomas put the watch on his wrist, he casually asked, "Is this watch very important to you?"
"Yes, it's a memento my father left me."
Thomas touched the watch face with a somber expression.
Taking a deep breath, he looked up ahead and saw several orphans warming themselves by a Fire in an alley.
"Mr. Patrick, stop the car!"
Upon seeing the orphans warming themselves, he immediately told Peter to stop the car.
After the car was parked, he quickly pushed open the door and walked out, handing the hundred dollars Peter had given him earlier to one of the girls.
After saying a few words, Thomas returned to the car.
"So, you borrowed money for them?"
Peter asked him.
"Yes, they helped me a lot. If it weren't for them, I might not have escaped…"
Realizing he had let something slip, Thomas immediately shut his mouth.
Peter glanced at him in surprise, said nothing, and continued driving forward.
It seemed this young man had quite a few secrets.
Ten minutes later.
After getting out of the car and parting ways with Peter, Thomas quickly walked to a phone booth through the rain.
Raindrops fell on the phone booth.
Thomas, shivering from the cold, pressed the phone receiver to his ear.
His chin trembled as he waited for the continuous ringing.
"Click!"
"This is Wayne Manor, I'm Alfred."
A familiar voice came from the other end of the line.
Thomas wanted to say something, but suddenly became timid.
He was never timid, but now he couldn't open his mouth.
"Sir? Madam? Can you speak?"
The person who called himself Alfred asked repeatedly.
Thomas's fingers gripping the receiver turned White, and no sound came from his throat.
Other voices came from the receiver, "Alfred, who are you talking to?"
"A call, Master Wayne, someone might have dialed the wrong number."
Alfred directly hung up the phone.
Listening to the dial tone, Thomas weakly hung up the phone, clutching his increasingly painful forehead.
Alfred certainly didn't know he was in Metropolis now.
This wasn't his fault.
That mysterious organization found an identical person to replace him, living as Bruce Wayne.
Alfred certainly wouldn't have thought that the Bruce he spent time with every day would be a fake.
If he told him the truth, Alfred would surely be harmed by the mysterious organization.
What should he do? !
Thomas, whose real name was Bruce Wayne, fell into painful entanglement.
After a long while, Bruce walked out of the phone booth like a zombie.
The rain grew heavier, and his drenched clothes made him shiver from the cold.
The next second, he suddenly felt the rain above his head disappear.
Looking up, he saw an umbrella held over his head.