The Colt was handmade in his father's workshop, the tranquilizer bullets were made by Timothy; they were accomplices.
Human nature is hard to change.
Jason came back to life and still persists in fighting criminals. Colt won't change his nature just because he became a Ghost; he is definitely planning something big, like nuking Arkham.
Colt mentioned more than once in conversation that once he had a clean nuclear bomb, he would definitely set off a massive firework in Arkham; Stark's Arc Reactor exploding would be much more environmentally friendly and beautiful than a nuclear bomb.
'Detective, take it slow, don't rush; haste will only lead to trouble.'
Timothy glanced at Colt, who was circling around the vicinity of the Iceberg Lounge, then put away his binoculars and turned to descend from the Batcave.
First, he needed to find out the specific circumstances of the Arkham riot back then, exactly what had happened to Colt.
When Red Robin was determined to do something, even Batman could not stop him.
Colt rode his skateboard in and out of the Iceberg Lounge, only returning home for a late-night snack at one in the morning.
Birdie chirped for the third time to urge Colt to sleep, but Colt did not want to sleep.
Cheep! Cheep!
Birdie could no longer endure it and angrily pecked Colt's nose.
Fine, fine, fine, go to sleep right now!
Colt covered his aching nose and went back upstairs to sleep.
The black coffee was so stimulating that even after lying in bed with his eyes closed for half an hour, Colt remained alert enough to use his spiritual connection to draw an anatomical diagram of an Arc Reactor.
Colt opened half an eye and looked toward the bird's nest at the head of the bed.
Under the small nightlight, Birdie buried his head in his wings, the fluffy ball rising and falling slightly as he slept.
Birdie fell asleep.
Colt quietly slid down from the foot of the bed, tiptoed into the study, finished the assignment Tony had given him, even took on two translation jobs in the process.
6:20, Colt timed it perfectly with Birdie's usual waking time, slipped back into bed exactly as he had left it, closed his eyes, pretended to be asleep.
He had originally intended to pretend to sleep for just a few minutes before getting up, but he didn't expect that once he closed his eyes, it would be noon by the time he opened them again.
A cold, wet cloth covered his face.
Colt snapped his eyes open, grabbed the wet small towel covering his face, met Birdie's disapproving gaze.
He rolled over and rushed into the bathroom.
There's a socioeconomics class today!
Birdie perched on the faucet: "Cheep"
Colt quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face, leaned down to give Birdie a kiss, used his feathers to wipe his wet face.
Birdie was so angry that he flapped his wings at him, but Colt had already tossed his toothbrush into the rinse cup and dashed out, clattering around in the kitchen as he prepared lunch.
There wasn't enough time, so he just had a quick lunch.
Colt made himself a few ham and cucumber sandwiches, tore up some lettuce leaves for Birdie, sliced up some grapes and strawberries, then took some chicken legs out of the freezer to defrost them in the refrigerator compartment.
Birdie used a hairdryer to dry its feathers, then perched on the bird stand on the coffee table to watch television.
Colt fawningly placed the plate of fruit and grains in front of it, also opened a can of bird food for it.
Birdie accepted his apology, hopped down to step on the remote to change the channel from a bloody detective drama to Gotham News, then hopped into the dish to start pecking at the cereal and cherry tomatoes.
The midday news was reporting that a cruise ship had sunk in Gotham Bay, two warehouses in the harbor had burned down.
Colt searched the forums for intelligence, as expected, the Gotham section was discussing this matter; the henchmen of Penguin and Black Mask had progressed from arguing to arranging an offline duel.
The sunken cruise ship belongs to Black Mask, the one who carried out the attack was one of Penguin's henchmen. The burned warehouse belongs to Penguin, the one who carried out the attack was one of Black Mask's henchmen.
Colt bit into his sandwich and tilted his head.
Supervillains also have supercharged energy.
Colt had been wandering around Gotham last night and even saw Batman having a conversation with Black Mask, Red Hood kicking Penguin's ass. Even so, those two could still find trouble for each other.
Gotham High, Socioeconomics classroom.
Colt rushed into the classroom a minute before class started, looked around, Timothy wasn't there.
There was a post on the campus forum saying he came to school today; was he there for a club?
Colt chose a peripheral seat at the back, his skateboard hovering at a low altitude to serve as a stool. He pulled out his laptop, opened it, hacked into the school's backend.
Today is the last day of club recruitment, most students have already decided on their clubs; most upperclassmen are sticking with the same clubs as last year, with few people running around aimlessly.
Ever since the Holmes Detective Agency disbanded, Timothy had been staying in the Reading Club, a club that was very suitable for sleeping; he only needed to share a reading list in the club group chat every week, participation in occasional club activities was not mandatory.
This year, there were no members with the surname Drake in the Reading Club, nor were there any Waynes.
Well, the Reading Club has a new president this year. The new club rules require holding a reading session once a week and submitting reading reports; Timothy isn't the only one who left the club.
The Home Economics Club, no.
Meditation Club, none.
Ghost Hunting Club, no.
The Photography Club, no.. wait, yes!
Colt watched Timothy Drake's name appear at the very bottom of the Photography Club's membership list, noted the club's meeting times and location, then added his own name to the list as well.
Someone sat down next to Colt, the next second, they rubbed their arms and jumped up, shouting loudly, "FUCK! Someone just blew air on my neck!"
Slander! Wayne Group clearly covers the electricity bill, so the school keeps the air conditioning on full blast. It's 32°C outside and 16°C inside; of course there's a breeze coming from the air vent!
Colt put down the journal he had been using to fan himself.
From the lingerie thief who mysteriously fainted on the first day of school, to the campus smuggling ring that was busted, to the school bully who ended up collapsed in the restroom after picking on a classmate, then to the small grove near the library where corpses were found scattered after school, the physics lab with lights flickering in the middle of the night, the restrooms where cries could be heard during class..
Campus paranormal events have always been a hot topic among the student body; even though everyone knows that many of them are man-made, they still tirelessly claim they are the work of ghosts.
The class bell rang and the teacher approached the classroom, but Colt still hadn't seen Timothy.
Hmph, skipping class again.
Colt had the Quantum Terminal record the lecture and highlight the key points, while he himself buried himself in the translation manuscript he had taken on last night.
Knock, knock." Timothy, who was late, appeared at the door. "Sorry..
Colt looked up, his eyes meeting Timothy's as the latter surveyed the classroom.
Timothy's gaze was a bit strange, making Colt feel uncomfortable under his stare, so he pulled a physics journal in front of him to examine it closely.
Socioeconomics was taught in small classes. There were six round tables in the classroom, students were free to choose their seats; some tables had three people sitting at them, while others were crowded with five.
Wherever Timothy's gaze swept, the sound of chairs being moved followed.
Everyone wanted to be seated next to Young Master Wayne.
Timothy's gaze, however, fell upon a corner to his back left, near the window, where there was another empty desk.
In the eyes of others, it was empty. In Timothy's eyes, Ghost was like a pearl radiating a lustrous glow within a display case, brightening the gloomy environment just by being there.
The childhood friend from his memories had lost his baby fat; far from growing up poorly, his features had actually become even more exquisite than when he was a child. His skin was as white as if he had never seen the sun, but it wasn't a sickly pallor; rather, it was a healthy, lustrous milky white. His medium-length silver hair was tied in a small bun at the back of his head, with slightly messy bangs hanging by the sides of his face, partially obscuring his clear violet eyes..
That wasn't the gaze of a friend; he didn't remember me.
Timothy paused slightly, walked toward an exceptionally bright corner, pulled out a chair, sat down.
He walked with an unhurried pace, his movements as he pulled out the chair being elegant and composed. After sitting down, he unbuttoned his coat and smoothed out the wrinkles. It was as if this were not a classroom, but an important boardroom; from head to toe, he exuded the aura of a high-society elite.
Colt rolled his eyes in a way that was hardly subtle.
Although the school does not require uniforms, attending school isn't the same as attending a business meeting or a charity gala. Isn't wearing a three-piece formal suit and a bowtie a bit much for this kind of day? The sapphire brooch encrusted with diamond fragments looks very expensive, the matching sapphire cufflinks don't look cheap either..
What's the use of looking so glamorous? In his dreams, all he wants is a cup of coffee!
Colt grumbled inwardly, his eyes returning to their original position, seeing Timothy smiling at him.
The smile was so complex it made his scalp tingle.
Does Spiritual Connection increase favorability? Why does Timothy act like the protagonist in a melodrama reuniting after a long separation?
Colt put down the physics journal that had failed to hide his face and began typing the computer translation manuscript with focus.
Timothy lowered his eyelids and placed the computer on the table; as he moved the Bluetooth mouse, his fingertips brushed against the edge of the physics journal in front of Colt.
The book, just like the computer, appeared to be resting on the table, but it was actually hovering an inch above the surface, enveloped in a faint glow like an external light filter.
The radiance was a manifestation of energy; it allowed things to become invisible, to float, or to exist in an overlapping alternative space.
Timothy withdrew his hand, inconspicuously rubbing his fingertips.
He had some bruising on his hands, which he had covered with concealer-effect ointment. Now, the cream on his fingertips curled slightly, leaving a shallow mark from the sharp edge of the paper.
He came across the book.
But before yesterday, he couldn't even touch Colt.
The person in the front row leaned back and asked in a low voice, "Timothy, do you want to sit here?"
Timothy placed his index finger against his lips, smiling as he declined the kindness of the person sitting in front of him, then quietly opened his laptop to begin working.
Young Master Wayne, who controls the lifeblood of Gotham's economy, chose economics as an elective clearly just to pad his credits; as long as he doesn't interfere with other students, the teacher won't care what he does in class.
A crumpled piece of paper landed on Timothy's keyboard.
Timothy opened the paper ball and took a look, raising an eyebrow before casually placing the crumpled note in the middle of the long table.
【There's a Ghost in the class! Don't sit there! That's Ghost's seat! 】
Colt glanced at it, then looked at the boy at the next table who was winking and making faces. He twirled his pen, turning it into a makeshift slingshot, then pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket.
The note was struck by the piece of chalk shot from the slingshot, fluttering down to the table next door.
The blond student acted as if he had seen a ghost; even though the piece of chalk hadn't hit him, he was still rubbing his arms and shivering in fear, looking as if he wanted to flee the classroom.
Author's Note:
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