The lollipops were packaged in transparent vacuum bags; not only did the bottom of each stick feature a tiny bat, but even the candy itself was a chibi-style Batman.
Black unhappy bat balls, green winged bat balls, red snarling bat balls, purple smiling bat balls hugging little birds.
Theoretically, Gothamites wouldn't just accept food from strangers, but no Red Robin could refuse those cute bat lollipops!
Red Robin accepted the lollipops without hesitation, stuffing them into the small pouch on his belt.
It is only natural that Red Robin would have candy in his belt, just as Batman carries supplies in his utility belt. After all, Red Robin is a well-known intellectual who needs the extra sugar.
Red Robin waved at Colt, gave Birdie a quick head rub, then climbed out the window to leave.
Colt watched the Little Red Bird's receding figure, considering preparing some extra sugar just in case.
It was mainly because Dad sent back too much fruit; it was too much to eat, simply impossible to finish.
Colt turned off the rain white noise, took out a detector to search the study, found three monitors.
Each monitor shimmered with a dollar-sign radiance, capable of being dismantled for parts and recycled.
Colt put them into the nest made of grass and fluff, happily gave Birdie a kiss.
Set them aside for now, open them tomorrow!
Birdie looked at the few small metal toys in the nest, tilted her head, hopped into the bird's nest, spread her wings, pretending to hatch eggs.
Colt liked to read a book for a while before bed, a habit he had maintained for many years.
Tonight was an exception.
The familiar words turned into little red birds, hopping around on the paper, refusing to dive into his mind.
Colt had wandered through the web for many years and had even tried to search for his past. But all the records of him were fabrications. The photographs were either AI-generated or staged using virtual projections.
Dad said a certain power had erased his information.
Colt believed that even though the memories were gone, the feelings remained. The occasional blurred images flashing through his mind proved that the past was not nothingness. He could feel himself, his condition could be explained by science.
That was enough.
As a high-dimensional traveler, Colt was not obsessed with chasing the past. This world possessed so much miraculous technology; his empty mind could hold even more knowledge.
It was very quiet in the dimensional rift.
To maintain his mental stability, Colt rarely pondered philosophical questions and never wondered why he existed.
Colt immersed himself in knowledge, enjoying the quiet and solitude. Over all these years, he had grown accustomed to treating himself like a Ghost.
But habit is not the same as liking it.
To be seen by others, to be able to communicate with people face-to-face—it felt so wonderful.
Timothy is different from Joseph.
The way Joseph looked at him was always filled with sadness and pain. Joseph loved him, of course, but because he looked so much like his mother, he never dared to look at him. Colt couldn't even be sure if the shadow he saw in Joseph's eyes was his own, or his mother's.
Timothy is different from Joseph.
Colt could look into Timothy's eyes without any pressure; Timothy would not avert his gaze.
The ice-blue eyes were like mirrors; Colt could see himself in them, confirming that he truly existed in this world.
A sense of existence was like a thread, tethering Colt's drifting soul, as if a ship had found its anchor.
Colt loved this feeling; even though they had just parted ways, he was already looking forward to their next meeting.
Of course, it would be even better if Red Robin could finish his night patrol a bit earlier, go home, get a good night's sleep—ideally dreaming of piloting a starship through the cosmos!
Colt put down the book and picked up the photo frame from his bedside table.
The photo frame contained a stick-figure family portrait.
The stick figures were automatically replaced in his mind by a real photograph. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed mother was very beautiful, the silver-haired, blue-eyed father was also very handsome. Standing between them was eight-year-old Colt, whose chubby baby face showed a small dimple when he smiled, his violet eyes squeezed shut.
The family of three looked very happy.
Colt touched his own face, unable to look Timothy in the eye, as he still couldn't be sure of his own appearance.
Dad said he's looking more and more like Mom, so he shouldn't have turned out ugly.
Boom!
An explosion rang out from the direction of Miller Port.
Colt watched the light fixture swaying slightly overhead, calculating the distance, yield, destructiveness of the explosion in his mind.
Safe, he could sleep.
He rolled over and raised a hand to cover his eyes.
As a Gothamite, one should be used to this kind of daily routine; as long as the explosions don't happen in your own home, you can eat and sleep well.
Colt was used to it in the past, but tonight, he simply could not fall asleep no matter what.
He tossed and turned for a long time, but still couldn't sleep. He opened his eyes and saw that Birdie was asleep, so he crept out of bed and went to the study to continue translating the manuscript.
The Bat-family found that Red Robin was in a very good mood.
This isn't normal!
The last time Red Robin slept was on Thursday afternoon, when he managed to nap for four hours in the school library's study room.
Generally speaking, when Red Robin hasn't closed his eyes for two days and has also had his caffeine intake restricted by Alfred, the clever Little Red Bird turns into a gloomy, damp ghost of a man, speaking as if he might stop breathing at any second, avoiding speaking on the comms whenever possible.
Tonight, Black Mask and Penguin were fighting, so everyone was very busy.
Red Robin hadn't slept for two days and was also being restricted from caffeine, yet he still had the energy to join Red Hood, who loved making dark jokes, in bickering with Batman.
First of all, Red Robin was allergic to Red Hood's dark jokes, second, Red Robin was the Robin who defended Batman more than anyone else, except for Damian.
So Red Robin agreeing with Red Hood's mockery of Batman was strange in itself.
Moreover, Red Robin's voice tonight was two octaves higher and twice as rapid as usual. Without mentioning him, Red Robin interrupted the channel three times—once to speak sarcastically to Batman, twice to mock Red Robin.
Orphan glanced at Red Robin a few more times, then nudged Jester with his elbow.
Jester yawned and said in a low voice, "Never mind him. He's definitely got something good and is waiting for us to ask so he can show it off."
All the Bat-family members were busy until six in the morning. Everyone was famished, even Red Hood couldn't be bothered to cook for himself, so he followed them back to the Batcave to eat Alfred's prepared breakfast.
Red Hood swore that he came back to mooch a meal, not to watch Little Red Bird perform some tricks!
While everyone lay slumped over the table waiting for breakfast, Red Robin slowly pulled out a lollipop.
The lazy crowd sat up in unison, their eyes growing brighter and brighter.
Red Robin tore open the transparent packaging of the lollipop, gripped the small bat-shaped stick at the bottom, pulled out the round, chubby "Grumpy Bat" candy ball.
So fat! So round! Such an angry little bat ball!
Red Robin was the most impatient, bouncing up and down like a bean.
Stop! You're not allowed to bite Father!
Everyone moved at once.
Red Robin, who seemed to have sluggish limbs due to suspected caffeine poisoning, suddenly shifted into high gear, shoving a lollipop into his mouth and biting it with a loud "crack."
Chapter 22
Damn it, Drake! How dare you eat Father!
Whoa, Timmy, honey, tell me this is some upcoming Batman merchandise!
Little Red! You definitely have more! Hand them over, no killing!
Everyone was being relentless, pushing and prodding him. Red Robin was being subjected to intense interrogation by his brothers and sisters, the kind Orphan helped him block the blades of the Robins.
"I love you, Cassandra," Red Robin muttered.
Ahem.
Alfred pushed a dining cart into the dining room, Batman also emerged from the elevator with his head still damp.
Batman wondered if he was truly getting old; he was so exhausted that he wanted to sleep and never wake up, so why did the children, who had also been busy all night, still have the energy to fight?
A lollipop flew toward Batman's face. It had no branding, no ingredient list, no expiration date; such substandard candy would never be allowed into the Wayne household.
Whoa, old man, you know old people should eat less sugar, right!
Jester snatched the candy from Batman's hands and gave him a headbutt in return.
Red Robin lunged forward, but not to vent his anger for his beloved father, but rather to..
Stupid Brown, give it back to me! That was mine first, Father!
Red Hood held the remaining two Bat Lollipops in his hands, but before he could even deliver a victory speech, one was snatched away by the Orphan.
He wasn't angry, though; he simply shrugged and shook his head at the stunned Duke. "Brother, if you're too slow here, you won't be able to grab the good stuff."
Duke had no interest in lollipops, not even a Bat-lollipop.
He even felt confused.
He only dared to secretly build Bat-Lego behind Batman's back; how could these people have the nerve to eat Bat-Lollipops right in front of Batman without feeling embarrassed?
Only Duke felt awkward; everyone else was perfectly comfortable.
Damian, you're still losing your baby teeth, you can't eat sugar!
I'm not eating it! And you're not allowed to eat it either!
Jester hid behind Alfred and argued with Red Robin.
Red Robin grabbed Duke's hand to pull himself up, coldly accusing, "You bandits!"
No one paid him any mind.
Red Hood stuffed the green winged bat ball into his mouth and said loudly with great pride, "Oh! Mine is apple flavored. Tsk, fresh and sweet. What about yours?"
The Orphan tore open the purple smiling bird-bat ball, admired it for a moment, then popped it into his mouth, giving a thumbs-up.
Grape.