Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics-Chapter 4410 - 3499: Research on Cats and Dogs (10)

Hal took a deep breath, as if it took all his strength to suppress his anger. He ran a hand through his hair and said, "I need to reorganize the extraterrestrial defense arrangements right now, and I need an assistant. Arthur, you're staying. I want to talk to you about the Atlantis students in the Mercury Base."

Diana was the first to stand, followed by Clark. Finally, Bruce stood up and pushed his chair back in.

Sitting in their chairs, Batman and Superman looked momentarily at a loss, but seeing everyone else stand up to leave, they could only stand as well.

Even Lex left his office and, before shutting the door, told Hal inside, "Next Monday morning, Luther Group is launching three satellites. They are absolutely not unidentified flying objects, so don't let your subordinates shoot them down."

"Got it, I'll let them know," Hal waved casually.

After leaving, Lex took a phone call, speaking while walking to his right. He seemed to be arranging some work.

The local Justice League Trinity, along with the guest Superman and Batman, stood in the corridor.

"So, where are we headed now?" Batman asked, "Do you guys even have other offices here?"

"What do you plan to do in an office?" Diana asked with a piercing question.

"I thought we could discuss something. Surely we can discuss *something*," Batman said. "Is today's work really over just like that?"

"That's precisely right," Bruce nodded and said. "Considering the time, we should go watch TV now."

"Watch TV?" Superman couldn't help but ask, "You're planning to watch TV?"

But what he really wanted to ask was: When there are still rogue versions of Superman and Batman wreaking havoc in the city and Metropolis is probably on the brink of alien invasion, your next move is to...watch TV?

Diana glanced at Clark, Clark glanced at Bruce, Bruce glanced at Diana.

Ten minutes later, the three of them plopped onto a couch. Diana tore open a family-sized bag of chips, Clark stirred the ice in his jumbo cup of cola, and Bruce pressed the TV remote.

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Batman and Superman sat behind them.

"Does this take you back to your younger days?" Batman turned and asked Superman.

"I absolutely did not just recall the first time we went to the movies and you only bought one giant tub of popcorn," Superman replied without even looking at him.

"That's because only one was left," Batman raised his tone slightly but didn't seem to want others to hear. Continuing, he said, "I beat you in Rock Paper Scissors, so the tub was mine. But in the end, you ate most of it. Isn't that a fond memory?"

"I didn't say it wasn't. Why are you so worked up?"

Batman sank his mouth into a frown and turned his head back, fixing his gaze on the TV screen.

Seeing the familiar face that appeared on the screen, Batman muttered under his breath, "Oh, damn it. How does this universe also have that bastard Steven?!"

On the TV screen appeared a scholarly middle-aged man wearing slightly exaggerated colorful glasses frames, enthusiastically discussing an antique vase.

"His hosting skills are abysmal, and he has zero taste in art. He constantly elevates trashy antiques to the heavens and completely ignores genuine masterpieces," Batman commented.

"Is it just because he once described a painting as 'looking like the type of tie Bruce Wayne would pick' that you've held a grudge against him ever since?" Superman exposed him.

"Call me Batman," Batman muttered gloomily.

Even while formulating countless not-so-polite remarks about the host in his head, he was interrupted by even less polite remarks coming from the couch in front.

"How is this piece of dogshit still hosting a show?!" Bruce's tone carried equal parts anger and genuine bafflement. "He dared to mock my tie while sporting the ugliest set of frames of the century?! Unbelievable!"

"It's been ages. You actually still remember?" Clark sighed aimlessly.

"His shamelessness made a lasting impression on me," Bruce emphasized, then grabbed the remote and switched channels with force, muttering, "No way am I contributing to his viewership ratings."

He flipped through a few channels but couldn't find anything interesting. Then, a sudden inspiration struck; he entered a specific channel number.

A news channel popped up, but there was no host on-screen. The camera pointed directly at a street, where a red Chevrolet was roaring ahead, followed by a string of police cars.

Clark and Diana both let out synchronized sighs. Diana popped a chip into her mouth and teased, "You just love watching this stuff."

Clark leaned in slightly toward the screen and checked the details displayed below. Unsurprisingly, it read—"Footage via Gotham Traffic News Channel."

Bruce leaned closer to the TV, inspecting it carefully, then said, "Looks like Gotham PD's best haven't come out yet. Not a bad day for amateur hour."

"Same old story," Diana pulled out a small ice bucket from under the table and said, "He won't get away with it."

"Then I'll bet he does get away," Clark said, placing his cola aside and adding his own ice bucket to the table.

Bruce looked left, then right, and said, "You guys going all in? Stakes are high. If you lose, all you've got for tonight is room-temperature cola!"

When neither replied, Bruce put his own ice bucket on the table as well, declaring, "Alright, then I'm betting he doesn't get away. This kid clearly isn't good enough."

The three of them fixed their gaze on the screen. The red Chevrolet, clearly modified, accelerated rapidly, quickly leaving the trailing police cars far behind.

Just as Clark was about to clench his fist, the driver approached a corner and, inexplicably, not only refused to slow down but attempted to drift through it. The result? He ended up showcasing his own demise spectacularly.

The car lost control, slid off the road, and crashed into a landscaped area, its rear emitting thick smoke. Police quickly surrounded him, each armed with a semi-automatic rifle. The driver could do nothing but crawl out and lie flat on the ground.

Bruce and Diana immediately turned to high-five in celebration while Clark sighed, emptying the ice from his bucket into theirs.

Clark shook his cola cup, now containing only a few remaining ice cubes, and shot a disdainful look. Room-temperature cola wasn't fit for dogs.

Clark's ears twitched slightly, and he glanced at Diana and Bruce discussing the previous program. Taking advantage of their distraction, he quietly blew into his own cola cup.

Except he forgot there was another Superman in the room. The one sitting behind nudged Batman with his elbow and said, "He's cheating. He used his Frozen Breath."

Batman glanced at the cola cup frozen solid in his own hand, then at Superman's pleased expression. Slowly, he sank his mouth into a frown.

He turned his attention back to the TV screen and suddenly realized something. His gaze shifted from the bright and sunny view outside the screening room in Metropolis to the watch on his wrist.

1:23 PM.

The live footage on the Gotham Traffic News Channel showed bright sunshine and clear skies.

Is it me who's crazy, or is it this world?

Not long after, the Gotham Traffic News Channel began broadcasting another car chase.

This time, the lead driver was far more skilled than the previous one. Driving a souped-up American muscle car, he raced down the highway, sticking to precision racing lines instead of recklessly pulling stunts. With clean accelerations, he quickly left the police cars far behind, with only a helicopter able to keep up with him.

Compared to Batman, who zoned out thinking about various unrelated matters, Superman was more engaged with the program. Although he'd seen countless car chases before, this time it was a true clash of experts, making it particularly riveting.

On the police side, Gotham PD was in pursuit with the Dodge Challengers they often relied upon—three cars, one leading and two flanking, their sirens blazing as they approached the muscle car.

Just as the lead police car moved to pin the suspect vehicle's tail, Superman clenched his fist, visibly tense.

The suspect vehicle was cunning, though, noticing the police's maneuver immediately. It swerved left to dodge the PIT technique and then sped off again, outrunning the squad cars.

The three couch-bound viewers all let out sighs at once. That seemed like the perfect opportunity; the opposite lane was clear of traffic—if only the PIT had succeeded, they might have had him. This driver was ridiculously slippery.

The police tried several more attempts to force a stop, but the suspect kept evading or absorbing minimal damage. Closer inspection revealed that the car had likely been equipped with an oversized gas tank—this was going to be a war of attrition.

The helicopter camera caught footage of the lead officer inside the first police car picking up his radio and saying something. Shortly afterward, a thin golden streak appeared on the highway ahead.

At first, Batman thought the live feed was glitching, but then the TV crew's chopper zoomed in for a close-up. It wasn't distortion—the golden streak was a faint beam of light.

"The Flash?" Batman muttered in realization, feeling slightly exasperated. Wasn't he supposed to still be in college? How did he find time to crash this car chase?

Though suspicious of The Flash's involvement, Batman didn't expect much. Running faster than the suspect's car wasn't the solution; what mattered was safely stopping it without harming the driver or pedestrians. He guessed The Flash was setting down spike strips.

But what unfolded next far outstripped Batman's expectations. Seconds earlier, the thin golden streak's tip began to darken, as if cursed, the blackness gradually consuming the golden light.

The figure darted around the car, and the area once occupied by the golden line seemed to develop cracks. An indescribable black force burst forth from the fractures.

As the police cars slowed down, the suspect's vehicle abruptly stopped, as if the small patch of space had been frozen. Suddenly, the car shattered into pieces, leaving the driver standing alone, trembling in the autumn wind.

The police rushed forward, pinning him down quickly. The golden streak disappeared without a trace, never fully revealing itself. Returning to the studio, the host confirmed Batman's suspicions, thanking The Flash for his contributions to Gotham's crime fight.

"Wonderful," thought Batman. "The Flash is out fighting crime in Gotham, while Batman watches TV."

Batman turned his gaze toward the window. Luther Group's drones were forming a swarm, heading somewhere unknown.

Aliens were about to invade Metropolis, with Lex Luther saving the world outside.

What? You want to ask about Superman?

Batman glanced down. Somehow, his cola cup had frozen solid in his hand, while Superman turned his eyes to the window, innocently whistling a tune.