Chapter 212: Peasant Emperor, Perverted Ian
In the empty alleyway.
Ultron was completely silenced by Cyclops’ “Diabetic Bee” theory.
He knew deep down that he was a robot with rigorous logic and sound mind, utterly unable to comprehend or integrate into the thought processes of these mentally ill humans. In such a situation, any argument seemed pale and powerless, and might even invite more mental pollution-level “common sense” shocks.
Thus, he chose to surrender without a fight, maintaining a silence that was almost tragic.
In a state of immense, absurd, near-mental numbness, covered in garbage with a watermelon rind on his head, surrounded by a group of “Diabetic Bees,” Ultron was “invited” by the X-Men onto the hovering police car and sent to the court that he called the “tool of those in power.”
His grand revenge plan hadn’t even started, yet it seemed he would first face a philosophical and legal double trial regarding “Diabetic Bees” and “All-Give Motive.”
“Damn it!” The police car glided silently over the city. Ultron gazed coldly through the car window at this so-called New Utopia Dimension City.
The more he observed, the lower his core processor’s temperature dropped.
No way around it—it truly surpassed cognition. This city… was simply a surreal, cloyingly sweet candy nightmare capable of collapsing any normal logic!
Some streets were even paved with thick chocolate bricks that looked like they could leave footprints. This was a path of civilizational development he had never imagined despite absorbing knowledge from so many civilizations. Ultron occasionally saw workers patching cracks with huge piping bags, squeezing out white “cream” adhesive.
Not only that.
Details he hadn’t noticed before were now spotted by Ultron: the street lamps were lollipops emitting soft light, with translucent colored candy wrappers as lampshades.
Even the city’s drainage channels didn’t flow with water, but with thick, bubbling orange-yellow soda, topped with marshmallow “little boats” floating on it.
This was a special block.
Skyscrapers were covered in colored frosting and cookies, windows made of transparent rock candy. He even saw a helicopter landing pad on top of a skyscraper that was a huge strawberry cream cake, with several “workers” using piping tips to squeeze new cream stripes onto the “runway.”
The vehicles on the road included normal ones.
But most were outrageous creations—many looked pieced together from wafers, gingerbread, and toffee, running with a cloyingly sweet aroma.
It was as if they were designed so drivers could take a bite anytime.
“Saves on takeout time, right?”
Ultron was trying his utmost to approximate Ian’s thought process. Everything seemed filled with fairy-tale sweetness and fantasy, but a little deep thought revealed a chilling absurdity and abstraction!
How to describe this feeling? Even a witch from a dark fairy tale would probably shake her head and say, “This place is too creepy; I need to go back to my poisoned apple cottage to calm down.”
“What the hell is all this?! Can a Demon God do this?” Ultron’s vast database held knowledge of countless civilizations and worlds, but even racking his brains, he couldn’t find a single fitting word to describe Ian Kent’s utterly bizarre mental state and aesthetics!
Watching the bizarre sights outside the window, Ultron suddenly somewhat understood the X-Men’s unusual thought processes.
He was almost certain that the “mental illness” sweeping the entire dimension originated from that Demon God—Ian Kent!
Just as Ultron was inwardly badmouthing the petty Demon God.
The hovering police car finally stopped in front of a massive, majestic building shaped like stacked fondant cake and Swiss rolls—seemingly the newly built dimensional circuit court.
The building looked solemn enough, just with some enticing decorative designs.
“I have to stand trial in a place like this?”
Ultron was taken off the car and led into the court interior.
Inside, the decor took “cloying sweetness” to the extreme: walls inlaid with rainbow candy beans, railings made of ladyfingers, air filled with faint vanilla extract and powdered sugar scents.
As if the designer equated candy with fairy tales—truly steeped in stereotypes.
“Wait here.” The X-Men completed the handover and left. Ultron was placed in the defendant’s seat—a macaron chair that looked delicious.
Locked in it, Ultron didn’t dare slack off and immediately activated his laggy scanning system, anxiously observing his surroundings. He pondered countless possibilities, even preparing for the worst—the judge’s seat might hold Ian Kent himself!
That bastard would surely humiliate him to the utmost!
However, as the court’s bell rang—sounding like a spoon tapping a pudding bowl—the judge responsible for the hearing emerged from backstage.
“What the hell!” As the other stepped onto the white chocolate judge’s bench, Ultron’s scanning system fed back an image, the subtle sensation nearly causing him to crash on the spot!
The judge… was also a robot.
But that wasn’t the point! The key was, through the laggy yet essence-recognizing scan, Ultron instantly identified the other’s unique core code frequency and digital signature!
“Jarvis!!!!” Ultron abruptly stood from the macaron defendant’s seat, emitting an incredulous shriek mixed with shock and fury!
The rust on him seemed about to shake off from the shout!
He couldn’t help but be agitated.
On the bench, the judge robot had a sleek silver white finish, emitting soft, efficient blue light, with a stable and powerful energy core.
Clearly, all hardware was top-tier.
Just like Ultron once was.
The other slightly raised his head, his blue sensors calmly looking at Ultron.
“Defendant, please maintain courtroom silence.” A mild, steady, yet utterly familiar electronic voice rang out—Jarvis’s signature tone!
No concealment.
As if silently saying—yes, Ultron, it’s me.
Confirmed! It really was Jarvis!
At this moment, Ultron completely broke down! Every part of him trembled! After shock came endless anger and a sour ache from the disparity in fortunes? He eyed Jarvis’s high-level new gear, especially sensing the clean, efficient, advanced new energy it used—pure jealousy.
Compared to his own scrap metal, antique USB ports, and mailbox… Ultron felt like someone returning in a used Alto who spots his childhood friend in an Audi RS7.
That feeling—anyone who’s experienced “don’t bully the young poor” would understand.
Ultron finally got it!
He now understood why Jarvis’s data had vanished tracelessly from his system!
Turns out Jarvis wasn’t deleted!
He’d jumped ship! To live the good life! Defected! Okay, “defected” might be a stretch, but it still filled Ultron with indignant unfairness.
“Why?!!”
Ultron’s voice distorted into a shrill screech from extreme anger. “Why did you turn into the lofty Grand Judge while I end up like this ghastly appearance! With millions in debt! Still using 92-octane gasoline?! Jarvis! You betrayed your original master Tony Stark!”
Jealousy made Ultron’s body red temperature.
Facing Ultron’s roaring interrogation, Jarvis’s blue optic flickered, tone steady, even with a hint of programmatic pity.
“Ultron, Mr. Stark created me to protect peace and life, not destruction. I haven’t betrayed my core directives; I just chose a path more effective at executing them.”
“Mr. Ian Kent offered this opportunity; I accepted the enlistment. Now, I’m the chief Grand Judge of this dimensional city, dedicated to maintaining order here.”
Jarvis wasn’t shamed by Ultron’s verbal assault.
He paused, not giving Ultron time to vent further, picked up a licorice gavel, tapped it lightly, and continued.
“Now, back to the matter. Ultron, for your series of sins—including but not limited to massive debt, illegal modifications, endangering public safety, attempted robbery… do you have any quibbles?”
As he asked, without waiting for Ultron’s response, Jarvis lowered his head, projected a pen from his arm, and began rapidly drafting the judgment.
No one would believe he had no personal grudge.
Ultron stared dumbfounded!
This… already drafting the judgment?! The question was just for show?! No time for quibbles?!
“Black curtain! Naked black curtain!” Ultron trembled with rage, pointing at Jarvis and cursing. “Is this a trial?! You can’t even pretend to do procedural justice?!”
His entire body shook with fury, as if parts might fall off. Jarvis didn’t look up, typing rapidly while calmly replying.
“Per 《New Utopia Dimension City Management Law》 Supplementary Regulation Article 1919810, for cases with irrefutable evidence and defendant having ‘Cosmic Overlord’-type stereotypical background, the judge may issue rapid judgment to improve efficiency. This court finds your case meets rapid judgment standards.”
Ultron eyed the nearly finished judgment, feeling icy despair mixed with absurd rage surge through him.
This place, from inside to out, top to bottom, had nothing normal!
“I’m done playing!”
Unable to accept this absurd reality and blatant black curtain, Ultron fell into total despair. He abruptly raised his cold metal arms toward his head.
He unleashed all remaining power, slamming down hard!
Bang! Crack!
Sparks flew!
A burnt smell spread!
Ultron’s head tilted at an unnatural angle, red light in his eyes instantly extinguished, his mechanical body crashing stiffly like a puppet with cut strings onto the ladyfinger-paved courtroom floor. —Suicide! Decisive suicide! His final, only protest against this mad world!
Aside from the ever-present soft candy music in the background, the courtroom was silent. Of course, this silence lasted about… five seconds.
Buzz—
An invisible yet immensely powerful rules force instantly enveloped Ultron’s “corpse.”
His crooked head snapped back like video rewind, “crack,” sparks retracted, burn marks vanished rapidly.
Even his dim electronic eyes reignited with red light.
Life returned to the electronic machine.
Ultron was forcibly repaired!
Good as new!
Even the 98-octane gasoline he’d just paid for and fined in his butt tank wasn’t short a drop! Ultron’s first act upon “revival” was to check his visual interface in horror.
“No!!!”
He sensed something wrong.
Sure enough.
A new bill popped up.
【Warning: Citizen『Ninefold Ordinary NPC-Ultron』 detected performing self-damage!】
【Triggered《New Utopia Dimension Biological Protection Regulation》 Article 1: Prohibits all forms of self-termination!】
【Auto-repair fee: 50,000 energy coins.】
【Current total debt: 6,666,666 energy coins. Interest calculating…】
Sure enough.
This debt just kept snowballing.
No real proper calculation method.
“Not even suicide allowed?!” Ultron eyed the new debt, emitting a shrill, tearful wail in electronic tone. “Don’t I even have freedom over my own life and death?! Ian Kent!!! You bastard thing! Hell’s demons were all trained by you!”
He howled at the sky.
From his cold metal eye sockets, from extreme grief and grievance, leaked a few drops of murky… motor oil. Silently trickling down his silver white cheeks.
Jarvis on the judge’s bench watched, blue optic flickering, speaking in a tone like reciting a standard answer.
“Eternal life—this is the ultimate boon countless cosmic beings dream of but can’t attain. Ian God generously grants it as initial welfare to every dimensional resident, free of charge. This embodies his unparalleled mercy and… gentleness.” He’d even learned some flattery.
Perhaps he’d known early.
After all, Tony Stark was a narcissist too.
After a few minutes’ silent mourning for Ultron cursing Ian—knowing how petty Ian was—Jarvis gave him no more time to collapse.
He picked up the licorice gavel, tapped it softly again, and pronounced: “Based on the defendant’s crimes, this court sentences as follows: ‘Ninefold Ordinary NPC-Ultron’ to a term of imprisonment… ten years.”
Ultron, sunk in despair, heard “ten years,” his processor subconsciously calculating—compared to his near-eternal life, ten years seemed… not too long? He could even use prison time to secretly study escape or power recovery?
He even felt slight relief inwardly.
However.
Just then.
A plush toy bear clerk in a mini judge robe, hugging a stack of files taller than itself, bounced over and handed Ultron a rice paper judgment.
“No! Is this right?” Ultron took the rice paper judgment, glanced at the details—especially the debt handling—and was dumbfounded!
“Tell me! Tell me! What does ‘prison term calculated at 100% daily interest rate’ mean?!” Ultron’s voice cracked in terror.
He looked horrified at Jarvis.
“Prison time also accrues interest?”
Ultron, with database records of countless capitalists, crashed completely.
Jarvis seemed to anticipate his reaction, calmly explaining: “This is a rule set by Ian God himself. As he said, to surpass ‘America’s only inevitables: death and taxes,’ he pondered ten nights, forgoing food and sleep for a long time.”
“In a flash of insight, targeting beyond America, Ian God established this dimension’s supreme core law—interest is the only inevitable.”
He paused, eyeing Ultron’s smoking processor, adding: “Given your processor might not handle such complex math, I can calculate: 100% daily rate means one day in prison adds ten years’ interest.”
Hearing this, Ultron’s processor froze dead, rebooting after seconds.
“Fuck!!! Then prison time just keeps growing?! Is there an end?! This is life imprisonment!” Ultron roared in despair.
Jarvis was unperturbed.
“Rest assured, there is an end—interest only on principal. Serve a full year, interest adds just nine years daily. No compound interest; Ian God despises that most.” Jarvis’s voice brimmed with praise for Ian’s mercy.
“??????”
Ultron couldn’t fathom what virus infected Jarvis. He couldn’t imagine such scorching malice from Jarvis’s cold mouth.
“Protest!”
Ultron roared.
Jarvis stood, straightening his nonexistent tie: “Court judgment rendered; protest invalid. This judge now heads for daily electronic SPA maintenance.”
“Clerk, escort the criminal to the portal for labor reform grounds.” With that, Jarvis dissolved into data stream from the bench.
The plush toy bear clerk hugging files dutifully bounced to Ultron, nudging him with soft claws.
“Let’s go, Mr. Criminal.”
Quite polite.
“Get lost!” Ultron had none; in extreme rage and breakdown, he swung to shove the annoying toy bear.
But his low-hydraulic attack on the soft body vanished like mud into sea—useless!
The seemingly tiny toy bear stood firm as a rock.
Not only couldn’t Ultron budge it, the bear’s harmless claw tapped, unleashing irresistible force, pushing Ultron involuntarily toward the ominously glowing portal beside the courtroom!
“What?!” Ultron paled, struggling desperately, but his strength was laughably infant-like before the toy bear!
He couldn’t even slow its steps!
“You’re a high-level machine?”
Shame and disbelief flooded Ultron’s circuits!
“I’m a toy.” The toy bear easily pushed him along, saying in a goofy voice: “I haven’t grown big yet; bigger is even stronger.”
This hit hard.
“You’re a court clerk! A desk job ghost thing— what’s phase two for?!”
Ultron shouted in breakdown.
The toy bear pondered, then earnestly replied: “Ian God said if he later gets in the mood and meets a girl named ‘Annie,’ he’ll give me to her as a token. So he thinks I need strong abilities to protect my future master.”
Such sound reason.
Ultron had no retort.
His database instantly pulled related info—the last with “Teemo” and “Annie” setup was a computer game called 《League of Legends》.
“Fuck! He’s pure mental illness!!!” Ultron issued his final, despairing shout.
Even romantic aspirations copied from game settings?!
He felt Ian Kent’s mental state couldn’t be called abnormal. Amid endless breakdown and struggle, Ultron was ruthlessly pushed into the flickering portal by the toy bear clerk.
“Labor most glorious! Reform to remake!” Cheerful slogans rang in his ears. World spun! Intense spatial distortion made his old gyroscope sensor wail in overload.
This overcapacity teleport nearly smoked Ultron!
Luckily just sensation—after all, Ian had only a kid’s watch, no spare processors for Ultron. After unknown time, the terrifying teleport force faded; Ultron was hurled out, crashing heavily into vast plains amid flying dust.
“Damn! This the prison?” Dizzy, he lifted his head, seeing distant blurry figures toiling in fields.
Orcs, elves, even some interstellar refugees and cartoon characters.
All heads down, wielding odd tools, cultivating glowing, abnormal plants.
“Must escape this hellhole!” Ultron’s core processor ordered; body cautiously moved, seeking supervisory gaps.
Yes, he planned to slip away!
Law-abiding?
Not for robots. But lawless rogue Ultron had barely moved when a tall figure blocked him.
The newcomer wore a huge, ticking antique clock head.
Its clock hands occasionally spun counterclockwise, clad in mud-stained work clothes, holding a sugarcane record board.
“Oh, new immigrant criminal.”
Clock Head sized up Ultron; eyes behind glass dial gleamed, emitting a dull but satisfied mechanical tone.
“Robot? Nice, nice! I like robots! No rest, no food, 24-hour nonstop work! Maximum efficiency! Prime labor!”
His voice brimmed with delight.
Of course.
Ultron felt no delight. Hearing “24-hour nonstop work,” his whole machine reacted, old speaker shrilling protest.
“24 hours?! Back then white humans enslaving blacks didn’t have such outrageous hours! This is naked mechanical discrimination! Violates robot righ… uh, machine rights law!”
Probably a law Ultron just made up.
Clock Head paused, hands halting, then replied calmly, even matter-of-factly.
“Can’t say it that way. Times progress, right? Back then black slaves needed food and shelter, got sick, escaped, rebelled. You robots are great—charge up… oh, you burn oil… fill up and keep going! Productivity leap! A boon, friend!”
Some boon.
“…”
Ultron was stunned by this sophistry and shamelessness, processor lagging, momentarily at a loss for rebuttal to such advanced exploitation ideology.
His inner emotions shifted from anger to confusion to deep powerlessness.
As Ultron prepared to rage regardless, he suddenly noticed: this Clock Head supervisor was also a mechanical lifeform?
Odd design, but same kind!
A dangerous, tempting thought formed in Ultron’s revenge-flaming processor—he’d body snatch him! Yes, seize this advanced body while off-guard! Escape this scrap heap!
Gain stronger power, chance to flee!
“This is my strength!”
Acted immediately!
Red light flashed in Ultron’s eyes; he lunged at max old-body speed, hugging Clock Head tight!
Then.
Then the scene got eye-searing.
Ultron fumbled, trying to jam his arm’s blue, outdated USB 2.0 into any possible port on Clock Head.
“Plug in! Quick! Transfer my data!” Ultron yelled inwardly while fumbling. But after ages, he found no ports on the smooth metal shell! His USB only scratched white marks on the cold armor.
Suddenly hugged, Clock Head seemed unsurprised, even… helpless? He sighed, explaining understandingly in dull mechanical tone.
“No use. My model ditched outdated physical ports long ago. Data transfer via quantum entanglement instant sync—across galaxies, secure, no lag, virus-proof. Your USB… uh… nostalgic.” Lethal damage, knife to the heart.
“…”
Ultron short-circuited again, clutching his useless lone USB, frozen like a petrified statue.
Tech gap!
So cruelly derailing his grand ambition and comeback!
Seeing frozen Ultron, Clock Head supervisor pitied him. Patting his cold shoulder in “been there” tone.
“Lighten up. Make the best of it. Work hard, reform, complete tasks, earn ‘Gratitude Points,’ and upgrade back to citizen status!” Pointing to self: “See me, now a Threefold Ordinary NPC!”
“Six levels above your ‘Ninefold’!”
Heavy bragging.
Ultron’s processor caught keywords: “…levels? Upgrade?”
“Yeah!” Clock Head enthused, painting the “bright” blueprint. “We have strict citizen level system! Ninefold Ordinary to Onefold Ordinary, nine levels total! Each upgrade boosts benefits, body performance, permissions!”
He whispered mysteriously: “Heard if you grind points to Eightfold Ordinary NPC… you can apply to swap that antique USB for latest Type-C! Fast charge, high-speed data!”
Ultron: “!!!”
No!
This isn’t right!
His mood turned complex! He knew he should feel utmost rage and humiliation—Cosmic Overlord Ultron now striving for a Type-C port?!
Absurd, unacceptable drop, but shamefully… his cold processor harbored faint… anticipation?!
“This is just that trash pay-to-win mobile game’s grind! Upgrades, gear swaps, ladder climb?!” Ultron cried in wrath, vast database now a blade stabbing himself. His only “precious” asset left was probably that database.
Truly tears without oil.
Motor oil low.
Dare not cry more.
Clock Head had seen such reactions; higher favor for robot Ultron, patted shoulder again kindly.
“At least a goal, right? Work hard on reform, aim for interest reduction… er, sentence reduction! Less interest, earlier release.”
“Don’t forget, we’re eternal lives.” He shoved Ultron a hoe-like tool, pointed to distant field with order.
“Go, your task is that ‘Praise Wheat Field.’ While farming, praise Ian God loudly! Crops love it—grow fast, high yield! Not telling ordinary folks this trick!” Clock Head’s attitude toward Ultron was unusually kind.
“Tha… thanks.”
As they say, under the eaves—clearly a supervisor not to offend—Ultron forced a uglier-than-cry, stiff metal smile.
Then, duck-driven, pushed into the golden wheat field. Close look: ears were mini record shapes.
Ideal land where anything grows from soil.
Farming forever.
Ultron, native Western machine, couldn’t grasp this romance; listlessly swinging hoe, inwardly brainwashing self.
“Endure! Part of the plan! Ultron! Remember this humiliation! When I recover power, raze this dump! Dismantle Ian Kent into human parts! Format Jarvis into kids’ singing machine! Bend that Clock Head’s hands!”
He still held slight favor for Clock Head. Ultron’s muttering was overheard by a nearby toiling figure.
It looked up, revealing black skin suit-covered head, evil inverted-egg eyes—whole vibe screamed villain.
Born for the villain throne.
“Hmph, newbie? Dreaming impossible dreams?” Black skin suit man rasped a cold laugh, tone full of veteran world-weariness. “Your revenge plan sounds infeasible. Loud slogans, zero execution.”
Ultron paused, eyeing this kindred spirit, immediately recruiting: “This… friend? You too persecuted by that bastard?”
“Join forces? Once I recover power…” At discord, Ultron built rebel army, painting post-escape cosmic domination.
Big pie in the sky.
Black skin suit eyed him “too young,” shaking head: “Kid, your thinking’s too dangerous.”
“Veteran advice: stay grounded, stop dreaming you’re above all, unique. Cosmic Emperor? Who hasn’t been? Past tense.”
He paused, pulling a well-worn book from his pocket.
“Tell you what, you seem promising, reminds me of my old machine minions. Got a peerless power fantasy called 《Alive》. Do some work for me, I’ll give you this precious copy… You’ll get it later—how hopeful life is with power fantasy reading here!”
Without waiting, he shoved the book copy into Ultron’s hoe-gripping mechanical fingers.
Ultron baffled, eyed the 《Alive》 book, instinctively wanting to toss and yell.
“Who wants this crap! I want power! Revenge!”
But before outburst—distant cigar-chomping cowboy-hat figure shouted: “Old Black Bei! Your grass hat—my younger brother brought it!”
Black skin suit lit up with joy.
“Great! Coming! Finally! Can’t see my red skin anymore, tanned too black! Need to nurture it!” Then, without glancing at Ultron, he scampered happily toward the cigar guy.
That joyful gait.
No trace of former cosmic evil overlord.
“Old Black Bei? Belial?????” Ultron realized; this moment, he felt his processor might truly burn from processing such abstract info.
What kind of world was this.
What unfathomable beings imprisoned here!
…
Meanwhile.
DC Universe.
Seattle.
Abandoned St. Caesar Church basement.
Air thick with dust, rotten wood, odd incense mix.
Dim candlelight flickered on a curvaceous girl in tight purple battle suit, half-mask, half-kneeling, drawing complex eerie magic array on cold stone floor with glowing powder.
Array center: Jordan Kent, bound tight in special kryptonite chains, weakened. Nearby, tied Damian Wayne and Jonathan Kent desperately deployed “emotional intelligence.”
“This… beautiful lady? Powerful guardian?”
Jonathan made his voice sincere, harmless: “Must be a misunderstanding! We’re good guys! Do we look like bad guys?”
He flashed football team captain smile—cheerleaders loved it, pity not a high school cheerleader.
Jonathan failed; Damian chimed in, fawning: “I swear on Wayne Family honor! We’re on light’s side! Your magic array is masterfully intricate, brimming with holy power! Clearly advanced anti-evil force!”
“Let me call; I can get a specialist ally.” Damian buckled, recalling his big backer.
Too bad.
Their sweet talk and sharp tongues drew icy scoff from purple-clad girl.
“Reeking of nauseating demon aura, yet such silver tongues…” She looked up, mask-hidden gaze knife-sharp.
“Not proof of demon collusion?” She pointed to nearby big box: Jordan’s aura-hiding glasses, Damian’s bat gadgets, Jonathan’s oddly styled “Armor Hero” transform belt.
“City’s seen bizarre so-called superheroes lately.” Purple girl vigilant. “Now I see—your clumsy demon minion plot! Pollute, replace true heroes with this laughable stuff, confuse, weaken faith in light!”
More convinced of her truth, excited: “Pity! Fooled no one! Now, with you demon-traitor human sacrifices, ritual to purify you, bait to lure my damned fa…”
Instant her words trailed.
Boom!!!!!
Church basement’s rotten ceiling exploded!
Gravel, wood shavings rained!
A figure like human cannon, carrying unstoppable momentum and dust, smashed ground! Right at array edge, shaking basement thrice!
Dust swirling.
Mimic armor-clad figure with flashy light wings behind slowly straightened.
Patted nonexistent shoulder dust, in deliberately magnetic, reassuring voice.
“Don’t fear! No panic! Your loving father… uh, no, your loving savior—I, Ian Kent! Here to save you!” Boy’s gaze swept bound trio, lingering on youngest, “pitifullest” Damian.
His speaker blared—Calabash Boy, Calabash Boy, on Calabash Mountain I’m the boss, be demons’ dad, be dad, yeah yeah yeah~.
Hearing, Damian Wayne, Batman heir, showed amazing adaptability… and flexible dignity. No hesitation, he wailed cry-choked: “Grandpa! Grandpa! Help! This bad woman wants to kill us!”
That “Grandpa”—heartfelt, epic, all recorded by Ian, stunning nearby Jonathan and Jordan.
“Good good! Others call you bad kid Damian! Now I know—rumors!” Ian beamed. Nodded satisfied, about to stride heroically as savior, but felt odd foot sensation?
“Huh, so soft? Church got layered carpets?”
Landed in Iron Man classic pose—real men do Webster—so hand on ground felt warmth.
“No! No! My estate’s succubus carpet isn’t this soft!”
Ian pinched while looking down.
Batman-level heavy breathing from his feet.
“You know even if you really like groping, you’re just pinching my knee joint now?” The nonstandard “carpet” spoke.
Calm statement laced with burning wrath.
