thefictionvixens Page 1370
Page 1370
“That makes sense.” Caldwell nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on him. “However, are you sure… they’re not here for tonight’s grand finale? As far as I know, less than half of the guests tonight flew in from all over the US and even the world specifically to photograph this thing. Mr. Wayne… are you sure this isn’t why you’re here?”
Bruce stared at him for a long time, then smiled slightly.
“Of course, I believe almost everyone has a reason to want one.” He said, “And you, Mr. Caldwell?”
Caldwell smiled and nodded, no longer dwelling on the topic, and said instead, "Let's go, Mr. Wayne, the auction will start soon."
Bruce found a seat in the VIP lounge on the third floor. He chose this spot because it offered an excellent view of the outward-facing stands, allowing him to see the entire room.
An auctioneer dressed in a black tuxedo quickly emerged from behind the curtain, cleared his throat, and skillfully introduced himself to all the guests before decisively announcing the start of the auction.
The atmosphere in the room remained lively until the auctioneer announced the penultimate lot. Most of the items were still artifacts and antiques, some of which had questionable provenance, but no one would inquire about the legitimacy of the items at this auction, at least not before leaving the room—an unspoken rule.
If anyone were peering into the private room from the outside, they would have noticed that Bruce Wayne was completely absorbed in the alluring Russian woman in his arms, oblivious to his piercing gaze sweeping across the room. He had a high-tech electronic pupil installed in his left eye, projecting a retinal monitor visible only to himself. He adjusted his field of vision to a powerful telescope, surveying everyone present with unparalleled scrutiny.
“I still don’t understand what attending an unregistered auction has to do with our investigation, sir,” Alfred muttered into his wireless headset. “You could just tell me what you’re playing with instead of selling it to me.”
“You’ll find out soon enough, Alfred,” Bruce said casually, completely ignoring the blonde beauty beside him. In fact, compared to the supermodels who usually accompanied Bruce, this Russian beauty was nothing more than a second-rate ballet dancer of mediocre renown. Bruce chose her as a cover only because he was certain that she didn’t understand English at all, allowing him to converse with Alfred undisturbed during the auction.
· ·Requesting flowers····· ·······
"Very well, as you wish, sir."
As soon as the words were spoken, the auctioneer's gavel fell heavily, confirming that a painting in the penultimate lot had been sold for $1400 million. The entire room erupted in enthusiastic but not harsh applause, and even Bruce Wayne temporarily let go of the beautiful woman next to him, winning cheers from the audience.
“Listen, Alfred,” he said in a low voice, “the main event is about to begin.”
0...
“Yes, sir, I can see very clearly here,” Alfred said. “With your own eyes.”
After the painting was sold, the atmosphere in the hall changed abruptly, the air seeming to grow heavier. An assistant approached carrying a silver-white metal briefcase and handed it to the auctioneer. At this moment, the VIPs who had been lazily sitting on the high platform straightened up, countless sharp eyes fixed on the silver metal briefcase, holding their breath as they waited for the auctioneer to open it.
“This is a very special item. Frankly, in all my years as an auctioneer, I have never handled anything so special.” The auctioneer placed the metal box on the table in front of him. “Due to its unique nature, we cannot judge its value based on past experience. As far as we know, this is the first time in the world that such a special item has been auctioned, given its age, genetics, and craftsmanship. None of our auctioneers are sure what the starting price will be, so we have decided to start the auction from scratch.”
Having said that, the auctioneer took a deep breath and finally opened the lid of the metal box. As soon as the lid was opened, a dazzling green aura burst forth from the crack, and in the center of the box, a beautiful green stone with fine patterns and radiating a crystal-clear green light lay quietly.
Alfred gasped through his headphones: "My God, this is...."
“Yes, you’re right,” Bruce said calmly. “That’s why most visitors to the auction today are there for a piece of kryptonite.”
Chapter 1689 Uncontrollable
The final item was a piece of kryptonite, which explained why so many of the world's most powerful people had gathered in Gotham for this illegal auction. All the VIPs present abandoned their gentlemanly and ladylike facades; countless pairs of burning eyes, like those of predators, were fixed on the small green stone, each seemingly determined to possess it.
Unsurprisingly, the sudden emergence of the fake Superman served as a stark warning to all representatives of high society. Every business tycoon who had participated to some extent in illegal activities that crossed ethical boundaries, and every high-ranking national representative harboring unspeakable secrets, felt a tremendous threat from this man called Superman, including representatives from almost all related industries.
Today, he might militarily intervene in the affairs of a regime in a Middle Eastern country, but who knows if he won't show up at your desk or in your bedroom tomorrow, forcing you to agree to demands that are simply impossible to agree to?
Kryptonite is the best insurance to keep that omnipotent Kryptonian away from you, and in this particular case, it's more effective than any high-tech aircraft cannon or even nuclear weapon. As the auctioneer said, this little pebble is indeed more valuable than all the previous auction items, but you can't "047" give it a proper starting price.
“Now I understand why you went there, sir,” Alfred said through the wireless headset. “I’m guessing you went there to auction off Kryptonite?”
“No, Alfred,” Bruce said calmly, “I’m betting on kryptonite.”
The next moment, he heard the old butler choke on his wine and immediately start coughing.
“Wait…excuse me, sir,” he said after a moment of calm, “maybe I didn’t hear you clearly. What did you just say?”
“I told him this Kryptonite was the one I auctioned off. An anonymous auction, of course,” Bruce said in a low voice. “As far as we know, the only person in the world who currently possesses Kryptonite, besides myself, is Lex Luthor. So I found Luthor, and he assured me he had nothing to do with this fake Superman. I don’t think he was lying this time.”
“You still haven’t explained why you’re selling the Kryptonite we have,” Alfred muttered. “If you don’t have enough money, the Wayne family has so many rare treasures and antiques to sell, not to mention the supercars in your garage that you hardly ever use.”
“This is a decoy,” Bruce explained. “We assume that someone created this fake Superman for some specific purpose, and they certainly wouldn’t let this Superman fight them. They need a weapon that can control Superman in case he goes out of control.”
"Kryptonite," Alfred interjected, "So you think they're here to bid?"
"hundred percent"
"But do I need to remind you, sir? You might be the only wealthy person on this planet who isn't afraid of Superman right now. Everyone capable is taking the bait. How do you find someone among so many people...?"
“That’s why I came here in person,” Bruce said. “By now, I’ve ruled out most of the guests here, like that guy in the breadbox right across from us, you see?”
He glanced around; Alfred could see everything happening in the private room in real time on the monitor on his retina. Leaning against the railing was a gentlemanly man in a white suit, holding a wine glass half-filled with red wine. Behind him stood two bodyguards in black suits; they were very muscular and looked well-trained.
“I can tell, sir, but I can’t see any difference between them and the guests in the other rooms,” Alfred admitted. “The only things I see in common are their expensive formal attire and a pair of entourages wearing sunglasses.”
“This person is a representative secretly sent by a certain government. Judging from his personal habits, he's probably from some Eastern European country. I won't go into details,” Bruce said, his sharp gaze then shifting to the next booth. “The person you see on this booth is a representative from the United States. The next lady is from an Asian country, also representing a government… And the person you see here is one of the wealthiest arms dealers in the Middle East. Given his business dealings, I believe he has every reason to auction this gem…”
"As far as I know, they're all pretty much the same," Alfred said.
“Details, Alfred. They can put on airs, but some personal habits can’t be hidden. There are always many details hidden in each of them, like their business cards, telling each person’s story. You just need to observe carefully.”
When Bruce's gaze landed on one of the pavilions, Alfred suddenly exclaimed in surprise, "Wait a minute, is it me, or is Mr. Luther sitting there?"
Bruce turned his gaze back and sure enough, it was Lex Luthor sitting in the pavilion. The golden light illuminated his bald head, making him hard to mistake.
"That's him. I found him on the way here."
But you said he had nothing to do with it.
“He’s not on my suspect list yet,” Bruce said. “If I were Luther, I’d be worried about who took the Kryptonite.”
He paused for a moment, then his gaze shifted to a private room on the inner side of the first floor, where a burly man, also bald, sat at a desk, his suit jacket bulging, and he had a small tuft of beard on his chin.
Bruce frowned, his gaze lingering for a moment. Alfred asked, "What's wrong, sir?"
“I can’t say anything about this man, Alfred,” Bruce said. “There’s no evidence or trace left on him. I don’t know where he came from or what his background is.”
"Even you can't come to such a conclusion, sir?"
“Yes, if someone can't see anything, he becomes a very difficult opponent,” Bruce said. “Based on that alone, they are the prime suspects here.”
While they were chatting, the kryptonite auction on the website was in full swing.
Unlike the lukewarm reception of the previous item, almost everyone in the room joined in the bidding for this green stone, and within a short period, the price became increasingly inflated. The auction prices climbed steadily, eventually reaching the highest price ever paid for the previous item.
When the price was raised to the $2000 million mark, the person in the private room that Bruce had been watching finally made a bid.
"Fifty million"
Without any hesitation, the price more than doubled, and this noble demeanor undoubtedly attracted everyone's attention. All eyes were focused on the bald man with a small mustache, and almost everyone was secretly asking, "Who is this guy?"
Instead, the man sat expressionless and rigidly in front of the railing, as if he were the one who had just uttered the astonishing price, calmly waiting for the next bidder.
"Fifty-one million!" A moment of silence followed, then someone quickly raised the price. The speed at which the bid was raised was astonishing, but that didn't mean other buyers couldn't afford to pay higher. In fact, most of those present anticipated higher prices; they were all determined to get their hands on that small piece of kryptonite.
"55 million!"
"55 million!"
The challenger for the "eighty million" offer was the same person, his voice completely flat, sounding like a machine. Xiao Li frowned, his suspicions about these buyers of unknown origin growing even stronger.
"Eighty-two million!" Someone else continued to bid. Bruce noticed that this person was none other than the Eastern European representative he had mentioned earlier, but his face had become stiff, indicating that the current price was approaching their expected limit.
The man continued betting on the "one hundred million" prize, his expression remaining unchanged.
The price continued to rise, but more and more people withdrew from the fray. Smaller nations and relatively weaker powers dropped out one after another. They could no longer afford to play; no matter how much they desired the kryptonite, they could only watch helplessly. The air in the room seemed to heat up, and the auctioneer, his face flushed, had to pull out a handkerchief to wipe the beads of sweat from his brow. Although he had prepared himself mentally, he seemed to have underestimated the allure of this small stone to the world's wealthiest individuals. In his entire auctioning career, he had never encountered such a frenzy.
But no matter how strong the opponent, absolute dominance on the field remained in the hands of this bald man. Others would add 100,000, he'd add 58,000 to 1 million; others would add 1 million, he'd bid 10 million. It seemed that among the countless wealthy tycoons in the entire arena, only this guy truly relied on his reputation for "treating money like dirt." When he bid a staggering 200 million, he didn't even flinch, as if it were just an empty, meaningless number.
At this point, the vast majority of participants withdrew. It seems that by now, they had finally exceeded the psychological price of most major powers, and they had to consider whether the price was worthwhile. Perhaps they could save the money and build a few more nuclear bombs.
"Two hundred million dollars at a time." Seeing that no one else was bidding, the auctioneer raised his gavel.
However, at that moment, a voice that had been quiet until now rang out. The voice was not loud, but it resounded like thunder in the hall: "Three hundred million."
People gasped. Even Bruce couldn't help but look away from the bald man who had offered a staggering 300 million for a moment. Hearing even more insane bids, he followed the crowd.
As a result, they found another bald guy.
Lex Luthor sat casually on the stage of his booth, ignoring the strange looks he received from the crowd, and watched his provocative competitor with a half-smile.
Chapter 1690 Hypnotic Switch
After Talia left the white room, only Batman and Superman's clone remained in the large room. Upon hearing her order to "kill him," Superman didn't even flinch. Instead, he slowly approached Batman, spread his five fingers, and pressed his right hand against the latter's heart.
Batman felt a sharp pain in his chest, the immense pressure almost suffocating him. He gritted his teeth and stared directly into the clone Superman's sky-blue eyes, eyes almost identical to those of the real Superman in his memory.
“If…if you really like his memories,” Batman said softly, “then you should remember this too, listen carefully, Clark.”
Talia stood in the hallway outside, observing everything that happened inside through the one-way glass. Hearing this, she simply smiled calmly and didn't intervene. She had complete confidence in the Alliance's brainwashing methods: a clone Superman who had become a complete puppet of the Alliance wouldn't change his mind because of a few empty words; this wasn't some cliché movie plot.
So she stood quietly by the window, arms crossed, motionless. Little did she know that just ten seconds and eleven minutes later, she would begin to regret her decision.
Batman didn't say anything overtly dramatic, nor did he weaponize Superman's past—his parents, girlfriend, and friends. Unexpectedly, he uttered only a long string of strangely pronounced, incomprehensible syllables, sounding like a language from a distant land.
Talia frowned. She was fluent in multiple languages, and even in languages she hadn't formally studied, she could roughly determine his region of origin from just one sentence, as language systems from different regions always share some similarities. However, Batman breathlessly uttered two or three complete sentences, and she couldn't understand a word of his strange pronunciation.
Unless... it's just that this isn't a language system that already exists on Earth.
By the time Talia realized something was wrong, Superman's expression in the room had become extremely strange. He released Batman, staggered backward, buckled his right knee, and knelt on the ground, breathing heavily.
Talia could never have imagined that it was precisely because she "completely copied the original Superman's memories" that her perfect brainwashing of the cloned Superman went wrong.
Many years ago, when the Justice League still existed and Batman and Superman were known as "the best men in the world," Superman was mentally affected by a magical event and lost control of himself. His rampage caused immense destruction, and it took Batman and the Justice League working together to bring him under control and ultimately help him regain his sanity.
Superman felt extremely guilty about this and asked Batman to implant a psychological suggestion in his brain, similar to a computer reset button, to prevent a recurrence. If he fell under mind control again, saying a certain suggestion in his presence would reboot his brain and free him from the brainwashing.
The only person in the world who knew the key phrase to activate the switch was Batman. They used three Kryptonian phrases as the key phrases, and Superman personally taught him these three phrases, correcting him again and again, until he could pronounce them accurately even in his sleep.
Talia had miscalculated: the memories she had implanted into the clone were so complete, even the hypnosis switch Batman had implanted in Superman's brain had been perfectly copied. Although she was standing by the window, unaware of what was happening, she quickly realized things could get very bad. She turned and swiftly walked out of the white corridor, ordering the two ninjas guarding the door as she left: "Seal off this area. Get me more people to stall him as much as possible!"
Her vigilance was justified. Almost the instant her heel left the metal automatic door, Superman looked up, his gaze still resolute and cold, but now piercing.