Chapter 44: Heartbeat.

10:00 AM.

Bruce was usually awake by this time, but today was an exception. The bedroom was quiet, the curtains blocking out any light. He'd been working on a case late the previous night, so his housekeeper had chosen to let Mr. Batman sleep in for two extra hours.

But this peace didn't last.

Suddenly, a piercing alarm ripped through the silence, echoing through the bedroom.

Bruce was startled awake, his expression a little dazed. He sat up and walked to the bedroom computer screen—

Warning, warning!

Heart rate monitor: 220 beats per minute

. He was suddenly awake.

He grabbed his tactical belt and rushed out the door. Alfred, standing in the living room, saw a shirtless man sprinting down the stairs and into the parking lot.

"Master?"

He blinked in confusion.

10:08 AM.

The Batmobile lurched into the safe house's underground garage.

A few seconds later, Bruce quickly opened the entrance door, glancing at the security screen out of the corner of his eye. The man was kneeling on the ground, his forehead pressed against the floor, motionless.

He immediately opened the closet and retrieved the first aid kit and automated external defibrillator. There was no time to waste—Jack's heart rate was skyrocketing, requiring emergency treatment. He could die at any moment.

Although his heart rate had dropped slightly on the way in, it was still 210 beats per minute, the maximum heart rate for a skydiver.

He immediately pushed the door open and entered.

The air was filled with the smell of blood and sweat. The man kneeling on the ground looked extremely stiff, his eyes closed, his breathing rapid, his lips purple.

Bruce laid him flat on the bed, then quickly peeled off the electrode patches and applied them to his right collarbone and left ribs.

The AED activated.

He pressed the shock button.

A high-energy shock ripped through the heart muscle.

The man on the bed convulsed, practically bouncing upward. After a few seconds, Jack's breathing rhythm began to return, and his heart rate slowly dropped.

Bruce loosened his cuffs and collar, then pressed down on his tongue, checking for any airway obstruction and lifting his chin to ease his breathing.

Jack looked disheveled, his hair matted with sweat, his already unnaturally pale complexion exaggerating, almost like a corpse.

But he was finally out of danger.

His heart rate dropped: 150, 132, 115.

Bruce stared at the string of numbers for a moment, then closed his eyes, stifling his trembling muscles and trying to regulate his breathing.

The tension in his heart finally relaxed.

The moment he saw the heart rate alarm, a sense of disarray, panic—all the negative emotions surged through him, nearly making him dizzy.

Because he knew what it meant.

220 beats per minute could be a precursor to ventricular tachycardia or ventricular fibrillation, which could escalate into cardiac arrest at any moment.

Death might be just three to five minutes away.

Even though he didn't dare waste a second, flooring the accelerator, and who knows how many tickets he'd received on the way here—he still managed to miss the time limit significantly.

Bruce even felt fortunate for Jack's exceptional physique.

Fortunately... he was still alive.

After a few dozen seconds, the man finally responded.

He opened his eyes, those green ones fixed on the ceiling, and Bruce smoothed the hair that had clung to his forehead.

"Can you hear me?" Bruce asked.

His head tilted slightly, as if nodding.

Bruce observed his reaction and asked the question he most wanted to know.

"How are you feeling now?"

The man, still staring at the ceiling, said a low, bubbly voice.

"Headache," he said, pointing to his temples. "It feels like someone took an axe and split it open."

This is a common aftereffect, Bruce thought.

He considered how to alleviate such symptoms and asked again:

"What happened just now?"

The man lying on the bed twitched his lips slightly.

"Nothing happened." He shifted his arm, grabbing a pillow. "I had a sudden palpitation while eating breakfast, and then my breathing became uncontrollable—"

He paused, then said, "Maybe I have some kind of heart attack?"

Bruce frowned, carefully recalling Jack's behavior over the past few days—

withdrawal from psychiatric medication? Anxiety disorder? Panic attack?

All possible.

He'd need to carefully review the surveillance footage later.

Of course, he'd also need to check Jack's health to see if there were any problems.

"Any other symptoms?"

"A little nausea... but nothing serious."

Bruce nodded, turned off the equipment, and peeled the patch off Jack.

"I'll take you somewhere else tomorrow."

He couldn't allow this to happen again.

Jack needed a new place to live, a safe place closer to the manor, with a full medical system that would allow him to arrive within two minutes and allow for remote intervention.

Ideally, a room where he could relax... more entertainment facilities would be needed, and an indoor room wouldn't be a bad idea either.

Of course, the most important thing was a well-sealed room, so no one could escape.

Before that, he needed to give Jack a thorough physical examination.

Bruce pondered, thinking again of those drugs of unknown origin.

...Hopefully, Jack's current condition has nothing to do with them.

...Maybe it will take more time to verify this issue.

In any case, he thought, he had to change Jack's environment first.

The blond man raised an eyebrow and said nothing, as if to agree.