Chapter 71 Physical and Psychosomatic Surgery
Driven completely insane by Scarecrow's upgraded fear toxin—
Batman attacked without restraint.
No words.
No hesitation.
Only pure destructive intent.
His combat style had transformed entirely.
Gone was the calculated restraint Bruce normally maintained during combat.
Now—
Over a dozen lethal martial systems fused together violently.
League of Assassins assassination methods.
Military close-quarters elimination techniques.
Pressure-point destruction.
Joint-severing combinations.
Every strike aimed directly at fatal targets.
Elbows toward the temple.
Fingers toward the eyes.
Knees toward the spine.
Each movement carried genuine killing intent.
But inside Lynn's perception—
The entire battle resembled a transparent mechanical simulation.
Battlefield Domain dissected Bruce's body continuously.
Muscle contraction patterns.
Center-of-gravity shifts.
Breathing rhythm.
Micro-tension before directional changes.
Every future movement became visible before execution.
Lynn kept both hands casually inside the pockets of the white coat.
Then walked through Batman's assault calmly.
One slight lean forward—
A whip kick capable of cracking granite passed behind his head harmlessly.
One small backward tilt—
Bruce's straight punch tore through empty air less than two centimeters from Lynn's nose.
A quiet rotational step—
The chokehold missed completely.
Every dodge remained tiny.
Economical.
Almost elegant.
Lynn wasn't fighting.
He was strolling.
Meanwhile—
The crazed Batman resembled a wounded predator lashing out blindly inside a cage.
The more attacks missed—
The more unstable Bruce became.
The more unstable he became—
The faster the fear toxin accelerated his nervous system.
Heart rate rising.
Adrenaline surging.
Cortisol overload escalating.
Analysis of All Things tracked every biochemical fluctuation instantly.
The toxin continuously amplified Bruce's paranoia and aggression through hyperactivation of the amygdala while suppressing rational cortical processing.
And because Batman's body already operated near peak human limits—
The forced overclocking began damaging him rapidly.
Tactical movement efficiency dropped incrementally.
Footwork began showing microscopic hesitation.
Punch sequencing lost perfect rhythm.
He was burning himself apart.
Lynn waited patiently.
Like a surgeon observing the precise moment diseased tissue finally exposed itself.
…
Five full minutes passed.
Inside the shattered Batcave—
Only Bruce's increasingly heavy breathing and the violent screams of displaced air remained audible.
Lynn still maintained the same humiliating posture.
Hands in pockets.
Relaxed steps.
The inability to land even a single hit pushed Bruce deeper into frenzy.
"RAAAAHHH—!!!"
Batman roared violently.
Then abandoned complex combat techniques entirely.
Instead—
His hand twisted sharply toward the emergency mechanism built into the tactical belt.
High-voltage defense grid.
One of Batman's anti-metahuman contingency systems.
The device instantly prepared to release a large-scale electrical discharge capable of electrocuting both Lynn and Bruce simultaneously.
A suicidal tactic.
But at the exact moment Bruce forcefully twisted his waist—
An old injury resurfaced.
Left lateral abdominal region.
Residual trauma from years of continuous combat strain.
Likely aggravated during encounters with Bane and the League of Assassins.
For approximately 0.05 seconds—
The overloaded fascia and muscle tissue stiffened.
To ordinary humans—
Imperceptible.
Inside Battlefield Domain—
It appeared like a giant opening carved directly into reality.
Now.
Lynn moved instantly.
The figure in the white coat vanished forward almost like teleportation.
Bruce's pupils contracted sharply.
Too fast.
Lynn entered directly through Batman's exposed inner guard line.
His right index and middle fingers aligned together.
Not like martial arts.
Like surgical instruments.
Then—
Tap.
The strike landed precisely between the fifth and sixth cervical vertebrae at the back of Bruce's neck.
Exact target:
Primary motor-signal transmission nexus.
The force application demonstrated terrifying precision.
Amplified strength from the incomplete Thor Physique and incomplete Green Goblin Physique condensed into microscopic neurological disruption.
Not enough to damage the spinal cord.
Only enough to sever motor-signal transmission temporarily.
This was no longer combat.
It was live neurosurgery performed through physical force.
Thud.
Batman's body froze instantly.
Then collapsed heavily onto the cave floor.
Complete paralysis.
Only the eyes still moved.
Lynn crouched beside him calmly.
Bruce's breathing remained violent.
His eyes bloodshot.
Pupils unstable.
The fear toxin still raged inside the brain.
Physical restraint alone wouldn't solve the problem.
"Mr. Pennyworth," Lynn said calmly while activating the communicator.
"Bring him to the medical platform."
"And prepare every component on the list I'm sending now."
…
Several minutes later—
With Alfred Pennyworth's assistance—
Bruce lay secured atop the Batcave's emergency medical platform.
Meanwhile—
At another workstation—
Lynn began assembling equipment personally.
The requested components came from multiple sources.
Miniature quantum processors from Iron Man's technology line.
Bioelectric sensing chips derived from Oscorp neural-interface research.
WayneTech neural-amplification modules.
Under SS-Rank Analysis of All Things—
Lynn's brain functioned like a living supercomputer.
His hands moved almost too quickly to follow visually.
Soldering.
Calibration.
Circuit restructuring.
Signal synchronization.
Within fifteen minutes—
A bizarre metallic headpiece had formed atop the workbench.
Its structure resembled neither ordinary medical equipment nor conventional technology.
"A tool for psychological surgery," Lynn answered simply when Alfred stared at it silently.
He placed one electrode against Bruce's temple.
The second against his own.
Then injected a specially synthesized neurostabilizer directly into Bruce's bloodstream.
"Mr. Pennyworth," Lynn said calmly,
"The next stage carries psychological risk."
"Remain outside the immediate synchronization radius."
Alfred stepped back immediately.
Lynn closed his eyes.
Then activated the device.
Instantly—
Consciousness descended.
Not physically.
Mentally.
The neural interferometer synchronized partially with Bruce Wayne's damaged cerebral activity.
Lynn's awareness plunged directly into the poisoned subconscious landscape generated by Scarecrow's toxin.
…
Rain.
Cold endless rain.
Crime Alley.
The alley stretched infinitely through darkness.
Young Bruce knelt beside the bodies of his parents again and again and again.
Gunshots echoed repeatedly.
Blood spread endlessly across the pavement.
Then—
Bats emerged.
Thousands.
Millions.
Screaming black shapes pouring from every corner of the darkness trying to consume him whole.
This represented Bruce Wayne's deepest psychological trauma amplified to catastrophic levels by Scarecrow's toxin.
Any ordinary consciousness entering this nightmare would collapse immediately.
But Lynn remained completely calm.
He observed the hallucination coldly.
Like a scientist studying a diseased brain under a microscope.
Then—
Using pure rationality sharpened by Analysis of All Things—
He transformed his own consciousness into an invisible surgical blade.
And began dissecting the hallucination itself.
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