Digitally rendered consciousness is specific enough for Bruce. Who is a detective, anyway. Mostly, he's just surprised to hear Clark speak about him, since this is a first, and so much of his Kryptonian identity seems to be ... burdensome. (No thanks to you, Bruce reminds himself.)

He could say—

A thousand things about climate change and political death cults, capitalism, fascism, Arthur's megalomaniac half-brother having a point, about the way they've seen fit to destroy the oceans. Earth may be headed toward's Krypton's end no matter how many evil monsters they vanquish, and what happens then? Do they send a baby away to some other world, and hope it's not too late? Does Clark survive alone, in the cold nothingness of space, until the stars all run red with age?

Not any of that.

Bruce lets out a breath, easily mistaken for a wordless laugh if not for the way his eyes skitter away to his laptop screen, expression doing something. One hand moves on the controls, but it's aimless, busywork.

"I didn't think it would mean anything to me," he says after a moment, perfectly fine. "But that's just because I didn't think about it. Being right here and you being alive, right here. Turns out it means a lot. And your father is right."

So. Taptap. What interesting syntax on this sentence.