286. Dick Grayson

Can I just say that Carl Gustavus, or the Magus, or whatever the fuck he wants us to call him now, is a smug, pretentious, self-centered obstructionist bully who cannot be relied upon to do anything except screw things up? The man disappears for DAYS at a time, typically when we need him most. He's the complete opposite of everything I stand for. Everything all the rest of us stand for, or so I thought.

HE. IS. BAD. NEWS.

So why the hell does Bruce seem to find him so goddam fascinating? Even Ollie has been known to side with him every now and then during tactical meetings, or at least want to stare at him for hours at a time when no one else is looking. OK, so he is pretty fucking hot, I admit it. But looks aren't everything--the man is a complete and total son of a BITCH! Why does no one else see this?!

I think there's more to his story than he's letting on. I know our main focus these days is HM, but I'm going to get to the bottom of this. The man is trouble. He's poison to our operation.

Other than that little quibble (which I should really be limiting to my alter ego, but I'm just pissed off right now I can't even think straight), things are going well. Janice and I got together, and that went okay even though I was forced to be incredibly evasive. It was getting really dicey there, so in a flash of inspiration I kinda sorta led her to believe I'd had a nervous breakdown, and that explained all sorts of things she was asking questions about: my leaving town, my not contacting her for months at a time, these strange men I've been spending time with and whose names I kept dropping by accident, etc., etc. I did throw in a part about going down south to help out after Katrina, which of course is true, just to cover my tracks.

I am a devious Boy Wonder, I am...

285. Robin

The meeting went well--as well as could be expected under the circumstances. I must say, it felt great to sit once more in the Batcave, this time with Batman on one side of me and Green Arrow to the other, all of us ready to work together against a common enemy. (I should probably admit I got more than a little turned on under the circumstances. I tried to concentrate on B's plan of attack instead of fantasizing about being the meat in a Bat/Arrow sandwich, but it wasn't easy.)

There was a certain amount of tension and suspicion, maybe some healthy competition, just beneath the surface between B and O, but they remained professional throughout it all. I know both of them very well at this point (to put it mildly), and I can understand why they each feel the way they do, but i also know they're ultimately on the same side, even if they're not completely convinced of it themselves just yet. I think once they witness each other's commitment to the job at hand, things will change for the better.

Things did change a bit, not exactly for the better, when Gustavus showed up, 45 minutes late. Only he's not "Gustavus" now--expects us to call him "The Magus." His outfit is pretty similar to the one we saw before--all leather, all black, not a bit of his flesh exposed beyond his eyes and lips. (OK, I admit it's a good look for him. And maybe he would fit nicely into that superhero sandwich--but that doesn't counter the fact that he's a self-obsessed jerk who DOES NOT play well with others.) Everything he said seemed designed to complicate things that had been going perfectly smoothly before he arrived. He tried to get us all to go back to square one in terms of who we are and what we're trying to do; he instantly picked up on the rift between B and O and tried to exploit it; he even questioned the dividing line between right and wrong the rest of us all seem to share, implying that twe were all living a lie and only he possessed the almighty Truth.

Let's face it: I just don't like the guy, and NOT just because he's been fucking the living daylights out of B while I was out of town. But I have to put my personal feelings out of the picture and focus on the battle ahead. Taking down HateMonger and his crew is what I've come back here to do, and that's exactly what I'm going to do, dammit.

284. Robin

Batman has called a meeting--the two of us, plus Green Arrow, and he's also attempting to track down Gustavus, or whatever the guy is calling himself these days. That last one won't be easy, but that's none of my business.

We're going to map out a plan of attack to take on HM's organization, or at least its Gotham City base. I don't know exactly what B has in mind, but I do know that we are up against an enemy far larger than we've ever faced, and it's going to take every one of us operating at the peak of our abilities to bring it down.

And I've never been more ready to swing into action than I am, right now.

283. Batman

HateMonger has escalated his attacks on innocent men and women. It is my duty to protect them.

Robin has matured since we last worked together. His new friend appears to be a worthy ally, despite my misgivings about him.

We can wait no longer. Action must be taken.

282. Dick

I came back to Gotham four months ago thinking ... I don't know, thinking it would be easier this time, maybe? Thinking everything would be different, that Green Arrow and I would join Batman and his new partner, and together the four of us would take down the mysterious HateMonger's organization and restore order not just to this own city, but to the entire nation, since the group's ideology of hate and fear has spread like a weed throughout one community after another with alarming speed.

Instead, life has been an annoying mix of sheer chaos and utter tedium. I spend far more of it as Dick Grayson than Robin (in fact, I've barely suited up at all since Ollie and I rescued the other two back in June). Instead of investigating crime cartels, I've been scouring the paper for apartments, since it's become quite clear that Wayne Manor is not a healthy place to live these days. Oliver's been doing temp work, and I went crawling back to my old employer offering to accept a huge pay cut if they'd only take me back. (B offered to pay me for Wayne Foundation work as he had before I left town, but it just felt wrong on so many levels I can't even count them all.)

I thought I had left my previous existence forever, but I'm finding out that's not quite the case. In some ways it feels like decades have passed since I left here, but in other ways it seems like I never left. Speaking of which, I ran into Janice on the street a few days ago, after not talking to her for at least a year and a half. Awwwwwwwwwkwaaaaaaard. She pretty much insisted that we get together and compare notes over beer and pizza as soon as possible, and there was no way I could back out of it. She used to be my closest confidant in the world, and now we don't even know each other's phone numbers. I have no idea where to start, since about eighty percent of my activities since we last spoke has been completely off the record. I can't talk about Bruce, probably shouldn't talk about Ollie, have no idea what to say about anything else. "Oh, and remember that shrink I was seeing for a while? Turns out he was an evil mad scientist who brainwashed me and briefly turned me into an archcriminal intent on capturing and caging Batman, who is not an urban legend but a real person and my ex-boyfriend. So, what's new with you?"

Meanwhile, HateMonger is out there amassing an army of untold proportions, and I'm itching to suit up and take him down, but I can't do it alone, and it's painfully clear there's no critical mass of good guys to back me up at the moment.

This ain't no comic book, that's for DAMN sure.

281. Jonathan Crane

I am one year old today. Stlll too young to make my presence known, but soon, very soon I will bring honor to the name and work of my mentor--and earn my own new name and work the respect they deserve.

There is no escaping the fact that this has been a year of setbacks. Declaring oneself the master of fear is one thing. Raising the funds to carry out a widespread campaign of terror is another. At the moment I struggle to make ends meet, eking out a living in the lowliest corners of academia. I am an adjunct at a community college: oh, the ignomy! My ideas are simply too radical for the psychological establishment, it has been made clear to me time and time again. I could hardly care less what they think. Dr. Tanhoger, the chairman of my advisory committee, is the one man who understood my true genius, and look what they did to him. Moreover, without him around, mine has been a lonely pathi indeed. But no matter. No point in dwelling on the past. It is the future that matters.

And that future belongs to ...

The Scarecrow.

280. Gustavus

I have walked through the valley of the Shadow.
I have tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge.
I have been to the bottom of the ocean and now I am heading back to the surface for air.

My eyes have been opened.
My purpose is clear once again.
They will call me a madman because they fear what they do not understand.
I will make them see the light

by whatever means it takes.

279. Robin

The story so far: this Gustavus character disappeared for, what, two weeks, which nearly drove Bruce even crazier than he already is. Ollie and I offered to help look for him, but I think B could tell it was an awkward situation and maybe our hearts weren't really in it, so that idea didn't get very far.

Anyway, G eventually turned up, offering no explanation whatsoever for his whereabouts and no apology for freaking us all out. B welcomed him back with open arms, and now I haven't seen either of them for the last week.

Meanwhile, one of the worst threats all four of us have ever faced is still out there somewhere, and we haven't made a single useful discovery since I got to Gotham.

This is not the way it used to be around here. Nothing seems right. And the whole first-anniversary-of-Katrina business made me question the validity of my work as Robin all over again. Do I really need a mask and cape to do the work I am meant to do in this lifetime?

I don't know what to say. I guess that's why I haven't been saying anything lately.

278. Batman

G. is missing.

Just beginning to regain my bearings (once more), and now this.

It has not been a good year.

277. Robin

I'd heard B ranting about Hugo Strange when I first pulled him out of the hellhole where I found him, but I took it as mere drug-induced delusion. I mean, there's no way Strange could have survived that fire.

But during a search of intercepted messages I found on the Batcomputer while trying to figure out what B was up to before his capture, I came across messages like this one and this one. They'd made no sense to me when I first spotted them, but I am beginning to realize that this HateMonger character must have been a former patient of Strange's--perhaps one he experimented on before dealing with the two of us.

Tests of the drugs in Batman's and Gustavus's bloodstream confirm that there is a link between what HM gave them and what Strange pumped into us.

On a personal note, I have to say I'm concerned about both B and G. It's not like Bruce to take this long to recover from a trauma--or at least it wasn't before he and I met Strange. He's just not himself anymore--by which I mean he's neither of his two old selves. He's not the Bruce Wayne or the Batman I knew and ... loved.

As for G, that guy is just plain bizarre. I can guess what Bruce saw in him--I mean, he's fucking hot, and the thought of the two of them going at it is enough to send me into orbit--but he's a loose cannon. He's so quiet I don't have a clue what's going through his mind at any given moment. I can quite honestly say he scares the shit out of me.

Ollie's worried about both of them, too. But we have more pressing matters to attend to, like shutting down the Honest Men once and for all. We have yet to track down HateMonger himself, but I feel like we're getting closer every day.

I just don't feel GA and I can handle the job without help from those two, so I hope to god they snap out of it soon.

276. Robin

Can more than a month really have passed since my last journal entry? It doesn't seem possible--and yet it's perfectly understandable, given how busy we've all been since GA and I helped Batman and his ... friend escape. They've both been resting and recuperating for the most part, while Oliver and I have been doing some heavy-duty research.

We are certain now that the mysterious "HM"--an individual who goes by the name HateMonger--is the man behind their capture, and so much else that has been happening around the country. In the matter of less than a year, this brand new villain has emerged out of thin air and managed to establish outposts of so-called "Honest Men" mini-militias in countless cities, each of which is organized like a sleeper cell, poised and ready for action. The mind-altering drugs HM used on Batman and Gustavus are clearly quite effective, though I daresay B would not have been nearly as susceptible had he and I not undergone what we did during that earlier dark period--

Good lord--that's it!

How could I not have seen it before?

A major link has been staring us in the face all this time, and we've all been too blind to even notice it.

275. Robin

B and his new pal were on the floor, both obviously drugged out of their skulls, going at it like there was no tomorrow.

Only the "it" they were engaged in, passionate though it might have been, had nothing to do with affection. No, they were busy trying to tear each other's throats out. Literally.

In my own state of shock, I realized I'd forgotten to check whether anyone else was in the room with them. Fortunately, GA was on the case: nobody on the premises, though he did call my attention to a pair of video cameras aimed at this homocidal horror show.

"You split up those two, I'll dismantle these things," he shouted. Had I been thinking more clearly, I might have deduced he was reluctant to dive in headfirst between the two total strangers on the floor. I'm pretty sure even he could tell this was no lovers' quarrel.

There was blood. There were bruises. It wasn't pretty.

"Bru--Batman!" I screamed. "Snap out of it!"

His eyes were glazed over and drool practically dripped from the side of his battered mouth. He didn't seem to hear or recognize me, and neither did the other guy.

"Hurry up wth those cameras," I barked to GA. "I'm gonna need your help with this. Pronto."

As soon as Ollie was free, I motioned for him to grab hold of the new guy, while I wrapped my arms around B and squeezed as tightly as I could in order to divert him. We struggled to pull the two apart. It wasn't easy and it didn't feel quite right, but we tied the two of them up and gassed 'em.

I figured they would understand in the morning.

274. Robin

I admit I've spent a lot of energy lately imagining how my reunion with Batman and the introductions of our new lovers/partners was going to go. Ever since Ollie and I decided to leave Houston for Gotham, I've had all kinds of scenarios running through my mind: some friendly, some businesslike, even a few particularly hot ones involving a little Bat-on-Arrow action.

But nothing--nothing--could have prepared me for the way it actually went down.

With Alfred's help, I managed to figure out where B. was last seen, then GA located some witnesses who'd seen him and the new guy being abducted in a warehouse. From there it was Detective School 101 (okay, 201), and within a couple of hours GA and I were standing outside a cinderblock office building on that abandoned air force base on the outskirts of town.

We checked the grounds, then entered through an already-broken window in the back. A crashing sound and a couple of loud grunting noises down the hall led us right to the spot. I checked the unmarked door for boobytraps, then opened it.

What I saw next was easily one of the scariest things I've seen in a long, long time.

And I've seen some scary shit in my day.

273. The omniscient narrator

Carl kept his eyes shut for a long. long while; it felt like weeks, in fact, though it was impossible to know just how much time had truly passed.

Nothing on earth--no amount of training, no degree of exposure to anything in his past--could have prepared Gustavus for what he saw when he opened them. The vision was too horrific to express in language; it transcended any measure of intensity. He wanted to scream, but he knew that such a feeble gesture could not possibly relieve the agony.

He was aware, too, that beneath the surface shock, he felt nothing. He was numb, inside and out. Could not move, could not think, could barely breathe--

--and yet he was alive. Whatever this was, it was a portent of something yet to come. Something not yet here. Something he would have to face again, perhaps very soon, but not now.

Now there was only one thing on his mind: not a thought so much as a need, a want, a desire ...

You want more, don't you? the voice teased. The fruit of the tree of knowledge.

Gustavus nodded, a crazed look in his eyes.

How badly do you want it?

Gustavus said nothing.

Bad enough to do whatever I say?

He hesitated, then slowly nodded once more. He could not understand what he was going through, but he was growing aware that he was no longer in control of his thoughts and deeds. He did not care; the feeling he'd just experienced--both the intense calm and the sheer, gut-wrenching terror--was so powerful that he could not resist the desire to feel it again, right away.

We are not alone, the voice said. See that man over there?

Gustavus looked over and noticed for the first time that another man, also masked and vaguely familiar, was lying on the other side of the room, evidently in the midst of his own private hell.

You know him?

Gustavus nodded.

He is ... an illusion. Something you have conjured up in your head. I would say he is not real, but that is not quite true. He exists, he lives and breathes, but he is merely a dream. Do you understand what the dream means, Carl?

Gustavus looked puzzled.

I will tell you, the voice continued. He is you, Carl--more precisely, he is the Old You, the one that must be extinguished for the New You to break free. Do you understand what you must do now, Carl? Is the path growing clearer to you?

Gustavus slowly moved his head up and down. He was clearly dazed, but he was working hard to listen and obey.

Do not be afraid, Carl. It must be done. And you must be the one to do it. Destroy him with your bare hands--and let the New You be born!

272. The omniscient narrator

Whatever it was that was now coursing through Gustavus's bloodstream took effect almost immediately, making him feel very, very warm--not uncomfortable, just warm, as if he were basking under the sun on a beautiful beach. The very thought of resisting seemed preposterous--who in his right mind would fight a sensation this intense, this ... wonderful?

He thought about the numbness in his legs and arms and realized it was now spreading to his mind, his spirit, his consciousness. He felt like he was floating -- on a cloud, perhaps, or in a pool of bright blue water, the sun still caressing his skin with gentle insistence.

He sensed his shaft growing stiff and jutting out of his pants, but that did not alarm him. It made him smile--laugh, even--to think about it. And his mind wandered elsewhere.

That's it, said the voice. You're doing a great job. Just relax and let it all sink in. You will want to be as comfortable as possible in order to make it through the next stage.

You are a lucky man, Carl. You have been chosen to assume a very special role. Few men get the opportunity to discover their life's work quite so clearly as you are about to. Are you ready, Carl? Are you ready to learn the future?

Gustavus stared straight ahead, his expression blank but for the trace of a grin.

"Yes," he answered softly. "Yes, I am."

Very good. I want you to close your eyes. Close them tightly, and take a deep breath. That's it. Now let it out. Yes, you're doing great ... And another ... Excellent, Carl, excellent. And let it out ... That's right ...

Now, Carl--when you're ready ...

Open your eyes.

271. The omniscient narrator

You know what's happening, don't you, Carl? the man asked as he reached over and injected something into Gustavus's neck once again. You're being prepared. Made ready.

You have a great destiny ahead of you, Mr. Young. A glorious one. But first we must cleanse you of past mistakes ... Strip you of old disguises ...

Gustavus could do nothing as he watched a hand reach down and rip his shirt straight down the center, exposing his well-developed, masculine chest. He felt something wet across his flesh and knew that a mark was being made there.

In order to do your true work, a part of you--a rather large part, I'm afraid--must first die. Your old self must be extinguished, so that your new one may be born. Do not attempt to fight it, Carl--it is unwise to stand in the way of progress. What you are going to feel soon is going to hurt you a great deal--it is going to change you in ways that can never be undone--but you must trust me. It is all for the best.

You know who I am, Carl. You have known it all along. I am your shadow self. I am the part of you that yearns to be born. And that time is almost upon us.

We shall begin at the end--YOUR end. In the next few moments, you shall witness your own death. You will observe every excruciating detail in its fullness, and you will be powerless to prevent it.

I advise you not to fight the inevitable. A far wiser option would be to sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

270. The omniscient narrator

"Y-you..." whispered Gustavus.

Yes, replied the man he saw before him. You've heard of me. You've feared me. You prayed you would never meet me. But now the time has come, Carl Young.

Gustavus looked stunned. How could this ... this creature know his birth name, the name he had changed decades earlier, the name he had never even revealed to Bruce?

I know everything about you, the other man said calmly. I know you better than you know yourself. I know the lies you tell the world, I know the secrets you try to hide, I know what terrifies you, I know what thrills you. I was there when you adopted that pretentious pseudonym you now call yourself--a silly little play on your family name, a tip of the hat to your distant predecessor in the science of the mind. I saw you shape yourself into something you are not. I watched you assume a role--become the Daddy Top, the Master of Men, the strong, silent type.

And I can hear beneath the silence. I hear you screaming, a frightened little boy in a world he cannot control. I see your latest attempt at intimidating the world--this black armor, this mask, this false front--and I know so very, very well just how false it is, Carl ...

Gustavus told himself this was all some kind of trick; Batman had trained him to anticipate, diagnose, and deal with all manner of mind games, and he'd had years of experience with them before that in his professional practice--

--but somehow this man's words were seeping in, taking root, grabbing hold of his head. And unlike the rants he'd heard in training, every syllable he was now hearing rang true.

269. The omniscient narrator

Tell me, Object X, said the doctor. Did you enjoy your brief vacation? Did you savor the illusion of freedom while it lasted? Judging from that bulge of yours, you appear to be enjoying yourself at this very minute. Does this mean you are ready now to crawl back into your cage for the rest of your miserable life?

"You're insane," Batman barked, still trying to figure out how any of this could be happening. "Whoever you are. There's no way on earth Hugo Strange could have made it through that fire alive."

No way on earth, perhaps. But I'd say it looks like we are now in a very different place. A moment ago you told me to go to hell. The way I see it, I'm already there--and I've dragged you down here with me.

Might as well make yourself comfortable, Object X. Oh,very well,you may call yourself "Bruce Wayne" if you like. Or even "Batman"--it hardly matters. I know them all. And I own them all, too.

Strange drew his captive's attention back to the large red "H" now desecrating Batman's chest emblem. As he glanced at it, the masked man began to sense a slight tingling in his limbs. He tried flexing his gloved hands. It was still difficult, but he seemed to be gaining a certain limited degree of mobility.

That's right, Strange said matter-of-factly. You are slowly beginning to regain the feeling in your arms and legs. It will take a while, but it will happen. All part of my plan. You will need to move freely, after all, in order to crawl over here and worship at my feet.

Batman was alarmed--not at Strange's brash declaration, but at his own actions. Had he really been so obvious just now as to draw attention to gestures he'd thought were hidden? Or had he forgotten the doctor's powers of observation, so finely honed that they bordered on mind-reading? In any case, there was no disguising the obvious arousal he was experiencing upon seeing once again the man who had broken him.

"The only move I'm going to make is to strangle you, you fiend," he said, mustering all the confidence he could find to deliver the threat.

What's this? I thought the mighty Batman had made a solemn vow never to kill, Strange sneered. On the other hand, you're not yourself at the moment, are you? You've run out of defenses. You have no other options, because you acknowledge I am the one man you cannot beat. The man, in fact, who beat you. The man who robbed you of your mask and all your secrets. The man who broke your will. The man who took complete possession of your life. I can see why the desire to destroy me would lead you to abandon your age-old moral code. After all, it's hopelessly out of date now, as we both know.,,

So go ahead, Mr. Wayne. I'd very much like to see you try and kill me. Because I don't think you can do it. I don't think you're up to the challenge. I think what you'd much prefer to do is to rest yourself here at my feet and kneel before me. To THANK me for all that I have done for you, and to plead that I show you mercy in the times ahead. And it's true: they will be very, very dark times indeed...

Images of past torments flooded Batman's brain. He felt swept away by them, unable to concentrate on a plan of action. He remembered every torture, every humiliation inflicted by Strange during that horrible period a year earlier--a period he thought he'd put behind him once and for all. He could not recall the events that had brought him to this moment, but that did not make the present crisis seem any less intense.

Now there was nothing to do but wait. Wait until he was able to move, and then do something he had never done before. Something he had sworn he would never do.

But now the writing was on the wall. He had no other choice.

268. The omniscient narrator

"B-but how--" Batman sputtered. "There was no way you could have survived that ... that fire ..."

Where there's a will, there's a way, Batman, Strange said. To coin a phrase.

"But it's ... it's not humanly possible--"

You disappoint me, Bruce. Such a limited imagination ... Oh, wait--did I just call you "Bruce"? I'm so sorry, Mr. Wayne. You must forgive me. I know you may be more comfortable being addressed by the name I gave you when last we met. Isn't that right, "Object X"?

Although he had no feeling in his arms or legs, Batman was instantly aware that his cock was stiffening at the sound of that horrible nickname. Strange noticed it as well.

I see I've brought back some happy memories, the doctor said, smiling.

"Go to hell," Batman snarled. "Go to fucking hell, you goddam monster."

Such language! Strange said. I see your condition has deteriorated significantly since you left my care, Object X. We'll have to do something about that. But first, I think I'd better take care of something else I should have done a long time ago...

The doctor produced a small container of red ink, dipped his finger in it, and then traced the outline of an "H" on Batman's chest, directly over the bat insignia there.

They say it's very important to properly identify one's property in case it's ever lost or stolen, Strange said. Can't risk you running off again...

Batman felt the ink soak into his suit, staining his flesh. He wanted more than anything to pound the crap out of this madman, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing at all.

267. The omniscient narrator

Painfully aware that the room was spinning and nothing was what it seemed, Batman stared at the man he saw before him.

"So ... it's you, isn't it?" he asked, dumbfounded by the possibility.

In the flesh, the man answered in the deepest voice imaginable. His words echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling before landing in Batman's ears. They sounded distorted, as if the pitch were being controlled by some kind of machine, stretched out and sped up and slowed down and twisted every which way.

"You've ... come back for me, then," Batman said, trying hard to wrap his mind about what was happening.

Correction, said Dr. Hugo Strange. It is you who have returned ... to me.