The Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Or his villains. But I actually do own most of these. Especially Liss, whose story began in The Purple Covered Notebook.

So...everyone, this is for you.

The Mildewed Notebook

Or

Riddle Me This

Gotham City at night is a dark and depressing place. I've never loved any place more.

Gotham City's sewers at night are…well. Have you ever smelled a paper mill on a summer afternoon?

And it's wet. And icky.

Boss, I once promised to do you a favor in exchange for a little information. That was more than a year ago, and I notice your eyes and ears haven't brought me a single snippet.

I've always had a thing for you, you nutjob. A creepy, don't-touch-me kind of thing, but a thing nonetheless. Otherwise I wouldn't keep coming when you call.

I liked working for you. I really did. You gave me my start, and I owe you a lot. But when you send me underground to slog through the sewers, offer to pay me with the promise of a smile, and won't even tell me why, I have to wonder if I still think you're worth it.

The Joker's girl is all grown up, boss. Once upon a time, this would have been good enough.

Now, I think you'd better get me some results.

--

Well, boss, I've been wandering around down here all night, and still no sign of the Riddler. What do you want with him, anyway? I get the impression that you two have never gotten along, and I notice that partnership never quite got off the ground, not entirely because of Batman's interference. But I don't think you want to kill him. You wouldn't waste me on something so mundane.

Not that you wouldn't pull a stunt like that. But I don't think you'd waste me. Sacrifice me, maybe. But not waste your chance to get a solid day's work out of me.

When I was young and stupid, I actually believed that you cared about me. And you knew it, jerk. You read all my notebooks and played me for a fool. Funny thing is, I don't really care. I like you as much now as I ever did. Maybe more, now that you're not trying to make me fall in love with you.

Working with you was fun, boss. I've missed you. You made me smile, when you weren't making me cry in the dark. All this time on my own, I've had the freedom to do things my way, but it's been (you know, I hate to say this) lonely. When I tried going back to the real world, all my friends had moved on and forgotten me. When Mark came along, I was honestly happy, but that didn't last. I should have known it wouldn't last. God, after Mark I should have just gone back to you. Madness would have been easier, but I was scared of you. And I thought I could make it on the straight and narrow. When I tried working for the other side, I learned so much from Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, including some secrets you'd probably kill for. Secrets I won't share. Ever.

I also learned that the satisfaction of a job well done is nothing next to the thrill of victory when I'm by your side.

That's the real reason I came back to you. I thought my favor would involve working with you, boss, not sloshing through toilet water all by my lonesome.

Sometimes I think I hate you.

Ah, what the hell. You're never going to read this notebook. I'm carrying it through the sewers, for God's sake. Even I don't want to touch it.

--

Well, I've found something down here at last. A corpse. Not the Riddler. A little sleazeball named Johnny Wilkins. Worked for the boss for a while. Last I heard from him, he was in the Penguin's gang.

I had a little trouble recognizing him. His face was bashed in, every bone in his body broken, chunks of flesh torn right out of him. They almost looked like animal bites, but an animal didn't search his pockets and move the body away from wherever he was killed. (And I'm assuming that's what happened, since there was no blood spray, and no pool of redness underneath him. The way he looked, there must have been a lot of blood.)

What the hell did this?