Robin was running, running fast and hard. He was running across a long nondescript landscape, running towards something. Up ahead he saw them, Starfire, Terra, Beast Boy, Raven, and Cyborg, waving and calling to him. Beast Boy was nailed to a sign with the words "In Memory of Hazel" engraved on it. Something bad was happening. There was a green wireframe landscape, and it kept rotating above them. Everytime it moved Beast Boy groaned in pain and clutched at his abdomen. Robin hurried to free him, but then something happened. As he was working to pull Beast Boy free, he made a face at him, an ugly face, and the puffed cheeks and bulging eyes burst apart. From behind them emerged a cruel face, the chiseled, white-haired, demented face of the Mad Antimarion. It was only his face, and as it jerked loose it floated toward him clumsily, yelling in something like Latin, before it bit him. He tried to shake it loose, he tore it off and threw it, but it only laughed as it rolled across the ground. He saw that the bite mark was glowing yellow. The glow spread through his veins and bones. Robin's hair went yellow, his voice degenerated into an incomprehensible animal squeal, his front teeth grew so faced that the cut throw his jaw. A tail sparked out of his back like an arrow, he felt the heads mocking gaze as his humanity and focus and single-minded determination peeled off like dead skin. He turned the other titans, but they only backed away, pointing at him and talking in some slow backwards voice he could not understand. He tried to shout, "It's not me its him! It's his fault! It's his fault!" but all he could do was repeat the same three shrill syllables over and over. Even as he tried to pass the blame to the antimarion-headed Beast Boy, a spectral image of the same wizard loomed over him. "This is my work! Boy! You boy! And think boy, you don't know the half of it! You've got it second hand! Second hand! You didn't even get the full dose!" After speaking he loomed for a moment, then crossed his eyes and stuck at his tongue at him. Something seemed so inexplicable suprising and horrible about this gesture that he snapped his eyes open and leapt out of bed with a hoarse scream.
*
Over the years, robin had developed more than a few personality quirks. One of his problems was that whenever he found something wrong with himself, some weakness or flaw, he would set about ignoring other, less-pressing issues (such as "sleeping") and put all of his massive willpower into correcting it. Naturally, if he took care of every shortcoming and imperfection in this way, he would be dead within a week, so his subconcious had long ago learned to hide such things. If Robin had a problem that could not easily be corrected without great self-injury, his Id would snatch it and snuff it down in a thick bundle of denial, then cram it into a box in a locked cabinet of a metaphysical basement room with a sign on the front saying "Beware of the Leopard." Unfortunately one circular side-effect of this behavior was that his tendancy to risk life and limb correcting every flaw was in and of itself a flaw that could not be overcome, so he was largely unaware of his obssessive behavior.
With this in mind, you will perhaps understand why Robin forgot his dream so quickly. The moment he woke up, his subconcious regretted ever having shown it to him. Did it even show it to him? The subterranian animal-mind within Robin scratched its metaphysical head. Sure, it wanted to alert him of something, but it seemed like some outside force had pressed into its ether, some alien element had been implanted into the slipstream of REM. The subconcious shrugged its symbolic shoulders. Either way, its implications were not ones that a driven man like Robin would be able to healthily deal with. Better to keep it all under wraps, and store it in the same locked cabinet of repression as that unusual ketchup craving from the previous morning.
Robin rolled over and looked at the glowing red 4:39 on his clock. He frowned. It was to late to get any real sleep, and he wanted to get some things done. He was just making a light breakfast when the signal sounded. He reflexively turned it off, and then paused. Drawing up the report on his computer, he saw it was only a minor robbery and an unimportant villain. He thought of Starfire resting peacefully, innocent as a newborn, limp as a doll, and emitting octivated whistling snores that made small children wet themselves and flee and caused all dogs in a 2 mile radius to lie flat and whine with fear and agony. He thought of Raven, never eager to be disturbed, and really deserving every moment of calm relief from consciousness. He thought of Cyborg, still not at full power. He thought of Beast Boy, as always curled up into a near fetal position, leg-kicking as he playfully chased dream rabbits. He thought of Terra, spending hours every night shifting around for a comfortable position that didn't have one of her bones poking into some internal organ. It would be better not to wake them. They had all been through a lot. He could definitely handle this on his own. With that thought, Robin left a note on the kitchen counter, hopped on to his motorcycle, and drove off into the waning night to face an enemy alone.
**
A crowd of people in tuxedos pulled back, murmuring in controlled terror. A sign above them read "JUMP DANCE CLUB" crackled with a burst, and a flurry of chitinous legs the sign was rearranged to spell "BAD PUCE JUNC" with the M and the L being tossed carelessly in the general direction of the frightened crowd. A wicked voice rolled out
"AHAHAH HA-HA HAAAH!" This peal of manic laughter was punctuated by a clicking and horrible slurping sound.
"You all remember, don't you?" The speaker paused, and a sticky gob of webbing struck a man, pinning him flat against the wall.
"DON'T YOU?!"
Without waiting for a response, the menace continued his monologue.
"Summer of ninety-nine. I wanted to join, tap-dancing, but you laughed. You wouldn't let me join. An eighty-dollar membership fee, and I was "too young", and "not talented". Well, WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?! Sixteen hundred dollars, the price squared, and look at me now!"
Fang reared up, his human body angled unusually in sort of bow, hanging from the huge spider that clicked menacingly. His human portion began tap-dancing away with a fevered intensity. He was interrupted when two of his chitinous members where frozen solid and shattered. With a howl of pain he turned to face his attacker.
Robin gave a humorless grin and drew out his pole. Fang drew back his pinscirs and growled
"Why it's YOU again!"
Without further preamble, he let fly a large glob of webbing. Robin tossed out a pyrodisc which burst into a mass of thick orange smoke on when it collided with the web. Fang skittered forward to meet his opponent, but the smoke dissolved to reveal nothing. A sharp disc lodged in his abdomen, and he reeled around to face the teenaged hero. Robin waved his cape tauntingly, matador-style, and Fang roared and charged forward. Robin dropped it and whammed Fang on the head with his staff. Fang sunk his pinscirs in with a retaliatory bite. Robin winced and bled, but he appeared to be free of any poison. Little did the arachnocephalic antagonist know that Robin had a specially prepared disc loaded with fluids to neutralize his poison glands. Robin drew back for the critical blow and released a triumphant shout
"You're goi-EEP!"
His voice ended in a shrill crack, and he gasped. The voice that came was a shrill annoying whine of a voice, more like the squeaks of a rodent than human speech. He cleared his throat and tried again, but the same irritating squeal came out. The now calmer crowd began to laugh, and Fang perked up with hearty spider chuckles. Robin, with business-like calm and dignity, eschewed the trash-talk and knocked Fang senseless.
***
Day Nine of my term of imprisonment. The meals here are cold and lifeless as a Minnesotan November. I can say without use of hyperbole that I've eaten dead rats with superior bouquet and nutrition. Despite this, lunch is more or less the high point of my day, providing a rare opportunity for some nourishment and social interaction. Jinx is a valuable asset to my sanity, cheerful but not annoying, playful but not unable to take things seriously. Were it not for her friendship I would probably go psychotic and try to eat my own legs off.
I spend the time back in my terrarium-like cell dozing, crawling about lazily, sunning myself, and generally achieving previously unimagined states of boredom.
But enough about me…
Today was the first day I was allowed to visit other sections of the prison facility. The design of this place seems a bizarre hybrid of penitentiary, mental ward, and zoo. I checked out the Geriatric Prison and was scowled at by an elderly limey named Mad Mod and briefly entertained by the antics of a washed-up conjurer styling himself as Mumbo Jumbo. The next stop was the People-who-turned-themselves-into-babies, which only contained a single occupant. He had a clock motif on his crib, and a rattle shaped in the likeness of a grandfather clock. Despite being about one year old he already had grown a mustache and bushy eyebrows.
Possibly the most entertaining SOSC (Single-Occupant-Specialized-Cell) was the isolated server and electrical circuit where they kept a power-hungry computer chip called Overload. An interface screen allowed a visitor to interact with him/it in a chatroom-style format or play two-player Mario brothers, galaga, or balloon fight (there was one more game, but Overload HATES Duck Hunt. Don't ask me why).
There was one new occupant I saw shipped in from the intensive care unit at jump city hospital called Antimarion. There was some concern about what he'd do when he woke up, since he has some kind of weird psychic powers or other ability that the staff has no way to restrain, but he seems to have taken on an unnaturally placid mood. The penitentiary psychologist says he's in a state of extreme dementia, but the guard who brought him in said he was pretty demented when he took out the Teen Titans, so nobody's taking any chances. He's got a constant guard of five well-trained soldiers, two psychics, and a super-soldier of some kind. Mostly he waves his hands around, softly muttering. He does something magic every now and then, but the psychics say it's just harmless divination. When I came to visit, he spoke to me gentle. I leaned a little closer, and he whispered "It is already done. The most horrible curse…it is set. It progresses more, the damage is done. I have no need of violence now." He then pointed one eye straight ahead, crossed the other, bit himself on the arm, and let loose a long and muffled but penetrating scream. It still gives me the willies just thinking about the creepy nutter.
I hear the lunch bell ringing, so I'll wrap up this entry.