DISCLAIMER: See previous entries.

The folks down at the parlor have gotten used to my walking in from a run in unusual attire. So on a cloudy Wednesday morning no one batted an eye when I walked in with a military gas mask slung over my shoulder and several meters of bright yellow police tape wrapped around my waist. My boss was counting off bills into the old register as I dumped my bag and gas mask onto the counter and started tearing off the police tape that had snagged on my belt when I ran from the crime scene.

"How it go?"

I shrugged, unraveling a knot in my tape sash.

"Some SWAT team wanted some lunch down on the edge of Gotham. They were investigating some big heist, the entire building was pumped full of fear gas."

My boss dropped the bills onto the counter, not caring that they fluttered from the ceiling fan as he slowly turned and looked at me with a look of pure worry. He quickly noticed the gas mask sitting next to my bag.

"You bring that with?"

I shook my head, dumping the tape into the trash.

"Nah, one of the detectives saw me looking for some one with money on them and told me to put that on."

My boss seemed genuinely confused. And this is a guy who tried to turn on the microwave with the stereo remote.

"…you were walking around…breathing in gas when they give it to you?"

I smirked, hopping up onto my usual seat.

"Thought it'd make a good mask at a costume party. Everyone else was either ranting and raving in strait jackets or in bio-suits. That fear crap doesn't work on me."

My boss scratched his head, wondering why I wasn't hallucinating or showing signs of cardiac collapse. We all knew about the fear gas in Gotham, and we all knew what it did.

"What? You mean…"

He glanced around to make sure no one was around but the temporary delivery boys with no lives, and that fat family chowing down at the corner table.

"…dat' gas don't work because you breathe it in that one place?"

I slowly nodded, sliding my hat off to run my hand through my hair and shake off the grease that came out on my fingers.

"I breathed in a bit of a variation before everyone broke out. Made me pass out, but I found out later a full dose doesn't even make me cough. Just like a flu shot."

My boss nodded, taking this bit of trivia in before scraping the bills off the old Formica counter and going back to loading new bills in the drawer. I pulled my hat back on and went to stash my new Halloween mask in the back room when I heard some one walk up to my boss at the counter. I was half-way through the back door when I heard a smoker's voice loudly call out.

"Sir, your delivery boy is full of pure shit."

I slowly turned on the heel of my old, cut-down combat boots to see a burly man dressed in a stained wife beater shirt and a NASCAR cap sanding behind the counter nursing a cigarette between his meaty lips. I calmly asked.

"…pardon, Sir?"

He grinned with one side of his mouth while he held the cig in the other, showing some yellow teeth. I noticed the rather overweight family in the corner looking over, waiting for their father to make them look high-class. He calmly said in a Southern drawl.

"Son, you're full of shit! I watch my channels, I know all about 'them Gothamites and all that. I've seen people get hit with fear gas, my brother gots a video of it on his new digital camera. You sayin' it doesn't do nuthin' to ya?"

I tilt my head so I can see him clearly with my left eye under the brim of my battle-worn hat. I commented in an accent mocking his own.

"Ya' heard me…"

He sneered, inhaling and blowing out second hand smoke through his gapped teeth.

"Prove it…WHAT THE HELL!"

…did I flip over the counter and do a Fatality? No, I just reached up and pulled down the collar of my tee shirt to show the guy half of my chest and my left shoulder. And the impossibly huge chain of teeth puncture makrs that wrapped around my shoulder vertically like a sash. And right on the front of my chest, two even bigger scar marks where the two fangs had hit. The right one had missed my heart by three inches, according to the surgeon at Arkham.

I tapped the four-inch puncture scar over my heart and calmly asked as I let my shirt roll back up to my neck.

"…you ever hear of something called a Man-Bat?"

The now trembling redneck just shook his head as he just stared at me. His cigarette had fallen onto the tile floor when his jaw dropped. I crossed my arms over my now fully-covered chest and started telling the same story I've told everyone who's asked about it. And a few that just needed to know.

"When I was about a week under eighteen, some drug dealers set me up at a party and made it look like I was selling some stuff at an all-night party. I've never touched the stuff in my life, but the judge didn't believe it. He must have been either about to get axed, or he was having the worst day of his life. He said he wanted to really teach this kid a lesson. He sentenced me to one month containment at Arkham Asylum."

My redneck audience expanded as his pudgy family shuffled up behind the counter, listening to my tale.

"It was the worst twenty nine days of my life. As they were giving me a cell block tour, some mutant freak broke out of its cage and mauled me before they got it with shock darts. I was in the hospital wing for four days, so by the time I got out the other prisoners already had time to get information on me."

The teenage son asked what they did to me. I shrugged.

"A few of them just gave me a hard time. Some of them just scared me without even trying. But for the most part I blended in pretty well and got to know everyone fairly well. Except for a few who I avoided like they were monsters, but you have to understand some of them were."

The man and his family glanced at each other, nodding in agreement. His wife asked which ones I saw the most. She had to repeat it four times, she had like ten teeth. I waved my hand across my front and said it's not something I like to talk about.

"I prefer to…show and tell. For instance, look at this."

I leaned forward closer to them and pointed to my right cheek. They leaned over and squinted at a tiny mark that had long since tanned over. But just visible under a bright light, you could make out a faint scar in the shape of a lipstick smudge.

"Two weeks in I got herb garden duty. Working with plants soothes the savage psycho, I guess. I did a good job getting rid of the bugs, and the female prisoner supervising me kissed me on the cheek. She was kind of a tease. Thing is, it sent me into a two-day coma. Her name was Pam Islely, she mentioned later it was an accident."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the keys to my apartment. Hanging from the key ring was a tiny but working Rubix Cube. I held I up for the family to see the scrambled blocks. I then put both my hands around it, and a few twists later I held up the completed puzzle.

"The Riddler used to teach college classes on how to do that."

I tossed the key chain to the man's younger daughter so she could make sure it was really solved. I then rolled up the sweat-tinged sleeve of my shirt and flexed my decent bicep.

"And look at this."

They all looked at my arm, waiting for it to explode or something.

"…it's not actually a bad thing. You ever see that Killer Croc guy on TV? He really knows his way around the gym, I was skin and bones before he gave me this protein shake recipe."

I let my sleeve back down, having already mentioned the way the Scarecrow tried to escape with some makeshift fear gas in the third week. It ended up just being strong nerve gas, but it gave me immunity to the stuff nonetheless. It's like the vomiting after a flu shot, it's a handy safeguard and it's worth the trouble.

I nodded, telling my overweight audience that I was done. But the now rather courteous father asked.

"…um…you ever hear anything about the Bat while you were in there?"

I let my eyebrow slip up before looking over at my boss and nodding. He waddled off to our floor safe and started twisting the combination lock as I started another story.

"Two days before I was out, the Quake hit Gotham. Arkham was cracked open like an egg. Every inmate in there swarmed out like there was a sale at Home Depot. I got held back by the crowd, and the fact I didn't want to be in the outside world with these guys. I stayed behind in the ruins while everyone else ran off. The police still haven't found a few of them."

Thankfully my boss got the combo right on the second try, and he handed me what looked like a folded silk towel. I gently took it from him and started unwrapping the layers of cloth as I kept telling the story.

"So, there I was. Wandering around the wreckage of Arkham in my numbered jumpsuit and waiting for the cops to show up. Around an hour of this later, and I got this weird vibe."

I got the first layer of fabric off, and started uncovering the second.

"…I just stood there looking around. I just had that kind of feeling…next thing I knew I heard something behind me, and something hit me in the back. I went down like a bag of rocks. I got hit right in a knockout pressure point."

Right before I uncovered one of my only treasured possessions, the kid asked.

"…somebody…hit you in the back in the wide open? You stupid or wha'?"

I glared at the little fatass and held up what had been in the cloth. The family's eyes went wide as they saw me holding up what looked like a small, oddly sharpened boomerang made of black metal with the fins cut to look like wings. It was blunt thankfully, when it hit me in the back it just knocked me out instead of impaling me.

"When I came to, I found this lodged in the back of my jumpsuit."

I was surprised to watch them look disappointed, as if I ended the story with me turning green and ripping my shirt off. The fat little snot spouted.

"You can get those at costume shops…my Pa's right, you're a shit mouth."

My brow tightened, and with a flick of my wrist I sent the unusual projectile in a whistling arc straight out the open glass door to the parlor. The family twisted their sun-burnt necks, watching the thing fly off down the block like a real bat.

They busted out laughing, yelling I was a complete moron. Right as the father was about to call me a bundle of twigs, my little bat-shaped friend whooshed back in through the doorway and returned to my outstretched hand, knocking off the four filthy baseball caps the clan wore in the process. They stopped in mid-guffaw, staring open mouthed at me as I sat on the counter flaunting my bat-trophy. As I went to give them another demonstration, the father reached into his pockets and threw everything he had onto the counter as they ran out yelling for their Lord to protect them.

My boss chuckled as he collected the crumpled bills and old coins, watching me wrap the thing back in its cloth.

"You good with that thing, eh?"

I shrugged, examining its mirrored black finish.

"Boss, this thing did it all for me. I've been looking at it for years, it's perfectly engineered. It can do whatever you want if you know what you're doing."

He shrugged, dumping coins into the drawer and pointing to the open safe.

"I still don't believe it. The Bat isn't human. Who ever hit you with that thing was very good, yes. But the 'Batman'?I no think so."

I just shook my head to myself as I put the thing back in the safe and closed the door, spinning the lock to reset it.

"Boss? I've seen some things that I never believed in. Some I do now, some I don't. Who ever 'gave' me this thing is something…I want to believe in."

Before my boss could respond, of course the phone rang. My employer grabbed it on the first ring, took an order and dropped the phone back onto the cradle in one smooth motion.

"You better start believe in something, my Son. Your favorite customers are hungry."

I glared down at the counter as he whipped up the same order they've called in for weeks. I know it by heart now.

Fifteen Minutes Later

I tapped the intercom button, and was nearly sent back by the sounds of a sci-fi movie blaring from the speaker. As I pulled my hat back on after it blew off, the sound cut to what sounded like a commercial.

"…yeah yeah yeah, who is it?"

I tilted my head at the high-pitched chatter.

"Um…pizza."

The connection clicked off and I heard the sound of the elevator going down. Now, usually I hear the elevator motor stop and some foot steps before the door opens, I think there's like a hallway in there. But for some reason the door slid open early, revealing a red-carpeted, metal walled entry hall devoid of furniture except for an elevator door on the opposite end. I looked down at the beginning of the floor, glancing at both sides of the door frame and noticing two laser sensors above the floor. I just rolled my eyes and stepped over them, some security system.

I proceeded to walk across the short hall, ducking and weaving through the well-hidden sensor areas while muttering what they triggered.

"Alarm…silent alarm…net...stun gun…spiky ball on a chain…freakin' huge boulder on a track…pie cannon…what the heck…"

Eventually I was standing in front of the elevator, holding the pizzas in one hand as I prepared to shove my way in and get my tip by force. Hey, it wasn't one of my smart days.

Things went downhill when the door opened and I didn't see anyone in the elevator. I leaned forward and looked around, seeing the button panel and emergency phone but nobody to take the pizzas. I was about to step into the thing when I heard a scratchy voice call out.

"Down here!"

I slowly creaked my neck downward, raising both eyebrows until they disappeared into my hat as I saw who was standing in the lift.

…it was a very short, green guy with pointy ears dressed in a brown bath robe and tunic with a yellow plastic flashlight clipped to a belt loop. As he glared up at me, tapping his foot as he waited for me to hand him the pizzas I had a flashback to my younger days…

You see, my old room mate was a diehard fan of a sci-fi series that he watched every hour of every day. He often dressed up in outfits similar to my little green friend here. Sometimes he would use catchphrases from the show to try and pick up women. I once caught him trying to lift the couch with his mind. Needless to say I moved out and into my shabby little loft with no air conditioning.

And as I watched this little nerd with the fake ears and green face paint try to get the pizzas from me during the commercial break of a marathon of the show. I got an idea so stupid, so cliché and uncreative that it couldn't possibly fail me. I reached up and coughed into my hand, and spoke to the little fellow in a raspy, filtered voice that was identical to the villain on the show. Hey, I watched a couple episodes in my three months living in that nerd-palace.

"…you do not need these pizzas…"

I held back as a smile as he lad's boyish features went blank, his eyes widening at the voice of his dark idol. Thank God, he's a big enough nerd for me to pull this off. H replied in a still scratchy but monotone voice.

"…I do not need the pizzas."

I continued holding the pizzas and doing my 'Dark Fader' voice from behind my hand.

"You will go back upstairs, and when you returned you will bring me the decapitated head of the tip-hog on a spike…and his wallet…actually, just the wallet…or the head on a spike, either one."

I smirked as he started to repeat that in first person. But halfway through I felt a sudden vibe rip through me. I called out in pain as I clutched my head.

"GAH! I feel a ripple in the Poorly Written Plot Device…"

My nerd slave started.

"You feel…wait…"

He suddenly shook his head like a dog, the spell wearing off. He looked at the way I was holding my head, remembering he had a marathon to waste his life watching.

"…DUDE! GIMME THE PIZZAS!"

I opened my eyes and literally threw the pizzas at the boy as I turned on my heel.

"I must go…some one just touched my kayak!"

…yes, for ten seconds there I actually had kayak sense…

I sprinted right out the entrance hall to the island exterior. In the process, I accidentally triggered every trap I had easily evaded on my way in. So, I had to duck my head to avoid a pie. I jumped to miss the spiky ball on a chain. Ducked the stun gun and net launcher. Managed to slip past both alarms, but right before I reached the doorway that giant stone boulder that had appeared out of thin air was getting a bit close, but one o the traps caused the door to start closing slowly yet dramatically.

Therefore, to avoid the giant boulder, I had to baseball slide under it before it closed all the way, grab my dropped hat through the closing gap before slumping back against the closed door and praying that I don't get sued by six different film companies. A few minutes later I remembered why I had given up my chance to get my tip and tripped all those traps. My kayak.

I broke into a sprint for the shore, not stopping until I came upon the indentation in the sand where just ten minutes ago I'd landed my small boat. I panted as I looked around at the tiny beach, wondering if it had floated off or if I'd been boat-jacked. It's happened before, I used to have a pontoon boat but one morning I came out and it was floating on cinder blocks with the engine missing.

I just cursed, kicking the sand as I wondered how I was going to get back before dark. I'd swim, but the local mafia has been cutting back on burial costs and I'd probably get picked up by a garbage collector thinking I'm a corpse. Right as I was about to start wading in and drown myself, I heard some one explode behind me.

"Bearer of Pizza!"

I spun around in a defensive stance, reaching for my back pocket when I saw who had snuck up on me. Well, more like floated down and landed behind me.

Standing about my height, was a red-headed girl clad in a purple skirt/top combo with some serious bracelets and ankle bands for accessories. Complete with oversized gemstones and freaky little forehead dots. After a few minutes of staring at her like the freak she was, I noticed she was smiling at me from under her huge green eyes. She was also wearing my kayak like a hat. As in putting the waist hole over her head so it stuck out on both sides like a sombero. Where to start, where to start…I cleared my throat, trying not to act aggressive in case she could spit acid.

"…you…you dropped me in the lake…"

She nodded positively, nearly tipping my boat off her head. I wondered if she was reconsidering using me as an egg sac and using my boat as a hostage. I mean, it's the closest thing I have to a girlfriend.

"…uh…what is it you want exactly?"

When she burst out in her mixed grammar, I relaxed my posture slightly, tilting my head at this girl as I was now sure this was the same one who started it all.

"I witnessed your arrival and noticed you were using a sarukai as a water vessel!"

…I just stared blankly before glancing at my boat. Yeah, she ain't from the city. But she's not blonde, so she couldn't be a dumb country girl. Chico could be right, I can imagine her being from off-world. Now, back to hauling ass outta' here.

"…well, I need my…hat…back to deliver more pizzas. If you could just…"

Before I could finish my sentence she had effortlessly tossed the heavy boat onto its side in front of me. I did a double take between the small craft that only I could lift with both hands. She's the size of an anorexic ballerina, how did she do that? I pulled the boat closer with my foot as I edged away from the girl who just stood there smiling at me. Christ, this is creeping me out. She's like a possessed girl in a horror movie, except without the pale make-up and poor acting.

Right as I pushed off into the water and prepared to paddle back to Normal Town, I noticed something about the smiling orange statue that was watching my every move from the shore. Perched sideways on top of her parted red hair, was an old baseball cap extremely similar to the one I'd lost when she dropped me into the lake so long ago. I hopped out of the boat, pointing at her head as if the Virgin Mary were smoking a cigar on top of it.

"That's my hat!"

It took her a few seconds before she went cross eyed looking up at my long-lost hat. She reached up and took it between two orange hands, examining it as if she were just noticing it.

"You mean this head covering with the shade attachment? I found it in the water valley after we first crossed paths in my search for your pizza."

…maybe I should have paid attention in Latin class…whatever she said, she suddenly thrust the hat at where I was standing knee-deep in lake water. As a reflex I grabbed it, she started rambling on about payment for the food goods when we both jerked our heads at a distant voice booming from what I guessed was the roof of the tower.

"STAR! Quit freaking out the pizza guy! Some one spotted Slade in the downtown area, let's go!"

I recognized the voice as that of the cyborg. Without a word of explanation, my orange stalker just bowed her head and literally jumped sideways, flying up to the top of the tower as if gravity as her toy. I watched her drift off through the air before looking down at the hat I thought I'd never see again.

Seven Minutes of Paddling Like Hell for Fear of Probing Later

I sat on the public dock, soaking wet from the record breaking trip and clutching the hat that thing gave me while I wrung out the one I'd been wearing. After my hands were dry I pulled out my phone and hit the speed dial. Two rings later.

"…Herro?"

"Chico, spit out that taffy and listen to me. You know that one alien? Dropped me in the lake, bad grammar? No tip?"

A positive grunt.

"Well, I just tried to get my tip again, and when I came back to my 'yak she was wearing it like a hat. She was throwing it around like a hacky sack. The thing weighs 80 pounds dry."

I heard him swallow over his headset.

"Dude, she's an alien. Her profile said she could bench 80 tons."

I just stared at my phone, wondering it the line was bad or if my friend was high.

"Eh…well, she…gave me back my hat."

"…wha'?"

"That hat I lost that one time. She found it and kept it for me."

I heard him go silent. Then him trying not to laugh.

"Dave, did she tell you to 'Be Goood…', too?"

I just rolled my eyes around at the empty dock.

"Screw this, just wanted you to know."

I cut the call and dialed another number from memory. This time a chattery priest answered.

"Hi, is this the 56th street Cathedral? Well, yesterday I called in and donated for a Sunday mass in memory of a hat lost in an alien abduction. No, this isn't a prank. The thing is…I just found the hat. It's alive after all. So, could I get like a refund or…? Churches don't do refunds? Yo'? Hello? God-Dude?"

…that priest just hung up on me.

Author's Note

I'll probably revise this after a few reviews, I know it's a bit unpolished. And Stephen Spielberg, if you're reading this please don't sue me. Same for George Lucas and Harrison Ford.