"I have been expecting you, Batman," said Professor Hugo Strange in a low voice. He didn't even look up from the chemical he was examining under the microscope. "There is no need to hide in the shadows. I know you're there."

"Then you know the game is up," said Batman, stepping into the light of the laboratory. "So that had better be an antidote you're working on."

"An antidote?" repeated Strange, raising his head and looking at Batman in confusion. "For what?"

"For Panacea," retorted Batman.

"And why would I wish to undo the effects of Panacea?" asked Strange. "It is a complete success. It has erased the insane and aggressive tendencies of formerly homicidal lunatics and allowed them to re-enter society as productive citizens."

"By brainwashing them," snapped Batman. "By turning them into mindless robots."

"However it takes, the result is worthwhile, would you not agree?" asked Strange. "How many lives will be saved, Batman, now that the likes of Harvey Dent and Pamela Isley are no longer violent criminals? Their minds were already disturbed. I just disturbed them again, in a different direction, and now they are harmless."

"They're also zombies," said Batman. "The drug has erased their personalities. And that's not right."

"Right?" repeated Strange, his eyebrows narrowing over his glasses. "You speak of right? Is it right to leave them as they are, insane and incurable, to break out night after night and repeat their cycle of death and destruction?"

"It's completely unethical to alter someone's brain…" began Batman.

"Ethics are for the small-minded, Batman," retorted Strange. "What great benefits to society have not come at the violation of so-called ethics? And I have done so much good. I have cured the vile animals who have plagued this city time and time again. When I am through, Batman will no longer be needed to defend Gotham. You will be able to live a normal life without masks and disguises and fighting. You should be thanking me."

Batman was silent, and Strange smiled. "Or is that not what you want?" he asked, quietly. "Is the truth in this matter that you are not particularly concerned for the welfare of the citizens of Gotham, but for your own selfish pleasure? I imagine you do get some sort of pleasure out of being Batman, out of being respected, admired, feared. Does it frighten you to think of losing that?"

"This isn't about me – it's about them," retorted Batman.

"Them," repeated Strange, smiling again. "Yes, them." He removed the slide from the microscope and went to rinse it off in the sink. "Why are you always on their side?" he murmured, quietly. "The side of the lunatics. Do you perhaps sympathize in some way? Do you question your own sanity? It would not be unreasonable to do so."

"Like I said, this isn't about me," said Batman.

"I think it is," murmured Strange. "I think that is exactly what this is about. Or would it horrify you to admit that you need them? That you want them to commit chaos and murder so that you have some reason to be Batman? Without your lunatics to chase after and bring to justice, you would have no purpose. And a man without purpose is a dangerous man. A desperate man. A mad man. Perhaps living without his lunatics would drive Batman himself to a life of lunacy. It would be better than facing the empty horror of your life without them, I imagine."

"You can imagine whatever you like," replied Batman. "That does not change the basic fact that what you have done is wrong and unethical, and you will undo it right now."

Strange laughed. "I could not even if I wanted to," he retorted. "There is no cure for Panacea. How can one cure a cure? Such a thing is impossible."

"Just because it doesn't exist yet doesn't mean it can't be done," said Batman. "I thought you of all people would understand that, Strange."

He nodded. "It is true. But to synthesize an antidote, you would need the formula. And I am the only one who knows that. I have not written it down. It is all carefully locked away in here," he said, touching his head and smiling.

"And you think I can't get in there, is that it?" asked Batman. "Because I wouldn't push me, Strange. I really wouldn't. It's been a long day."

"Yes, and it will be an even longer night for you, I imagine," said Strange. "As long as the likes of the Joker are at liberty, every night will be a long one for you. The idea that you would not want an end to the struggle is one I cannot possibly fathom."

Batman suddenly seized him by the collar, dragging him off his feet. "Call me crazy, then," he hissed. "Just tell me the formula."

"Not until you tell me why you will not accept my help in ridding the city of these monsters," murmured Strange, calmly.

"Because I don't believe in taking people's lives," growled Batman. "And that's what you're doing, Strange. You've killed these people. And you don't have the right to do that. Nobody has the right to do that. And now for once I have the power to bring people who have died back to life, and I'm going to use it. Life is too precious a thing to be destroyed. I won't allow it to happen, not as long as I can prevent it. I'm sworn to protect life, not destroy it. And I will protect it, Strange, whatever the cost."

Strange nodded slowly. "Then I am right. You are one of them. You are too blinded by your beliefs to see the harm you inflict…"

Batman suddenly slammed him against the wall, and Strange cried out in pain. "I'm well aware of the harm I inflict," he growled. "And pretty soon, you will be too. Unless you give me the formula, now."

Strange managed a nod and Batman dropped him the ground. Strange struggled slowly to his feet and went over to a desk, scribbling something onto a piece of paper, which he handed to Batman. "Thank you," said Batman. He then punched him violently in the face, knocking him unconscious.

After a quick trip to the GCPD to drop off Strange, Batman returned to the Batcave, where Alfred was awaiting him, holding an icepack to his head. "How are you feeling?" asked Batman, climbing out of the Batmobile.

"I've had worse headaches," replied Alfred. "How did things go with Strange?"

Bruce held up the paper. "I'm going to need to synthesize an antidote for this."

"Ah. So you'll be needing a constant supply of coffee tonight, then, sir," said Alfred, heading for the stairs. "I will get to work on it straightaway."

"Alfred…wait," said Batman. He took off his mask and rubbed his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, sir," replied Alfred, sincerely.

"Is making Ivy and Two-Face and Harley crazy again…the right thing to do?" he asked.

Alfred stared at him. "You're asking me a question of morality, sir?"

"No, I mean…I know it is," said Batman, slowly. "It feels right, and it is right, but if I do this…every victim of theirs from now on is going to be on my head. It will be my fault. Does that make me…as bad as they are, really? Does that make me…one of them?"

Alfred was silent. "I suppose the real question is, do two wrongs make a right, sir?" he asked. "It was wrong of Strange to interfere with their minds. It would be wrong of you to leave them as they are. So is that right? You have never believed that, and nor have I. If you cure them, they will do things that are wrong again. But you will always have done right. So no, sir, it will not make you one of them."

Batman nodded. "And do they not deserve the right, sir, to make their own choices?" continued Alfred. "To cure themselves, really cure themselves, if they can? Could you deny them that opportunity by having them live out the remainder of their lives in that state? That would be wrong, sir. That would make you as wrong as Strange. And no, sir, two wrongs cannot make a right."

Batman nodded again. "You know what is right in your heart, sir, you always have," said Alfred. "Why do you need me to confirm it for you?"

"Because sometimes I wonder if…" Batman began, but then trailed off. "I mean, everyone always does think they're right, don't they? Even the Joker must somehow think he's right. Sometimes you need other people to confirm that you're still…in your right mind, I guess."

Alfred smiled, and then lay a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Master Bruce," he said. "The moment you show signs of madness, I'll have the doctors rush round to put you in a straightjacket and bundle you off to the asylum. You can rely on me, sir."

"Thanks, Alfred," retorted Batman, dryly. But he smiled, despite himself. "Now how about that coffee?"