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...and they called him...The Scribbler...

  • ...and they called him...The Scribbler...
  • The Scribbler was Batman's new arch-nemesis. He would ruin perfectly good sentences by ripping out the vowels in everyone's typewriters! Batman decided enough was enough!
  • "T th Btmbl Rbn!" Batman looked at his word balloon. Curses! The Scribbler got even to his own writer! He picked up the bat-phone. "Ths lks lk jb fr Lttrmn!"
  • But the Batphone was dead. The Scribbler looked puzzled. Alfred's voiced echoed through the Batcave. "Are you ready to die you fiend!?"
  • The Scribbler laughed then. "It's Batman's butler! Ha! You're not worth my time." Turning his back to Alfred, he proceeded to extract the data he needed from the Bat-computer.
  • "My word Sir", said Alfred. ".. are You THE Scribbler? Might I have your autograph?" The Scribbler was flattered and grasped at the quill proferred by the Butler, but the Alfred
  • handed him a fountain pen. If only Alfred could get the his fingerprint, Batman would have sufficient evidence to convict the Scribbler. He did, however, admire
  • the Scribbler's abstract artworks he plastered up on the walls after each crime he committed. It was only then that Batman decided to move from the business of fighting crime and
  • become an art dealer. Lives would be lost if he didn't interpret the Scribblers designs, but he could make some fat cash instead. Then Batman remembered, he was already rich
  • , but not rich enough. Human Lives vs. Personal Wealth. It always comes down to that, does it not? Batman sold out. The Scribbler melted into the darkness, vowing to return.
Started
2013-09-11 11:02:43
Finished
2015-08-17 20:36:58

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