The beloved bat looked forlornly at the wall made up of crushed gallons of milk. His sidekick was looking at the wall too, squinting at the harsh sunlight.
“When do you think it will end, Batman?”
“The madness, you mean?”
“No, I meant the sunlight,” his sidekick said. The beloved bat looked at his sidekick, who was gangly-looking and wearing bright red lipstick.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider changing colors? You might look less garish.”
The Prince of Green looked at the bat. “Red wards off the run. And besides, it complements my hair.”
“I can’t argue with royalty,” the bat said. “You are the Prince of Green, after all. Say, why don’t you summon an airship or a retinue of veterans to rescue us from this purgatory.”
But the Prince didn’t answer. Indeed, the Prince wasn’t present at all.
“Where did you go, my dear Prince? I’d of thought you would’ve stuck around to the end.”
The only response the bat received was the hard-to-perceive sound of those decaying gallons. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t decay in enough time to spare his patience. So he walked the lonely paths lined with rejected vessels hoping the Prince of Green would appear.
“We’ve always had a tense relationship, dear Prince. That’s no reason to abandon a well-functioning duo.”
Before the bat could finish his speech, he fell through a question mark-shaped hole in the ground. All of a sudden, he was soothed. Here he was in his natural environment, nestled in a labyrinth beneath a labyrinth. Those pesky gallons still formed barriers against anything else, but Adam was coming to peace with them. They were part of this world, slowly rotting away.
“Whatever happens to this world, I’ll persevere,” Adam said to himself. “Unwanted gallons be damned!”
Adam approached what looked like an altar.
“Go due west,” the altar said, a voice coming from below. “You’ll find your answers there.”
Adam decided to follow the altar’s advice. He headed due west, through ever-narrowing corridors dotted with question marks. Clay hand prints dotted the dots, making Adam suspicious. Something nefarious was going on. He started to doubt the sage words of an always reliable altar. But as soon as he did so, he entered a cavernous room. The gallons had gone, replaced with rocky walls and more clay hand prints.
A being was sitting in a posh chair covered in red. “The Prince of Green! I’d recognize that shade of red anywhere!”
It was indeed the Prince of Green, but his left arm ended in a clay-ish stump. The Prince offered a malicious glare.
“Sorry for the deception, bat, but it was necessary.”
Adam became a little flustered. After all, his sense of justice had been rattled.
“Deception is a tool of the morally polluted!”
The Prince of Green motioned with his clay-ish stump, and shadows started to come out of the woodwork, revealing their true selves.
The Joker appeared, seeming calm and cool-headed. The Penguin, short but devious, took off his top hat, bending a bald head. A riddler wearing pjs stepped out of the dark, yawned and looking benignly at the bat.
“You’re surrounded, my friend,” said the Prince of Green, who tripled in size as the mind behind the shape let go. It was clayface in all his dramatic glory. Vines crept up behind his massive shoulders, and a throne of ivy was rose above his head, sitting inside it was of course the red-haired poison ivy.
“The Goad-dess of plants herself!”
“At your command!” she said.
Adam was confused, and getting a little angry. Why were they being so nice to him?
“It’s time to let go, Adam,” clayface said, his mask of sadness deepening in the candlelight.
Adam smiled, the reality of things finally dawned on him. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But there’s just one last thing.” He looked expectantly into the shadows.
Robin appeared, giving a bow. So this was it. The end of an era. As Robin and the bat walked into the doorway of light, Adam thought that nothing could be this simple. There had to be a catch. But his old enemies were smiling and waving. The Joker, the archbishop of Evil, his greatest nemesis, was waving too. Adam did the same, punching Robin lightly on the shoulder as they passed from one level of existence to another.
Maybe Adam would give David Bowie a call. It was only fitting.