The Chronic (Fan)Fictioner

They did not. Their artwork consisted of a random-yet-involved photo with either digital or conventional paint overlay or a collage of photos with hand-painted frames. …Or at least that's what Jason heard from the two of them when they first explained it to him in a jumble of words like 'exposure', 'ISO', 'laminate', 'etching' - and stuff like that. Whatever those means. The end result was quite fascinating, a little difficult to mass-print to the point where Damian had demanded Bruce to buy him a customized printing press specifically for the job of printing the first thousand copies of the first book.

No, Bruce did not give him a printing press, he instead acquired a small print company and upgraded their machine. They have been exclusively printing Matches' books on order since then.

"Are you sure they will not maim each other on the way there?" Bruce asked, right after Tim's car left the driveway.

Jason rolled his eyes as Dick snorted a laugh.

"Bruce, they're going to Bret's for photography and art supplies. They're not going to the Middle East to start world war three!" Dick quipped.

"I may consider being more… or less antsy if they were going to start a war against somebody else, though," Bruce mused whimsically. "Alas, I didn't raise psychopaths. So how's your book going, Jay?"

Jason sighed dejectedly. "It's… going. Those two decided that since I've reached three-quarters of the book, they should start the artwork." he said.

"The problem is that we haven't found an ending." Dick pointed out.

"No, no, no. I have found an ending. Richard here didn't like the ending and wants it to be a little more…" Jason waved his arms dramatically. "…colorful!"

"Well, yeah! Your ending is such an anticlimax the sun went back to sleep!"

"It's called a noir genre, Richard, it's not supposed to have extraterrestrials in it!" Jason snapped. Dick and Bruce exchanged glances. "Oh, no. No no no no no. I am not putting aliens in my book!"

Bruce cleared his throat, a little hesitantly. "Well, I have only read the outline, so I can't comment on the details. I don't think that the ending is bad, just a little cliffhanger-y, I think? Why did the dame insisted that Matches was her soulmate when she'd been married to Harvey for so long…"

"People change? Also there's the disfigurement accident?" Jason offered. "Oh, he's now Henry, not Harvey. And she's Josie."

"They split long before the accident happened, which was why she was suspected in the first place?" Bruce countered. "And why can't Matches find evidence that she was the culprit? Even with clouded judgement, Matches should be able to find something, not nothing…"

"Somebody else covered her tracks?" Jason reasoned. "Oh, and also, he's back at being a lawyer."

"Who?"

"I… don't know yet… —But definitely not aliens!"

"Harv— sorry, Henry was a prosecutor, now a corporate litigation lawyer - which is another word for white collar criminal lawyer. He would know a lot of criminals from all levels of life. Yet his first thought was his ex wife, and because he assumed Gil— uh, what was the ex wife's name?"

"Josie," Dick replied. "yeah, but this is the guy with like, 98% win rate."

"How many of the 98% are from his prosecutor days?"

Dick and Jason exchanged glances. "Quite a lot. But you've got to remember that Alsets usually come with built-in camera and motion sensor alarms. A stranger would not be able to get near without getting photographed and said photo would be sent to the clouds…" Dick explained.

"No, not true. I've actually broken in to several Alsets just for kicks. Their cams are literally placed in the same places - no backup cams. You spoof one, you can spoof them all. And I didn't mention if Josie was seen in the cloud pic storage or not."

"You've done what now??" Bruce demanded.

Jason shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, it pays to keep one's skills sharp, especially with the new car models."

Bruce sighed. "Just let me know if you need bail money," he remarked dryly. "Still remains the question of how did Henry's Alset get sabotaged."

"Maybe Matches was the one sabotaging it?" Dick said. "Matches didn't mention how long it had been since he'd last seen Henry."

"He didn't, did he? Should I put in a few years or something? How long would it take for a 3rd degree burn wound to heal, anyway?"

"with modern technology and skin grafts, a year. Maybe not 100%, but it would not be a harsh disfigurement enough to make people wince," Bruce inhaled. "You are hitting it far too close to home, by the way."

"I'm planning to actually go to Harvey before I publish and have his thought. I'm absolutely willing to pay him, too."

"Yeah, I thought you would. Don't give him more than 5%, he's still incarcerated and isn't allowed to profit from his crimes."

"Yeah, this is still Gotham and I'm sure Harv still has financial backup stashes all over the rats' hole in this city."

"Those are his assets," Dick replied lazily. "Bruce meant income, if you pay him, that's an income. As a lawyer, he should know of this, but never hurts to remind him just in case."

"In case he unleashed hi goons to put a twin bullet in my head?"

"Yeah, that, too."

"He's not…" Bruce caught himself and smirked. "Okay, maybe he would. But knowing Harvey, he'd be honored to be in there."

Jason groaned and stretched, "yeah, well, all things considered, at least I can be sure that the artwork for this book is gonna be stellar. Tim and Damian teaming up.. 'chef's kiss'!"

"Would also be a massive treat for the fans," Dick nodded.

"…or rift-breaker — we're literally the only novel writers who are constantly on display in tabloids!" Jason snickered. "I wonder what their headlines would be once somebody catch Tim and Damian in the same store…"

"'Breaking News: Tim and Damian Wayne spotted buying art supplies! Has Tim broken his ties with Jason?? Read it all on page 2!'"

"Page 2 is international news…" Bruce interjected absently. "Page 9 is tabloid."

"Everybody know Tim is loyal to me, you jerk - unlike you two himboes," Jason stuck out his tongue.

"By the way, what did Matches found when he investigated Harv— Henry's car?" Bruce asked, a little incongruously.

"I told you, nothing!" Jason replied.

"But you said that Alset take photos of every human face and send it to the cloud account it's related to."

It finally dawned on Dick. "Was the cloud account empty?"

Now it clicked on Jason. "Damn, guys.." he pulled out his tablet and skimmed through. "Chapter 5, Matches told Henry that the cloud was empty." he admitted. "So external third-party it is. But still don't imply extra terrestrial activity!"

"This is Hagmoth, though, you can take your pick between extra-terrestrial to extra-normal to paranormal," Dick pointed out.

The downstairs bell rang. A client? But this is fairly still too early in the — oh, never mind. It is only 1800 hours. A while still to dinner. Perhaps this client is a dame who would like to share a dinner with me!

"I'm not sure about that part… Matches wanting to ask a girl out to dinner?" Dick scowled as he interrupted.

"I agree, that sounds more like you, Todd," Damian smirked.

Jason sighed dejectedly. "Heathens, you all. Fine, I'll cross that out."

"I didn't object," Tim piped in.

"No, because you know that's exactly how Jason asked you out," Dick pointed out.

Tim shrugged, ignoring the blush creeping up on Jason's face. "Yeah, okay, fair. I'm a bit biased. Shall I go on?"

"More than biased? You're also not impartial, but…"

"No, heathen, the reading," Tim cut Damian off.

"Oh that, yes, of course."

"I would probably liked a little more context on that case he'd just solved, like maybe link it with the current one?" Dick suggested, "But go on, Timmy, sorry for interrupting!"

Tim nodded. "Right, so," he paused, looking for where he left off. "…'A while still to dinner.' - I'm skipping 'Matches'' wishful thinking about the nonexistent dame and am going to where he'd reached the door.

I hesitated slightly before I opened the door; am aware that my footsteps are heavier than Alfred's, but nonetheless that should not have lead the person at the other side of the door to have heard of my coming downstairs. Logic has it, he or she would be impatient enought to ring a second time.

But there was no second ring. I took a deep breath, and opened the door.

A man in his mid- to late-30s standing with one of his arms half-raised, as if he was going to knock on the door instead. I fear he might have heard me gasp - for the side of his face was visibly deformed, there was no skin, only muscles and sinew. Teeth showing in the corner of his mouth that should have been covered by his lips.

I do, however, know the man.

"Harvey," I greeted. "Long time no see."

"Matches," the other man growled.

"Harvey don't usually growl…" Dick interrupted. "His voice is a tenor, short of being a little whiny as far as I'm concerned. And you can't use 'harvey'," he reminded.

Jason waved his hands in frustration. "I know! That's just a placeholder so I would remember his character and won't suddenly place a hook in his hand or something!"

"ANYWAY!" Tim snapped. "Continuing!

"…the other man growled, and did not even wait for an invite before he pushed past me and walked in. "I need your help. Yesterday." he said shortly before slumping into the nearest armchair.

"That's Harvey, alright, my old law school buddy. He would make it to graduation, I did not. We were running in our own happy little corners until his electric vehicle was sabotaged and ruined his life some five years ago. From then onward, his life changed from an up-and-coming Defense Attorney to an overzealous prosecutor."

"I'm okay with the EV sabotage, but the law school is cutting it a little too close to home." Dick commented again. "also reverse roles? The real Harvey would have a go at our respective necks in no time!"

"Matches also had attended FLETC, the federal agents' training program, why not place Harvey there?" Damian suggested.

Tim looked at Jason, who glared back at him as if it was his fault. "I'll note it down," he offered.

"I'm just thinking if there is any other place that I've written that implied Harvey's legal job and how to switch them to federal agency stuff," Jason replied. "But yeah, note it, please."

"He can still be a pencil pusher turned field agent?" Dick suggested. "Or a field agent to a morgue assistant? Do they have to have medical degrees as an assistant? I dunno, we have to check."

"I'm leaning more toward analyst to field agent, the latter could exploit his being ruthless or vice versa." Damian commented.

"I'll take vice versa, field agent, due to disfigurement, he ends up as an analyst and is…" Jason paused with a slight smirk, "…dare I say it… anal about his job," he grinned impishly.

Damian and Tim rolled their respective eyes. Dick snorted a laugh. "Field to office it is, then, Timmy?"

"Right. Continuing," Tim nodded after making some notes into the document.

"What help, Harv? The last time you asked me for help was to assure your office romance that you were, in fact, single — which you were not; and to make sure that Gilda would never hear of it." I commented.

"Did she ever?" Harvey wanted to know.

"Ever what? Know about your fling? I'd say yes, she's not a dumb broad. But I didn't tell her anything, implied or otherwise," I have had to repeat this line over and over. There were allegations and insinuations that it was Gilda who sabotaged Harvey's car - the very cause of his disfigurement as he was trapped in the car after it caught fire - due to his infidelity. But I have never found any evidence of any tampering - let alone who might have done it.

Personally, I reckon if it had been Gilda who sabotaged Harvey's car, she would have left some kind of evidence to make sure he knows that it was her doing.

But then again, with the Alset brand of EV that Harvey owned, elaborate sabotaging is not necessary - one can sneeze wrong in that car and the entire vehicle would leap itself off the Spring Bridge."

"He's not wrong, though…" Dick remarked lazily.

"Ouch," Damian cringed. "Your hatred of Alset is very palpable, Grayson…"

"He's not wrong, totally. They gave me one for a trial and it overheats on a 90 degree day after being out in the sun for like, 15 minutes. I had to call Jay to pick me up because I don't want to be trapped in it." Tim shrugged.

"I thought you bought one?" Damian wanted to know. "What happened to it?"

"I bought one second-hand, it was trash. I reprogrammed it to a non-metal recycling machine. It's in the basement."

"Do I even want to know why you bought an Alset?" Jason demanded.

"It was practically given away for free. Like, I paid 200 bucks for it. Besides, we need a recycling bin." Tim shrugged nonchalantly. "So Harvey's Alset caught fire and burn half of his face?"

"Yes. Continue reading, please! Ohmigod, it's not like I have all day here…" Jason groused.

"Okay, fine!" Tim retorted.

Harvey rubbed his hand to his undamaged side.

"You will need to stop her before she kills me."

"I must have blinked, because he promptly scowled.

"You don't believe me."

Ït's not that," I objected. "I mean, if she wanted to kill you, she could have done it so many times in so many method any day before today. Why are you stressed now, of all time?"

He sighed. "You don't understand… Gilda is… is not well. She has been deteriorating in the past years." He paused. "She has openly stated that she would kill me, numerous times, in public. And Matches, my friend, I want you to find the evidence that she has not."

I blinked slowly, digesting the statement. "Come again?" I queried. Gilda is an all-smoke, no fire kind of gal — or at least she was before finding out of Harvey's fling. Even if she had/did/would/shall kill Harvey, I would not be too surprised and mayhaps just wish for a lighter sentence for her on the defense of 'hell hath no fury' etc.

"I want you to convince the world that she has not been the one who killed me."

Tim inhaled and looked up. "Last sentence. What do we feel, guys?"

"We feel kind of hungry, not figuratively. And we want pizza!" Dick replied absently.

"It's in the oven, Dick, and you can smell them from the kitchen all the way up here. That's why you're hungry," Damian replied. "We don't have any action in this first chapter, yes? I'm good with the ending of the chapter, however - it is a sort of cliffhanger that's… still two steps away from the edge."

"I might want to elaborate more on the office romance stuff? I'm pre-pondering who this lucky/unlucky fling partner is? …also why not kill her? —or him?" Dick commented.

"Because," Jason grinned. "The fling is with him."

Realization dawned on Dick's face. "Why Jason Peter Todd. That's… that's positively diabolical."

"What," Damian choked on his drink. "How dare you, Todd!"

Jason scowled. "I dared. And I'm not compromising."

"At least you can compromise that this affair will never be discovered by anyone else!" Damian demanded.

Jason tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. "…done deal. Shake on it?" he offered a hand to Damian.

"I ought to sever your hand. But I shall take solace in knowing that Matches' dignity will be preserved and he shall not be known as the housewrecker." Damian stated, taking Jason's hand and shook it.

In retrospect, Damian is not wrong. Jason thought that he had cheekily stole the opening from Ian Flemming's 'Bond, James Bond,' and 'Jerseyized' it. Somehow the books flew off the racks and eBook vendors right off the bat - and the highest initial sales were in their hometown of Gotham instead of the publisher's first-release in Metropolis.

There were rumors that the eBook sales were so fast that they had temporarily killed several independent eBook stores. But Barbara Gordon, their 'bestie in tech', assured them that the sites - plural - were only down for a few minutes and she helped them by hosting them all in her company's eco-friendly servers.

"And therein lies the 'how the hell do we change this from first person to second or third?'" Tim Drake-Wayne groused.

"…just add quotation marks, Timothy, it's not rocket science," Damian sneered. "Why do we have to change to second or third person?"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned. "Why did we agree to do this, again?"

"Group therapy," Jason quipped. "Just to change the pace and get out of your proverbial box, Damian."

"I would like to pay for my own shrink so I can get out of this therapy thing, and actually I can, thanks," Tim snarked.

"But you never did and you're as deranged as we all are. So this is the best you're going to have in the short term." Damian replied thoughtfully. "Why do we have to follow tropes, by the way?"

Jason blinked. "Have to? Whaddya mean?"

Damian shrugged. "Protagonist, antagonist, protagonist's goals and weaknesses and whathaveyous. Why do we have to humanize everything and everyone when we know that there are people who are just… good or bad or neither. That most western people are selfish?" he stated.

"I propose we kill Malone." Tim still snarked. "And then revive him and make him the bad guy. And change the POV to second or third person."

"For what goal? Money? He has more money than god. Fame? He's individually famous in his Jones persona. He has no family, no friends other than a handful of ; 'associates', he's like Trump only on the side of humans. He has nothing to lose. How would he turn evil?" Jason argued. "And no, I hate writing in third person."

"You've got a point…" Damian mused. "But a person would want to have a goal at some point in life, not constant fight and fight and fight…" he trailed off as he caught his two brothers' blank glare. "…right. But this not father's biography. Anyway!"

"No it's not, at least Bruce has anchors." Dick Grayson, their oldest brother, piped up as he walked in. "How about you write in first person, and we'll see if we can rotate the POV to third person?"

"So we make an anchor for Matches or what?" Jason demanded. "Like, seriously, guys, this is our third book. We should have gone further than this single plotline by this time." He added after a thought, "and hell no, you fuckers are more illiterate than a rock. You're not changing the POV."

"Writing is a creative process, Jay, you can't rush art," Tim quipped haughtily. He paused and glared at Jason rather menacingly, "you do realize that we're still writing the book with you, yeah?"

"Your point?"

"We're writing the book with you, Jason. How the hell are we illiterate?"

Dick smirked. "Because all three of us can only supply ideas and talk the ideas out. Jason is the only one of us who is verbose enough to turn those ideas into sentences that are understandable and comprehensive to the point where when an 'illiterate' would try to read the book, they'll be 100% more verbose than when they started."

"Verbose!" Damian snorted a laugh. "Grayson, did you take some herbal gummies?"

"Herbal gummies." Jason echoed. "We gotta put some of those in this. I mean, dude beats up people and gets beat up on daily basis, sometimes twice a day, and thrice on every other day; he's bound to have some… the what even now, Damian? 'Herbal' gummies?? Nobody called it that in like, ever!"

"Can't care less," Damian shrugged. "Whatever we put in, we will need to remember that our words matter. Each word we put in can change the world - at the very least, the world's view on a subject. We need to responsibly…"

"…hold up, slow down!" Jason retorted, scribbling frantically.

"I told you we shoulda ask Tam to help, at least she can shorthand…" Tim commented.

"This is 2026, Timiny Cricket, whoever still use shorthands..?" Dick smirked.

"Courts, Richard, courts still use shorthands. And now I lost my train of thought." Damian grumbled.

"Quote, '…we need to responsibly—' what?" Jason read out loud from his notes.

"Right, well, 'Responsibly build a world that is close enough to reality while assuring the readers that beneath all those nastiness that is the City of Hagmot, there is hope - there is a light at the end of the tunnel that does not end in the proverbial Valinor… why are you making notes of what I'm saying??" Damian demanded.

"Because I want to, and because I can," Jason replied glibly. "And because I'm putting it in Matches' mouth. I'm not gonna change POV or kill Matches.

"Guys, we still have to make a plot," Dick reminded them. "Also that we have a deadline to submit the plot, and that deadline is next week."

"Soulmates," Tim remarked.

"Huh?" said three different sounds.

"Soulmates, I'm serious. That's the plot. Matches is approached by a man who lost his soulmate; but it turned out that he was allegedly a jerk and abusive and she has been hiding. When Matches found her, he knew she was his soulmate and was thinking of how to hide her. But he - the client - came up behind him, crying and all, and begging the girl not to leave. And pop - she shoot and killed him. So Matches was icked out and refused her. His heart was broken, but he hated that she flat out murdered the client."

"Personally, I'd pretend I didn't see where the bullet came from and blame it on one of Matches' rogue nemeses," Jason quipped. "But yeah, that sounds good."

"Agreed, in spite of his good intentions, Matches is still a misogynist at his core," Dick remarked.

"Really, Richard? You cannot sympathize with the woman at all? Matches is in the wrong with this…" Damian retorted. "But I don't disagree with the concept. Jason?"