Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Batman (Vol. 2), Issue #9 – “Night of the Owls”! In the previous installment, a swarm – is that what they’re called, a swarm? — of Owls attacks Bruce Wayne at his own manor! Home invasion! They try to murder the bastard, but Bruce dons his Metal Batsuit and fends them off while Alfred sends out the distress signal to the rest of the Bat Family.

Will they show up to help, or will they stay home and water their plants? The smart money is on Batgirl tending to her ferns, but the actual results may surprise you!

Batman (Vol. 2), Issue #9 [July, 2012]
Written by: Scott Snyder
“Night of the Owls”

Bruce regales us with a tale of the original owners of Wayne Manor! In 1855, brothers Solomon and Joshua Wayne bought th—BOORRRRRIINNNGGGG!!!

They didn’t move into the home for two years because the place was absolutely infested with bats. Bats in the underground cave system. Bats in the walls. Bats in the oatmeal. Bats.

So the Wayne brothers introduced a predator into the cave. What preys on bats? Tiger owls.

And here we are today with history coming full circle. Really makes you think.

Alfred continues his work on dropping the temperature to sub-zero levels while Metal-Batsuited Bruce whacks off a bunch of owls, so to speak. Alfred sweats as he begs Bruce to come back into the cozy armory with him even though the doors might not even hold.

“Master Bruce, the Talons’ strength, their healing capabilities, please, for you it means certain–”

“What it means, Alfred,” Bruce interrupts, “is that I can play rough for once.”

Bruce gives an Owl a noogie.

“My suit is built for war,” Bruce thinks. “It’s made of meta-aramid fibers of–” –BOOORRRIIINNGGG.

Tougher than Kevlar, as it turns out, this suit. It withstands heat, cold, you know… medium temperatures, too. It’s meant for battle in extreme conditions. And here he is using it in his own home!

Shut up, Tiny Little Bald Man!

Bruce gets CLANGed and WHUMPed around nicely, until finally he’s prostrate on the floor. “He’s down, brothers,” croaks an Owl. “Get him!” hisses another Owl. “This is it Bruce Wayne,” moos another Owl. “Nothing left to keep us out. No more barriers. The Court always finds a way into your home! The Waynes always try, though, don’t you? Well, go ahead! Try whatever you like! More gates. More alarms. Heh, maybe try a guard dog.”

Do you know what Bruce does next? He unleashes a fucking dinosaur on them. An honest-to-god dinosaur. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore. Like, it’s a full-size fucking dinosaur in his house that’s stomping on Owls all of a sudden. What is this garbage?

Alfred warns Bruce that, per his vital signs, the time is nigh to black out for a bit. You know that move in Assassin’s Creed where you take a leap on an enemy from three stories high and stab him in the fucking throat? One of the Owls is doing this now to Bruce. The blade punches right through Bruce’s face armor and comes within one goshdang millimeter of his forehead.

“MASTER BRUCE!” wheezes the useless old butler. “I’M COMING OUT TO HELP YOU!”

Meanwhile, there’s a dinosaur rampaging the Batcave. Have I made myself clear on that point yet?

Bruce commands the computer to override opening the armory doors, trapping Alfred inside. “Master Bruce, you’re crashing!” Alfred yells as Bruce crashes.

“My ancestors…” Bruce thinks. “they used owls to kill the bats. Owls everywhere. But I forgot… the thing I forgot is… as soon as the owls left… …the bats… …came back.”

Bats are gross, sir. Why couldn’t you be Bunnyman?

And sure enough, out of the cave floor or wherever, who cares, a giant swarm of bats flows out into the Cave (around the dinosaur, mind you) and start terrorizing the Owls. Bruce stands up triumphantly and dons his cowl. Alfred reports that the temperature has now reached -20 degrees. He doesn’t specify Fahrenheit or Celsius, or even Rankine! And that would be impossible, because Rankine doesn’t dip into the negatives, you silly goose!

The cold should be affecting the Talons now, but please sir, Alfred begs you to consider your own health and well-being in the cold, cold Cave! Ah, but my dear sweet, sweet Alfred, the bats have come out because of the cold! Ergo, Batman’s fine. QED.

One of the Talons, or Owls, or whatever you want to call him, escapes. So Batman runs into his Batmobile and chases after an Owl symbol in the sky that’s there all of a sudden for some reason.

No explanation about the dinosaur? Okay.

The sky is red like a prolapsed anus. Alfred sends over a file of Owl targets. The ones in blue are the ones that the Bat Family are working on protecting. The ones in red… well, sir, pour a little liquor for your homies.

Oh yeah, and the green names are unaccounted for: Jeremiah Arkham and Lincoln March. A couple of nerd names if I’ve ever heard any! Batman’s going to head to Arkham Asylum to check up on ol’ Jeremiah. Then he’ll go after Lincoln March. How’s the for a solid plan? How about instead you stay the fuck home and… oh wait, yeah, Owls. Heh.

Apparently, Batman deals with Jeremiah Arkham in Detective Comics (Vol. 2), Issue #9, if that link works, then it’s the year 2035 and I finally got around to it!

Now he checks on Lincoln March, a politician who looks so much like Bruce Wayne that I’m beginning to think that the artist is incompetent. Right as Batman enters March’s office, someone unseen throws a knife right into March’s chest.

…tell him… I… *choke* …love… his… sexy little pen– *dead*

There’s a knife in this guys’s heart, shoved in right to the hilt, and he’s still talking like “…I… have a message… here… take it… there are… three… names… I tried to follow the donations to figure it out…” yada yada yada. Then he dies right as he’s about to say something possibly important, but doesn’t, and he says something stupid instead like “A better Gotham is just one dream.”

Alfred reports that the Talons have been subdued by the extreme cold. The list of names will prove useful, because instead of vetting them through another source, Batman is just going to assume they are indeed Owl bad guys and burn their houses to the ground!

We are treated to a little bit of a side story now! Jarvis Pennyworth pens a letter to his son, Alfred. There are intruders in Wayne Manor, so he has to try to flee to Britain forthwith. “You’ve long known that it is your duty to fulfill my role with the Waynes upon my retirement or passing,” it says, stripping Alfred of his dream to run his own hot dog stand.

But Jarvis implores his son never to come to Wayne Manor for these reasons three: the house is 1) cursed, 2) cursed!, 3) CUUUURSED!!!

The aged butler never saw it until it was too late, the darker legacy, the shadows behind the portraits.

Or the Owls.

You wouldn’t be the first person to cum for Jarvis, baby. This dude fucks.

So as Jarvis tries to run away in the rain, these hooting bastards tail him. The letter continues to lament the possibility that the writer may never see his son again. Never see him laugh or love or shit or juggle again.

And everything he did – serving the Waynes – he did for Alfred. Making a better future. Being a constantly absent dad. That sort of thing.

One day, Martha Wayne grumbles at a newspaper. “I’ve had it, Thomas,” she exclaims… oh wait, no she doesn’t. There’s no exclamation mark. “The mayor has shut down another five schools, that corrupt, short-sighted idiot… you know it’s only because the schools haven’t figured out a way to pay him off. It’s disgusting.”

Thomas gives the ol’ “I oughta let him have it!” as he sits and meekly sips his coffee. Martha gets mad. They need to do more.

So, they, uh, leave their current home and move into Wayne Manor. Whoops!

And Jarvis blames himself.

Jarvis tries to drive off of the property, but the gate is closed and locked.

“There is the cold hard truth, my boy. It is I who… it is I who have doomed us all.”

Jarvis stares up from his car and sees a giant, stupid masked guy clad in armor and a billowing, hooded cape, carrying a giant sword.

Now where’s that dinosaur?

Final Thoughts

This is beyond stupid. I’m tired of this shit. This wasn’t worth the wait whatsoever. Wake me up when Batman dips his balls in it. Good night.