The Diary of Damian Wayne

Friday, June 26

Let's see if I can write through this horrific headache that I have. Last night was awful.
Father and I went out on separate patrols, like we sometimes do. I took the Upper East Side, and he took South Gotham near the docks.
The evening had gone smoothly, with only minor crimes that needed smoothing over. I was tracking a distress signal, and it lead me to an abandoned warehouse.
That was the first red flag. I alerted Father as to what was happening, and he asked me if I needed backup. I said no.
I came in through the second story window, so that I could have the high ground. A distress signal from an abandoned warehouse made no sense, so it had to be a trap.
I picked my way down the rusty stairs in the building. Debris and dust littered the place. The warehouse used to be a holding space for the product of Gotham City Manufacturing back in 1937 until the company went bankrupt. Nobody ever bought the space after they left, so the building has been sitting there for around 80 years.
My mask has night vision capabilities, so I turned it on to get a better view of what I was looking at. Nothing seemed abnormal, but I did a thorough check of the building. Nothing. I still felt like something was wrong though.
I was getting ready to leave the warehouse, when I heard something fall. I ran up the stairs to the third floor.
Nothing.
Then someone jumped down from the ceiling and grabbed me, spraying Scarecrow's Fear Toxin in my face. I heard a maniacal cackling as I began to struggle for breath.
I pushed the thing off of me and jumped out window. I got on my motorcycle and began to race back to the Manor.
I radioed Father and told him what happened. He said he was on his way and would meet me the Manor.
Fear Toxin is a malicious gas that makes you hallucinate your worst nightmares. It is a product of the villain Scarecrow, who has done more than one tour of duty in Arkham Asylum. It makes driving difficult. 
I tore down the streets of Gotham, trying to clear my head enough to drive.
By the time I was almost home, I was dying. Too much exposure to the gas can kill you, and I had recieved a direct hit. My motorcycle screeched to a halt inside of the Batcave. I could feel myself dying.
So I grabbed this journal to write, thinking that maybe it would help me hang on.
It did.
Father came home in time to save me. He administered a shot of an antidote which counteracts the effects of the drug.
I threw up what felt like every meal I had ever eaten. I then proceeded to pass out.

I woke up late this afternoon. Father was sitting in my armchair reading a book. He handed me my journal and said, "Don't worry, I didn't read it."
He also removed me from patrol tonight.
I've only been awake for an hour or so, but I already feel exhausted. This isn't the first time Scarecrow has gotten me before, and it won't be the last. Despite  the antidote, I'm still feeling a residual effect of the toxin, and feel extremely tense and anxious.
I could sleep for days, it feels like. The toxin always wears you out once you've come out of the hallucinations. I'm going to rest now. Maybe later I'll watch a movie.

That is all.
Damian Wayne