Hello everyone, this is the start of a long story that came to my mind. This explanation of things will be long, but I figure I should get it out of the way.
Recently, I've became a huge fan of Batman and everything related to it. In the past, I had not been so attached to the characters. I think it was because the only Batman I'd seen really up to a few months ago was Christian Bale's Batman, which I didn't like...especially the voice XD. The Christopher Nolan Batman universe didn't appeal to me...it took it's self far too seriously with little comic book element. How realistic can you get with a story of a man dressing like a bat? I do respect it though, for taking Batman out of...*shudder*...Batman Forever and Batman and Robin territory. I had always kind of believed Batman to be far too soft and superheroy for my taste. Over the years I've been more drawn to anti-hero types from comics, such as Spawn, Punisher, Deadpool, etc etc. However, after seeing a bit of the 90's animated series, along with the amazing, dark Batman portrayal by Michael Keaton, my favorite Batman along with Kevin Conroy's, it converted me to an all around Batman lover. Batman is it all: Badass, never loses, has lots of charisma with the ladies...I actually consider Batman to be the Captain Kirk of comic books quite honestly, especially with all the women the man gets xDD. In short, he became my favorite, constantly saving the day with only his wits, body and will, not requiring powers like Superman. The story of Batman is amazing frankly, such a huge array of villains, stories of tragedy, etc. Interaction between the characters was one of the things that helped inspire me to do this. I noticed that there were certain combination's of characters interacting that the writers of Batman comics never explored, so I chose to. This is a story that will include many references to the Batman mythology, etc, and my own interpretations of the characters.
While I love pretty much all the villains equally, one of them in particular stood out as deserving another fan-fiction, yup, Scarecrow. Just like with Batman, the only Scarecrow I'd known about was the Cillian Murphy one. While I think he did a pretty good job, he just didn't strike me the way the amazing one from the comic books, animated series and the Arkham Asylum video game did. He's such a fascinating character, his past, etc. He's such an evil person, but he isn't quite The Joker. There's something really different to him. The Jeffery Combs animated series one and Arkham Asylum version in particular were incredible. I noticed, however, he didn't get enough in the ladies department compared to Batsie and pretty much anyone else xD, so yes, I chose Catwoman to correct that. I know, that must seem like such a non-canon thing, but I figured I could make it work with my interpretation. I'm not trying to upset the people who like the whole Catwoman/Batman relationship, I love that one too, and I think it was best shown in Batman Returns. However, Scarecrow needs love too like any other villain you know xDD. The male villains and female villains are all interchangeable in a way, and so many amazing ideas can be thought up regarding their relationships to one another, fan fiction stories, etc. I had wondered how those two would interact, the fussy little insane loner who focuses on his work and this sexy, seductive woman, who's morality is ambiguous. I believe I'll be the first of my kind on this website to do this pairing xD, but what the hell. Someone has to go first. The story is mostly centered around Scarecrow, but there are many other characters who will appear and play roles in the events.
I have done a huge amount of research on the stories, characters, events, etc, to be as faithful to the comics as possible, while showing my own views of things... and I hope you will like my universe. I've had many sources of inspiration that would take too long to tell them all right now. My Batman comics universe and character characteristics is a huge blending of elements and ideas of the Tim Burton Batman movies, the comics, the DC universe and the Arkham Asylum video-game, just for the record. Killing Joke served as a huge inspiration for doing all this as well, being my favorite Batman comic and whatnot. Alan Moore and Frank Miller were the main authors who added to all the inspiration.
I'm not sure if this fiction will be well received, but I fully intend to post it all. Just so you know right now, I already have the whole story completed, and mostly edited. This was something I did over the course of at least three months. I did this so I won't have to keep missing updates, you know, life being busy and whatnot. I also did it because that way I can take any of your advice and ideas you care to offer and incorporate them into the story.
Ok, I've talked long enough :D. Here's the first chapter of my idea, enjoy:
Gotham City, Early November
The dark rainclouds had formed together about an hour prior blocking the sun from view, and were now pouring ice cold water all over the city below. Fierce gusts of wind tore through the streets, howling and carrying lost newspapers and debris as raindrops dripped off the windows of an apartment complex deep in the bowels of Gotham City. Overhead, another ripple of thunder growled savagely, droning out the patter of the rain falling into the large murky water filled puddles all over the streets. Various tenants of the district listened to the peals of thunder from their apartment's. Parents comforted their children, lovers huddled together closely for warmth, listening intently.
Behind one of the the curtain covered windows of one such apartment, four floors up from the ground, there was one man who had zero care at all about what the current state of weather was. He was too busy alone inside his own little world to consider the loud ripples and steady beat of rain on the pavement below. A looming, gangly figure of a costumed man was standing in front of a long, sleek surfaced black table, hard at work. The table was positioned in the middle of the dimly lit room, the faint light being provided by a lamp sitting on a glass coffee table near the television set against the wall. It cast eerie shapes around, dancing about the room over the white painted walls as if they were terrible shadow people. Apart from the barely audible clicking of a clock mounted up on the wall it, was silent as a grave compared to the din outside.
Doctor Johnathan Crane loosened the rusty metal device that was securely mounted and strapped around his right wrist and forearm. In the past it had taken a long time to do so, but practice had made it perfectly easy, like riding a bicycle almost. Next he removed the five glowing yellow liquid filled needles protruding from the ends of the tubes running down the thin arm and connecting to each finger of his right glove. He placed the long needles carefully inside an open metal briefcase sitting at his feet below the table.
After this he removed a small fear inducing toxin filled spray bottle sitting in one of the straps around his shabby pant leg. The doctor placed it in the case, beside the other samples. He slowly snapped the lock shut on it and placed it carefully under the table. As he stood peering over his work, a satisfied smile rose underneath his full faced mask.
Despite not having the scientific equipment he would have liked to possess, Crane had to admit that the latest batch of fear toxins had turned out wonderfully, due fully to his genius of course. He glanced up and surveyed the small third floor apartment. The previous tenant had unpleasantly reminded Crane of the scum he had once gone to school with. The doctor had immensely enjoyed showing the boy his mask.
Crane removed his raggedy, brown toned ankle length duster and hung it around the chair seated at the front of the large table. He sat down in the straight backed wooden chair comfortably, taking a deep breath.
The doctor had pulled the table to the center of the dingy living room. He started examining his bubbling formula bottles and vials carefully, satisfied they had each turned the proper color. After mixing several formulas, he examined a sample through one of his numerous, differently sized microscopes sitting on the table.
He wished he could have returned to the Gotham science university and take the equipment they had, rather then the spare stuff he had hidden away at his previous hideout. Unfortunately the police would be looking there for him after his breakout at Arkham, with Two Face and Croc. It was a terrible shame, that useful equipment was being wasted in the hands of obsolete 'scientists' with obsolete theory's. They should have listened to Crane, not blew their chances by firing him. So he'd been testing on a few students here and there...what of it? It was progress. It didn't matter anymore...there had been nothing left there for him to learn anyways.
Worse still, the troublesome little bat would probably be swooping around the city, searching for the master of fear. The so called 'worlds greatest detective' usually lived up to his reputation, the doctor had to admit. He was certain, however, that he'd be safe here at least a few nights more. Besides, the bat would probably be searching for Dent first, as doctor Crane remembered him mentioning their previous work together against crime. The lock on the apartments front door had been fairly simple, thankfully, and Crane had picked it open within a couple minutes.
Once I make enough of these fear toxins, I can sell them to Joker... he got out weeks ago. Possibly Black Mask in the underworld, if he's interested enough. I can make enough money to actually acquire some decent equipment, supplies and a better place to do my work, Crane thought to himself. He breathed quietly, the air moving through the filters and escaping out the mask's twin nozzles. He sighed. Joker would probably demand a lot for a a low price... that cheap grinning bastard doesn't understand this is harder to make then his Joker venom. The heathens of this city simply do not understand the mind of the scientist.
The doctor moved back from the microscopes, picked up a sharpened yellow pencil and began scribbling more notes down in his already open notebook.
After several minutes of working, Crane glanced over at the blue clock mounted on the wall. It was nearing ten PM, just about time for the news. It would be useful to see the police progress on the breakout and see what was happening. The doctor reached to his left side for the remote and switched on the small television set sitting on a cabinet across the room from turned his chair to face the television set, still holding the pencil. Behind the mask, his eyes narrowed upon the television.
Noise and light blared inside the apartment as the familiar face of dark haired TV anchorman Jack Ryder sitting upright in his news desk appeared on the screen. He started his broadcast, expression grim and voice clear.
"Good evening Gotham, this is Jack Ryder of Gotham City news. Day three of another breakout at the infamous Arkham Asylum, in which six guards were killed and several others were seriously injured. Police are still baffled at how the three men managed to escape from Arkham's high security cell block."
In a flash, three familiar images appeared on the glowing screen before Crane, one next to the other in a row.
'The infamous escapees pictured in these mugshots are as follows: Harvey Dent, AKA 'Two Face', wanted for, among many other things, several first degree murders and the robbery of Gotham's second national bank."
"Second, Doctor Johnathan Crane, AKA 'Scarecrow', wanted for horrendous crimes including experimentation on kidnapped citizens, arson, theft, releasing toxins upon several local schools and various first degree murders."
"Thirdly is Waylon Jones, AKA 'Killer Croc', wanted for the vicious cannibalism of an uncounted number of innocent victims and other assorted crimes including theft."
Doctor Cranes eyes passed across the photos first hovering over the horribly scarred and normal halves of Two Face. Half his mouth seemed to grin hatefully at the camera with the flesh there pealed back, while the other side appeared grim. Near this picture was the vicious, scaly reptilian face of Croc. He was baring his massive razor sharp teeth as his red eyes glinted hungrily. He came to a stop upon his own familiar expressionless bespectacled one. He smiled slightly at the sight of himself. It was such a shame they hadn't let him wear his mask for the photo, it would have turned out so much better.
"We now go live to reporter Summer Gleason, reporting over at Arkham Asylum...Summer?"
The camera view instantly cut from Jack and to the main floor, more specifically, the front receptionists desk on the main floor of the Asylum. A well dressed, expressionless young woman with straight, long red hair was standing in between a pair of irritatingly familiar, older men. Orderly's and Guards were passing by in the background from what Crane could make out. Just over their shoulders was part of the hallway, leading down to the elevators.
"Yes Jack, standing here with me at Arkham Asylum are Warden Quincy Sharp and Police Commissioner James Gordon. Warden Sharp, what are your views on this matter? Is there anything you'd like to say?".
The older, rapidly balding man with thick rimmed glasses took a step forward. He wore a black suit and pant combo, a red flower pinned to the lapel, and a white dress shirt underneath, it's collar turned down. The man possessed a serious face, his forehead lined with wrinkles. His hand moved up and adjusted his red tie slightly, looking very sure of himself. He started as if he had rehearsed this already many times. Hell...he probably had.
"I ask Gothamites not to worry at this time. I am working closely with the commissioner, the police and other assets to get this situation resolved as soon as possible. Doctor Crane, formerly an employee here and a professor at Gotham University, former district attorney Harvey Dent and Jones are extremely dangerous and disturbed individuals. These are not ordinary Blackgate prisoners we're dealing with here." Sharp cleared his throat and continued on.
"Speaking on behalf of the police, I further implore the good citizens of Gotham city to stay away from these men, and if you see them: do not approach them! Contact the Gotham city police immediately instead and report their whereabouts. I assure you personally, they will be caught soon and sent back here for proper treatment with our professional doctoring staff", He finished confidently.
Summer smiled at the warden, as if comforted by his words, while Crane smirked to himself.
Treatment... you call yourselves doctors for what you do there with your outdated methods, the doctor thought. A neanderthal could accomplish more with some test tubes.
"Thank you warden, I'm sure that many Gotham citizens feel reassured to hear this", she said kindly.
Crane noticed a slightly annoyed look cross Gordon's aged features. The white haired trench coat wearing man clearly didn't like the warden speaking for him, but the look passed instantly as he cleared his throat and addressed the viewers.
Sharp must be trying to get ready to campaign for mayor soon and wants the spotlight...that will be the day... the warden of the asylum running Gotham? The voters would have to be more insane then Joker to make that happen, Crane thought to himself wryly.
"Hang in there Commissioner, you'll get your spotlight back eventually!", the thin man said aloud to himself with a whispery laugh.
"The manhunt continues for the escaped Arkham patients. We have every available man searching for these three individuals. We feel it likely that they aren't still together, that they've split up around the city, making our task that much harder. I can't discuss any leads on camera at this time, but we feel optimistic that we're on the right track", Gordon stated calmly, oblivious to what Crane had said.
"Just a couple questions Commissioner. The public has been on edge after the Joker broke out of Arkham a month ago and who's whereabouts are still unknown. This additional breakout has surely made citizens even more frightened then before. The people want to know if Batman is helping the police on this case, and if so, where is he right now?", Summer asked.
Gordon's white mustached face remained neutral at this question.
"Batman is wanted for questioning in regards to various possible crimes he might have committed. Crimes that include resisting arrest, excessive property damage to the city, assault, assaulting a police officer, breaking and entering, and first degree murder. We aren't yet sure at this time which one's he's committed or not, given his frequent clashes against Gotham's darker elements, his... capability's, and lack of appropriate witnesses", Gordon replied stiffly. "That is the official stance"
There was a snap from down between Crane's hands as the pencil broke. He looked down at both ends in each hand. He set both back down on the table. The doctor rubbed his gloved hands together, still surveying the television screen.
Crane laughed dryly to himself at this stoic lie from the commissioner. Summer on the other hand wasn't done with Gordon yet.
"Photo Journalist Vicki Vale, an excellent source of ours on the Gotham Gazette, has written up an article about eyewitnesses viewing a bright light with a bat shape in the sky above the police department not an hour after the breakout. In addition to this, she was able to get a couple snapshots of it. It vanished after several minutes. This has been sighted on and off many times over the years... the police must be aware of this by now commissioner, but you haven't bothered to make an official confirmation to the citizens. My question is, is it a kind of signal Batman has given the department to contact him with for help?
Gordon looked a bit uncomfortable now as the questions struck home, but no less resolute and determined.
"We are doing everything we have to to apprehend these men", Gordon stated with finality in his voice. "Don't worry".
"Good", Summer nodded, satisfied at these words. She didn't ask anything more of the commissioner, her question had seemingly been confirmed. Instead she turned back to the camera and beginning to sum up the report for the viewers at home.
In the far background, Crane spotted another familiar face enter the shot, a pleasant one to see. A pretty young blond woman in dull gray pants and a long sleeve shirt, her hair pulled into twin pig tails on either side of her head. She was likely being taken back down to her cell, flanked by a pair of serious faced guards in uniform. The woman stopped dead in her tracks and turned her head in Crane's direction. She grinned widely when she noticed the cameraman aiming the camera on the trio standing at the receptionist's desk, not far in front of her.
Harley Quinn grabbed at both her long pig tails, held them up high above her head and stuck her tongue out, staring to blow a raspberry to the cameraman.
Commissioner Gordon, Summer Gleason and warden Sharp turned away from the camera at the noise and stared at the young woman in surprise. A look of disgust had slowly risen to the Warden's face and he made no attempt to hide the sheer contempt of it.
"That one's tah all you otha Gotham people!", Harley's excited voice called into the camera. Her smile grew wider and she raised a hand to her lips, blowing a kiss at the camera. "MMMWAH! I'm rooting for ya out there professah Crane! Good job on tha break out! You too Twin Face and Lizard Man! Tha whole gang is proud of ya and cheering ya on from here! Hey Red! I'm on TV!...Ow! Take it easy ya filthy apes! My Puddin won't be too happy with ya when he see's this!"
Before she could say more, Harley had been hauled off camera and down the hallway, giggling and squirming, by her guards. Doctor Crane chuckled delightedly to himself at this outburst, grateful for her words. Summer Gleason on the other hand looked very confused.
"Uh... anyways, so there you have it, Jack, reassuring words from a pair of Gotham's finest civil servants.", Summer informed him, doing her best to ignore the interruption. "Back to you".
The image instantly jumped back to Jack in the newsroom, who had been rubbing his forehead slightly. He stopped in an instant and smiled widely.
"Thank you Summer, it's certainly good news to hear in spite of the breakouts. In other more welcome news, head of Gotham's world renowned Wayne Enterprises, popular billionaire Bruce Wayne has recently donated a large sum to the Metropolis-
The doctor pressed the off switch on the remote, cutting Jack Ryder off mid sentence, blackness replacing the glow of the television set. The news worth hearing was over, now it'd be playing all the filler and gossip about Gotham's 'upper classes'.
Crane considered this new information, curling his long, gloved fingers together with the remote still between them. Batman was definitely on the case, he already knew it, but Vale had confirmed it indefinitely. Gordon probably had a lead on the case, but it seemed more likely that it involved Two Face or Croc. Those were the two who stood out more then Crane in more ways then one.
The doctor had been as careful as possible not to let anyone catch a glimpse of him, after splitting up with the other two, on his way to retrieve one of his spare costume's at a previous hideout...
Once he'd gotten his entire outfit together, Crane had waited patiently in his hideout for nighttime to fall over the sky on the first day of the breakout. Once the safety of the darkness came, Scarecrow had paid a visit to the Gotham underworld, searching for some henchmen. He scoured the dingy, seedy little smoke filled joints littering both sides of the streets. Although he typically preferred to be without them, he recognized henchmen could be of some use with just about everyone else looking for him, and the need to get more equipment.
Unfortunately, the bars had been a poor place to search. Most of the thugs he'd encountered had been simply too frightened to join him, stuttering some dim witted excuses and clearing out of his way. Others still seemed to clear out of the bar at his very presence, much to his mixed pleasure and annoyance.
He'd even mustered his courage to enter a cheap, crowded strip club (much to his wariness) amidst all the glowing neon lights displaying their mostly XXX based text, and the disgusting stench of liquor mixed with sweat. It was a stench he had come to associate with Gotham's underworld every time he visited. Upon seeing the terrifying form of the Scarecrow trudging towards the entrance, long scythe held in both hands, the massive bouncers who had been turning back men much bigger then Scarecrow had moved swiftly out of his way, avoiding all eye contact with his evil face. They were smarter then they looked.
The overly crowded bar hadn't been too much a bother. Everyone gave him plenty of space, just like the bouncers had done. The mix of naked and half naked slender pole dancers soon caught sight of him moving through the club and stopped mid-act for several long moments, staring down at him, faces a prime example of terror. It was only after being prompted to continue by several other employees there, that they had resumed cautiously, still watching the super villain's lanky figure moving about the bar, questioning the cowardly and worthless thugs that resided there. Alas, to no avail. They were too scared to work for him.
Professional henchman were very hard to come by nowadays. In the old days, you could find a dozen or so easily at any underworld bar, now they were either too frightened, lazy or working for someone with control like Sionis. The skull faced man seemed to be gaining more and more power, popularity and influence over of the city's criminals at a rate surprising even to Scarecrow and the others. Many of the gangs and few remaining mob family's that had been around Gotham for years seemed to be simply folding under his might and be absorbed in, strengthening his already strong power-base.
It didn't bode well for most of the costumed Arkham freaks, and Scarecrow was now one of that bunch.
Eventually, he grew discouraged at the lack of interest and had left the strip club. On his way out the door, the owner of the club had approached thanked him fearfully for not killing or poisoning anybody, almost to the point of kissing Scarecrow's dirty, flatfooted shoes. The Scarecrow had pushed him aside roughly into a crowd of club goers performing a bizarre, out of place, seemingly sixties era dance he'd never seen before. The dance moves seemed to consist solely of brushing the index and middle fingers of one's hands in a V shape over their eyes and shaking back and forth in unison, jumping about now and then. It had reminded him more of an epileptic twitching on a floor then an actual dance routine. The raggedy villain left amidst all the droning noise that these strange people called music.
The moment the villain had arrived back on the streets surrounding the notorious 'Crime Alley', he felt no confidence in finding what he was looking for. The almost dilapidated buildings lining either side of the street usually had a hub of activity from criminals. On a night like this most people were inside, apart from various filthy homeless people laying in the alleys or standing over a barrel fire. Their eyes had bulged like frog's eyes when he turned down the collar of his duster and turned his malicious face in their directions for a few moments. Besides encountering the mumbling homeless, there had been several shivering and scarcely dressed prostitutes who's pimp had undoubtedly forced them to stay out to make more money. As he moved down the length of the sidewalk, just like everyone else he'd encountered that night, the women had stepped out of his path. They watched him fearfully without saying a word, their girlish little makeup covered eyes betraying a hint of disgust towards him.
Scarecrow wasn't sure what they were looking so repulsed about. He wasn't the one wearing thick pudding-like disgusting makeup to cover the numerous bruises and cigarette burns they'd undoubtedly received over the course of their 'careers' from their kindly 'owners'. Nor was he the one likely ravaged by the various types of hideous venereal diseases polluting their bodies.
At the last, much quieter bar he'd tried that night before calling it quits, there had been at least one promising man, eyes hidden behind a pair of large impenetrable black shades and playing a game of pool who'd caught his attention. He had been taller then Scarecrow and much wider. A massive goon built like a house in a cheap checker board patterned suit, tie and matching trousers. He was sporting a black bushy mustache under his nose and dangling from his mouth was the blood red tip of a long kitchen match protruding out the corner of his firm jaw. After pacing through the bar towards the man crouching at the table, the gangly villain came to a stop, surveying him wordlessly.
All the other men gathered around the table had faded into the air as Scarecrow's looming black shadow fell overtop of them, and those who entered the bar after the villain either backed right out again or gave him a wide berth.
The man at the pool table had looked up incredulously from his game to see Scarecrow's grinning mask, still holding the pool cue tightly. He'd been unafraid of the villain despite knowing his extensive reputation. This was something the villain had respected greatly.
In the background, the local drunks would steal glances at the pair, but seemed to be staring down at their drinks with rap attention or chatting amongst themselves every-time Scarecrow would look over.
"Hey there buddy, nice outfit...it must have been a long Halloween! It aint even October anymore!", the man with a thick Brooklyn based accent had said with a deep laugh. He ran a large hand through his well groomed and wavy dark hair. His serious eyes stopped upon the long scythe Scarecrow held at his side, the wicked blade protruding from it. "Looks like ya come from out south or somethin... takin yourself a vacation? That, or you were a resident at the local nuthouse with a crazy face like that".
Nobody in the bar laughed or even made a move, they just watched the scene fearfully, holding their breaths and waiting for the Scarecrow to unleash his wraith on the loud mouthed man. He didn't.
"The latter", Scarecrow had whispered back, his voice an eerie reverberating rasp in contrast to the man. "I would assume you do not watch the news regularly".
The mustached man laughed loudly and shook his head good naturedly. He gestured to all the men huddled at the bar, a couple of whom were nervously chatting to the Bartender.
"You assume right. Who the hell needs to watch the news 'round here? A flyin' rodent swooping around the city, masked fellows like yourself turning up all the time and hiring us for crazy jobs. Word travels quicker down here on the street then it does in that box full of images and noise. Name's Malone, nice to meet ya".
The man had then extended out a hand and informed him that he'd be interested in joining Scarecrow, just as long as he paid well. His rough grip had indeed felt iron clad and painful. Scarecrow had admitted to Malone he wasn't much in the way of cash, given his previous incarceration. He'd explained that he needed someone who could carry out his instructions to the letter, that he could pay the goon once he got his toxins back into production.
Malone had smirked down at the thin man in the costume, and had uttered a derisive snort, slamming down the cue on the table with a loud bang echoing through the room.
"When you put it like that...there's no way in hell I'm workin for ya buddy. I take my payments up front only".
Scarecrow had felt his thin lips forming into an amused smile. He tilted his head slightly, the cold deep black on the eyes of his mask matched the intensity of Malone's impenetrable black shades.
"You're rather finicky for a thug. I assure you you'll get your payment, Malone", he replied slowly. "Have a little patience. Once I rebuild my stock of formulas I can sell them and acquire the profits. You'll get your payment then. All you have to do is collect some ingredients and materials for me in the meantime".
Malone held up both hands rapidly and shook his head defiantly.
"A delivery boy? No no no", He said with a grin. "Nothing doing my raggedy friend. Bad enough you aren't paying up front, but I don't run errands for the boring scientist type freaks. Go look for someone else. I'd rather rob a bank or something for someone like the Joker, I'd get more money outta it. He's a guy who knows what he's doing...even if he's crazier then a snake".
This had illicited a cold, humorless laugh from Scarecrow, causing many to recoil, save Malone.
"You'd rather work for a clown who'd shoot you in the back, instead of earning easier cash?", Scarecrow inquired thoughtfully, almost inwardly. He looked around the bar at all the patrons, raising the level of his whispery voice. Those who weren't already watching swiveled around in their stools and chairs to watch.
"You underworld lackey types have been disappointing me far too often as of late. Perhaps I'll return on another day, when I'm feeling less then merciful. You caught me in a pleasant mood"
The cold fear hung over the entire bar at these words. None of them moved, but looked much more uncomfortable as Scarecrow began to pace calmly around the pool table. Of all of them, only Malone was watching the thin villain without possessing a trace of worry. The patter of each step was the only sound as he addressed them all, holding up his scythe.
"Right now, I'm simply grateful to be out of that deathtrap...what's the matter fellows? You all look frightened of me...is it the mask? My choice in attire? Believe me, you aren't scared yet... and I should know something of fear. You over in the corner, no need to continue trembling. What you think scares you is only the tip of a cold glacier I discovered many years ago...consider yourself fortunate. Whatever you've already heard of my...heh...lengthy career, is barely a sliver of what I can accomplish. I promise you all that you will be properly introduced to what fear truly is one of these days".
The silence could have rivaled that of the depths of space.
On that final contemptuous note, Scarecrow had adjusted his patchy, wide brimmed hat, buttoned up his long dirty coat and started across the dusty floor, past numerous tables of the crowded establishment and towards the closed doors. On his way there, he shot one last quick glance over his shoulder at the patrons. The patrons, watching tensely, recoiled fearfully at a single look, much to his delight, and the bartender behind the counter appeared visibly relieved to see him leaving the establishment without burning it to the ground.
Not tonight anyways.
Over by the pool table, the massive man, Malone, stood watching Scarecrow leave the bar with cool interest, that red tipped match still dangling from his mouth. He'd picked up the long cue again in both hands, but didn't appear to resume his game.
Scarecrow had chose not to ream his scythe's shining blade across Malone's throat. It had been a very long time since someone in the city had had the guts to talk back to one of the costume wearing types. It was rare and something that he'd rather enjoyed seeing. Scarecrow decided he'd tried enough for the night, and had given up. He'd work alone, as he preferred to do anyways.
He closed the door gently behind him and stepped out into the dark and solitude of the streets. He was alone again, his only company coming from the constant flashing of neon lights above their establishments, all the glowing pinks, reds and greens that guided him carefully down the sidewalk, leaving the block. The tapping of the scythe's metal handle against the pavement joining in in a rhythmical fashion that made him smile.
He passed over the streets, not keeping track of the time or how long he walked that night. By the time he reached Crime Alley, passing an abandoned movie theater on his immediate right that had been covered up completely in old, rotting plywood, he was reflecting thoughtfully to himself, considering his next course of action on how to get ahead with his plans.
And so, he had left the drunkard's and filth of the underworld to their rabble and ramblings, talk of pornography, shooting of pool and the swilling of their stained beer mugs and poorly washed glasses like the pathetic parasites they were. Instead of taking action and doing something, all their slack jawed type did was sit around drunk, waiting for things to come to them. Filthy unsophisticated savages without any goals in life...
All of them.
That had all been only two days ago, and look what he had accomplished without any help in that small amount of time.
If you want something done right, you must do it yourself...even if it takes longer, The villain thought with irritation, unfolding his hands. He took a deep breath, the air escaping with a hiss from his mask's nozzles. One Cannot rely on anybody, especially not these days.
Crane set down the remote carefully on the table, turned the direction of his chair from the television and back to his work and stretched his lanky arms above his head. The doctor adjusted the knotted, severed old noose hanging from his pale, thin neck. Crane looked over at the cut up plant roots and leaves just beside his other samples. He didn't have much left of the hallucinogenic plants... he'd have to pay another visit to Poison Ivy's greenhouse soon, see if she had any more for steal. The place had been unattended, thankfully. She was still incarcerated at Arkham, so Crane couldn't see the plant woman objecting to his thefts. Unfortunately when he broke in a couple days prior, she'd had several gigantic mutated fly traps that had attempted to swallow Crane and squish him with their vines.
He'd been forced to kill one with his trusty scythe, get his desired ingredients and get the hell out right away. If he was lucky, She might not even notice the few plants missing that he'd took, but Crane wouldn't count on that happening. He knew for a fact she would see the remains of the fly trap. Hopefully she wouldn't realize that he'd done it...otherwise her wraith would be unimaginable to calculate.
The doctor extended a gloved hand out and picked up his large notebook, thumbing through it carefully. The formulas and notes had been written up easily. He reached his other hand out at the small recording device sitting on the table, pressed the red button down with a click and continued to dictate his thoughts aloud as the tape started to spin.
"These plants produce the most interesting results in the toxin", he commented as he held one of the leaves up, examining it closely. "I've found a link between their quality and my work. A fresh hallucinogenic type of plant like these makes the hallucinations more severe and frightening to the test subject, as evidenced by my tests upon this apartment's previous occupant. I've noticed that my toxins prior to this latest batch were less effective when the plants remained in storage for several days at a time. For this reason, I must steal more supplies from Doctor Isley's greenhouse while she's away at Arkham. Perhaps by the time she is out I can pay her back...not that it would mean too much to her. But I digress, anyways, I performed the tests upon the boy the previous night in this buildings basement. It proved the most sound proof area around here for that important step of my work...the thick concrete walls proved useful"
The good doctor paused for a few moments in thought. The noise of cars passing through the rain across the street annoyed him. The walls of the apartment did not lessen the noise effectively in the slightest. It was something he'd have to get used to for now, as there was nowhere else to go, yet no matter how hard he tried, it simply irritated him. He had always hated having distractions pop up out of nowhere. It interfered with everything. The noises themselves were starting to sound like they were coming from the inside of the building its self. He pressed on, picking up and tapping one of the broken ends of the pencil on the table as he spoke in his icy scientific tone.
"The test subject simply ended up pathetically whimpering and muttering in a corner after two hours without an antidote. I have already taken recorded tapes of the subject's progression and have them stored safely with my samples. In phase one, it was screaming about it's fear, a flesh eating virus, begging for help. In phase two, sweat heavily poured out of it's body and it became physically weakened. In phase three, it attempted to crawl around on the ground, crying uncontrollably. By phase four I realized I had given it too large a dose, an unintended error, but an interesting one. The subject soon became useless and it had to be disposed of carefully. I have to be sure to go out and acquire more live subjects when I'm done here. Luckily this is a poor district, so bums litter all over the streets begging for change. Perhaps another stop in Crime Alley is called for. I was-... that infernal noise is distracting me from outside... I should blanket this whole district in fear toxin! How can I get anything done in this section of the city with those damned cars speeding by the apartment like it's a race track?"
"I don't think the cars are going to be your only distraction tonight, Scarecrow", a slow seductive voice slipped out of the darkness from somewhere behind his shoulder. Crane felt his heart freeze in his chest like it was being dipped in liquid nitrogen. "There's also us feminine distractions, as you must know. We're better at it too".
Wonder who it could be ;). Thank you for reading the beginning, I would appreciate any reviews, thoughts and encouragements a lot :). That way I can make the story even better. I will give some time before posting my next chapter, so you can all see it. Alright, thanks again! :D.