A crescent moon hung over the grimy streets of Gotham. Slightly less grimy than usual, thanks to a recent rainstorm that had managed to flush most of the filth into the many sewage grates lining the cobblestone.
Unfortunately for one Jonathan Crane, aka the Scarecrow, that didn't prevent the wretched smell of hell-knows-what from permeating the back alleys he currently sifted through.
That was one of the unfortunate side effects of being one of Gotham's Most Wanted; you couldn't exactly saunter through the cleaner, richer part of the city without being quickly beseeched by cops and giant, flying rodents.
Crane was reigned to just holding his breath as he entered each alley.
He would be home soon.
Finally, ten arduous minutes later, he would find himself back in his current abode; an abandoned house- of which there were many in this older portion of the city- that was slightly above awful thanks t small attempts on Crane's part in sprucing up the place (attempts mostly consisting of cleaning up cobwebs and fighting off a never-ending horde of dust bunnies).
Exhausted, he collapsed on the nearest couch- avoiding the springs which sprang out of its leather confinements. He didn't even bother removing his Scarecrow attire- he was far too tuckered out to even do that.
He had just finished teaching one of his many employed henchmen what happens when you rat out the Scarecrow to the Bat. He had put up quite the fight to get away from his employer, but one strong shot of fear toxin to the neck had proven more than enough to subdue him. Unfortunately, the brute had landed a few good punches onto Crane's person before learning the sensation of true terror, and the former Professor now found himself quite sore. Thankfully, nothing seemed to be broken, but still-
The doorbell rang.
The aching scientist froze and glanced cautiously over to the door, view partially obscured by the half-wall that separated most of the entrance hall from the living room. His mind raced to think of who could possibly be at his doorstep. It couldn't be the henchman- Crane would be amazed if that man could de-scramble his fear-addled mind long enough to even stand, much less follow his attacker all the way here to exact revenge.
It rang again.
Could it be friends of the henchmen's? It certainly wouldn't be the first time henchmen would attempt to exact vengeance for one of their own. Thankfully that rarely worked out in their favor.
More ringing; this time constant.
Now the Scarecrow was just incredibly annoyed. Vengeful goons or not, this was just plain rude! Fed up, the Scarecrow kept one hand on a pellet of fear gas- he always had a few on his person in case of emergency- and crept towards the ever-ringing front door. He yanked it open and-
-stared dumbstruck at his incredibly persistent visitor.
He was a young man in a wheelchair. Short blonde hair, an unfortunate nose, and wearing a simple sweater with a beat up pair of blue jeans. The young man didn't even flinch at the sight of the infamous Scarecrow suddenly towering over him. If anything, he looked quite annoyed, as if it was Crane who had been brutalizing his poor doorbell.
The rogue desperately wished it had been a pack of disgruntled employees, instead. "Hello, Mr. Worth," Crane greeted without any attempt at masking his distaste for this unexpected visit.
"We need to talk." Before Crane could decide whether or not to waste a couple pellets of fear gas on his intruder before violently slamming the door in his face, Mr. Worth added;
"It's about May."
Cue a very long and intensely uncomfortable silence between the two.
Crane slammed the door and stormed away to finally get some much needed rest.
Stuck staring at a door again, Mike Worth let out a frustrated sigh. He blew it- couldn't even keep his cool for ten seconds around the guy without pissing him off. He couldn't help it! Mike cold never stand the guy, and his actions for the past ten years as the "Scarecrow" only showed Worth that he was more than justified in his feelings.
Still… This wasn't about him, nor was it truly about Crane. It was about paying back a long overdue debt to a friend.
I doubt the monster will even care… but here goes nothing, anyway. Raising his voice so he knew he would be heard, Mike got straight to the point;
"She's dead, Professor Crane. May… May Renburg is dead."
Silence.
I knew it, Mike thought to himself in disgust as he turned his chair around and began to head home. No good son of a-!
The door behind him opened. Mike turned back around to see Crane standing there, mask off and with a stern expression on his face.
"What do you mean, 'Ms. Renburg is dead'?"
I can't believe it.
"Exactly what I said. May is gone."