Things were not going according to plan.
Of course, his plan had been to conduct illegal experiments on unwilling patients, all the while "helping" the Bat catch the culprit, so it wasn't that much of a surprise in hindsight. Still, Jonathan was less than pleased. He sprinted up the asylum stairs, taking them three at a time in his panic, and lurched into his office. The door was shut with a resounding BANG and the professor fumbled with the lock before it finally slid into place. Not a second later, Batman was pounding on the door with an iron fist.
"It's over, Crane!" he shouted. "Open up!"
"Tempting as that is, I really think I'd rather not." Jonathan said, grunting with exertion as he began to slide his heavy desk in front of the door.
"I'll kick it in if I have to!" Batman warned.
"I'd like to see you try!" Jonathan retorted. A second later there was a loud CRACK and the door flew open, colliding with the desk halfway blocking its path.
He really should have removed his toxin from its perch beside his notes. Hindsight was 20/20, or so it seemed. Jonathan was thrown off of his feet by the collision, and his toxin tumbled down after him, shattering on the floor. Batman entered the room just as the orange gas began to rise. Jonathan coughed, cursing himself for not installing some sort of gas mask in his costume. More hindsight. Batman had a gas mask. Because of course he did. But he wasn't really extremely worried about the Batman at that moment. The lights flickered and died with a sputtering whine, and the shadows crept down the walls like oil, reaching out tendrils of pitch towards his ankles. Jonathan gasped, recoiling and stumbling to his feet before glancing apprehensively around. His heart pounded against the inside of his chest like a caged bird struggling to escape as the creature climbed over his desk. Jonathan stumbled backwards, desperate to avoid the hulking mass advancing on him. It was truly the thing of nightmares: huge black wings protruded from its back, armed with gnarled claws dripping with oil. It seemed draped in shadow, save for its sunken eyes that glowed with a yellow fire.
"S-Stay back!" Jonathan cried, lurching back as it reached towards him with a hideously muscled arm. His foot slipped over the sill of the large open window, and before he knew it he had fallen backwards and was plunging headfirst towards the ground. He screamed, reaching desperately for something, anything to stop his fall. The creature leaned out after him, and something wrapped around his ankle. He jerked violently to a stop, sending a spike of pain up his leg, before there was a snapping noise and he plummeted yet again. Jonathan bounced once, twice off the rocks, knocking the air from his lungs with a painful wheeze before he was plunged into the bay. Immediately his depraved body sucked in mouthfuls of oily, thick water, and he sputtered and gasped as it filled his lungs, forcing its way down his throat and burning his nose. He clawed at the neverending pool surrounding him with the ferocious fear of a wild animal, closing his eyes against the salty sting. His head finally broke the surface, and he emerged with a gasp, sucking in shallow, rattling breaths. Each one stung his chest, like there were daggers being plunged into his lungs over and over again. He blinked away seawater, looking fearfully around for the creature. Nowhere in sight. Heart still racing, mind still fogged with terror, he flipped over onto his back, bobbing listlessly on top of the waves. He was okay, he was okay, just calm down, Jonathan...
Something wet and slimy rubbed against his leg, sending a thrill of fear down his spine. He flipped over, ignoring the waves of pain it sent through his body, and treaded water. It came again, winding between his legs and lingering playfully on his ankle before disappearing into the murky depths once again. Jonathan stifled a scream, staring down into the unknown. Something tugged on his ankle, and he shrieked, kicking it away and flailing for shore. His fingertips scraped against concrete, and he heaved himself up onto the shallow ledge, trying to push himself shakily to his feet before giving up and collapsing facefirst onto the ground. Some horrible monster was roaring overhead, but he was too exhausted to care. It wasn't until his heart began to slow and his breathing returned to normal that he realized that the "monster" was the late night traffic thundering over the bridge above him. The toxin slowly wore off, and he became acutely aware of the pain wracking his entire being. His head throbbed in time with his erratic heartbeat, his torso felt like it was in the process of being put through a meat grinder, his ankle screamed with agony, his left arm was twisted ninety degrees in the wrong direction...
Jonathan had no idea how long he'd been lying there. It could have been hours, days, years even. All of the heat had been leached from his body by the unforgiving concrete, and he shivered violently. And then there were footsteps echoing ominously down the corridor. They grew louder and louder, until they stopped beside him.
"Well well, what have we here?" the man purred, chuckling darkly to himself. Something hooked under the lip of his mask, and he was powerless to stop it as the rough burlap was pulled from his head. Something cold and metallic turned his head to the side, and he got a glimpse of green before his eyes rolled back in his head and the world disappeared.
Jonathan awoke to the sound of smooth jazz, which was the last thing he'd been expecting. He opened his eyes and raised his head, trying to look around. If he had to guess, he'd say he was in some sort of uptown penthouse, but the whole apartment was lit with an annoyingly bright green light. He swung his legs over the side of the couch he had apparently been inhabiting for who knew how long. It was then that he noticed the large computer desk shoved in one corner of the room. The desktop's screen was tinged with the same insanely fluorescent shade of green, but it was barely visible behind the towering stacks of papers and books teetering precariously beside it. Jonathan coughed, and the desk chair swivelled around to reveal a man clad entirely in green.
Figures, Jonathan thought.
"Ahh, so the beast awakens!" he said, rising from his chair and clapping his hands together. Welcome to my humble abode, Dr. Crane. Or should I say...Scarecrow?" The man laughed, evidently pleased with himself.
"Who are you?" Jonathan asked, head still buzzing slightly. He wondered numbly if he had a concussion.
"Oh, how rude of me!" the man said, extending his hand. "My name is Edward Nygma, but you can call me the Riddler."
"Jonathan Crane." he said, shaking the shorter man's hand trepidatiously. "But I suppose you already know that." The Riddler laughed.
"Oh yes," he said, leaning on the histrionic cane in his free hand. Jonathan tried to stand, and his bandaged abdomen screamed in protest. He gasped with pain and sank back down into the impromptu sickbed (read: couch.)
"Who patched me up?" he asked, cradling his apparently broken arm.
"Black market doctor." the Riddler said. "Don't worry, he ahh...has tight lips, shall we say?" He laughed to himself after that; Jonathan suspected there was some sort of pun behind it.
"How do you know who I am?" Jonathan asked.
"Questions, questions, questions!" the Riddler said, grinning wildly. He dropped back into his desk chair and pressed his gloved fingertips together. "How delightful." Jonathan raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to answer.
"I like to keep an eye on all the up and coming criminals. I've only recently entered into Gotham's underworld, you know." the Riddler explained. "You've created quite the stir. Mysterious figure starts running around, dousing people in his own specially concocted terror toxin...well, he gets noticed, Dr. Crane."
"That was sort of the point." Jonathan said, biting back the urge to correct the other man. "What's with the music?"
"The...oh!" the Riddler started. "It helps me think. Goodness, I didn't even realize it was still on." He pressed a button on the side of his cane, and the soaring sonata cut off abruptly. Jonathan studied him for a moment, trying to figure out where he recognized him from.
"You're the guy who has Daniel Mockridge on edge, aren't you?" he realized. The Riddler practically glowed with pride at that.
Big ego; possibly suffers from narcissistic personality disorder. Jonathan noted.
"The one and only!" he said, smiling proudly. "You know, I have big things planned."
"Oh?" Jonathan said, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh yes." the Riddler said, reclining and studying the head of his cane. "I propose a team-up. I presume you haven't been scared back on the straight and narrow by this little mishap?"
"No." said Jonathan carefully. "But why would I need your help?"
"Grand plans cost money, Dr. Crane." the Riddler said calmly. "Money which neither you or I have at the moment."
"I see." Jonathan said, interest piqued. "What do you suggest?" The Riddler swiveled around and logged onto the computer behind him, sweeping a stack of papers to the side to expose the screen. Jonathan forced himself to his feet, leaning over the other man's shoulder.
"As you can see, I've had quite a few ideas." the Riddler said, smiling triumphantly.
"Oh my." Jonathan breathed.
Bank-goers shrieked as two gunshots pierced the air, covering their heads with whatever they had on hand. The Riddler strolled into view with a practiced confidence, cane clicking importantly on the polished stone floor. Jonathan watched impatiently from his hiding spot as their hired thugs fanned out, gripping the remote in his hand tighter.
"Now, I'm sure you all know the drill." the Riddler said, planting his cane on the ground with a clang to grab the panicked patrons' attentions. The building went silent as he continued. "On the ground, phones away, hand over your wallets, et cetera et cetera. The media will have driven that particular nail through your thicks little skulls by now, no doubt." Jonathan tugged at his mask, squirming with anticipation as he waited for his partner's overly dramatic monologue to be through. That wasn't likely to be soon; the Riddler knew he was the center of attention, and he was savoring every second of it.
If he doesn't finish soon the cops will come. Jonathan thought, and briefly considered triggering it before the other man was done. Finally, blessedly, his signal came.
"Question! I make you weak at the worst of times, yet I keep you safe and fine. What am I?" the Riddler queried, glancing briefly up at his partner. "Answer!"
"FEAR." Jonathan growled, slamming his thumb down on the trigger. The Riddler and his thugs tugged gas masks over their mouths as the sickly orange gas flooded the room, and Scarecrow's malicious cackle filled the air, mingling with the terrified screams of his victims.