A hood. The top of a trench-coat pulled over a head full of theory in order to hide a face that showed nothing but a cold stare or smirk. A hood was rarely used to cover that face, those icy eyes, those piercing features. They were more frequently than not, hidden by a mask of patched burlap. The burlap was too recognizable at his destination. His face was recognizable enough on its own; enough to get a nod from the clown-faced bouncer outside at the bottom of the rusty iron staircase wedged between two condemned buildings.
He nodded back in appreciation before starting up the stairs, then paused for a moment to take it all in; the smell of sulfur and trash, the only light coming from blinking yellow street lamps, and the sound of the lights buzzing and sirens in the distance. Sneering, he slipped inside the rotting, green doors of an abandoned, decrepit joke shop in the equally abandoned, decrepit ArkhamCity. The mothball smell of an antique type shop was better than that of the outside as was the firelight and silence. The silence he found a pitiful attempt at reverence. Past aisle after aisle of broken jack-in-the-boxes and whoopee cushions all drenched in purple and green paint, on the back wall was a mural of the clown king himself. Photos, flowers, letters, broken toys, criminal profiles, and blazing candles sat on the floor beneath it. "Why am I not surprised?" He chuckled to himself, "Dead and still demanding attention…"
Sighing, he continued, "I'm here for closure. You had disappeared before, but it was always some elaborate act. You were quite the exhibitionist…But Harley and the face? While amusingly warped, it wasn't convincing…to me at least, but boy, if she wasn't a nutcase before," He laughed a little. "She's running around with Poison Ivy and Catwoman now. You should be ashamed. She had SO much potential and she threw it all away, abandoned ALL of your teachings to join the girl scouts. So as the shrink I am, I HAVE to ask," He took off his glasses and put the earpiece in his mouth with a look of mock intrigue, "How does that make you feel?"
After a few seconds of a cackle, "I know I would be very VERY disappointed in her now. You see, if I were to choose to tote around a…how do you say it?" He gave an expression of being puzzled, dripping in sarcasm, before dropping his face back, "A skank, I would at LEAST make sure she was useful for something other than the bedroom." He smiled, "Oh! Speaking of backs, I have yours. Or, you know what? Maybe I'm putting a knife in it. You were the best criminal I'd ever seen with the most interesting tactics out there. But, you see, you were a psychopath. I'm a sociopath. There's quite the difference, my late friend. Not to mention the fact that my IQ is far higher than yours without even bringing out my doctorate. Considering the following, I say that I'm MORE than capable of taking your place as the most feared villain in Gotham." He took a moment from his rant to sigh happily, "Did I mention that the Batman retired? Mhmm, last I heard, he left the country entirely. Catwoman came back, but she's not a problem, and I doubt Robin can hold his own. That leaves little old me."
He paced over to the check out and put his briefcase on the counter. "Unfortunately I'm not as good at making friends as you are." Opening the briefcase and waving a little book around, "But that's okay! Because your little skank was dumb enough to let me have your address book and these guys make Falcone look like child's play, and not the fun kind with the doll. That's something else I'll need, but I'll get to that in JUST a minute. Anyway, I'm going to give the streets back to the gangs to get the concerned civilians out and to get on the bad guys' good sides. The goons are nice but uh," His eyes landed on the files under the mural, "They aren't creative enough for my liking, not like your bunch." He squatted down and began stacking files and when he had all of them , he stood back up and dropped them into his briefcase. "These should do. For now, that is. I'll need to expand my operation of course and I intend on reaching out not only to criminals or the insane, but to find those with actual 'super powers.' Who knows? Maybe I can find a girl with abilities aside from being on her back. Then I kill two birds with one stone right? Not ONLY a slut sidekick, but someone who could bring something new and useful to the table, like telekinesis or something. That's what I would want in a woman. Someone useful, untouched, with a pliable mind, and a high IQ would be nice. That way I could talk to someone after I romp while I'm smoking a cigar. Unlike most men, I like a good conversationalist. I'm probably here because I don't have one. No girl. No family. No friends. No competent goons. Sad, right?" He hooked the briefcase back. "I should get going now. I just wanted to stop by and assure you that Gotham won't go unharmed. I'm going to be a better, more planned, more precise villain than you ever dreamed of being. And I'm not letting ANYONE stand in my way. Not. Even. The Batman. Gotham will soon face its most menacing foe. Once again, it will fear the Scarecrow! So I bid you farewell, for the last time." He sighed happily and looked the place over one last time, "Enjoy rotting you sick son of a bitch."
With that, the man in the hood, with the briefcase full of files slipped back out the door from which he entered. He also walked past the giant with the clown face paint without thinking twice. But he did think twice. So he stopped and drew a business card from his coat pocket. "It's been a year. You'll need a new gig soon. Give me a call." He whispered as he returned to the shadows.
Once he was out of sight, the large man studied the business card. Golden, raised lettering in script with a phone number on the bottom. On the other side read two things. SCARECROW was scrawled in blood over the original inscription which was hard to read under the read. He squinted, and made out a name- Dr. Jonathan Crane.
