The darkness was inviting to the good doctor.
He stepped into the tiny room, a single light bulb swinging back and forth. The man tied to a chair was breathing heavily, almost as if he did not want to be here. Odd. Should people not jump at the chance to give to science?
That was why the man was here after all. His mouth taped shut, his arms tied behind his back, and blood staining his white dress shirt.
He turned to face the third person in the room, a random mook, and plainly said, "Leave." The mook, whose name honestly did not matter at this point, left a little too quickly. Must have thought he was like the Joker, slaughtering his own men when he got bored.
Henchmen, good henchmen, were in far too limited supply nowadays.
Jonathan Crane took a leisurely step into the room. His face was covered in shadows thanks to his hood. Four syringes were attached to a gauntlet on his right arm. The orange liquid inside almost glowed brightly in the darkness. It was quite a mesmerizing sight.
But he was not here to marvel at his own genius. He was not like Nygma. The time to pat himself on the back came after his ultimate victory. And, honestly, that would not be for quite some time. He was a very patient man.
He took another step towards the man, stating, "All things considered, your situation could be far worse, yes?" Crane's voice has gotten a lot deeper since he was last in Gotham. It took a while to get himself to speak like that normally. About two years, actually.
"After all, you were not beaten too badly." He was now circling the man, whose eyes told the scientist of the fear he was experiencing. "You have no honest idea how much it took to pay them not to kill you. I do not doubt you are happy for that fact. Do not worry, my friend." Crane placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder, before lowering his voice. "You will understand why you should not be happy."
Crane walked over to a table, picking up a syringe. "You might be asking yourself, 'Why are you not using the syringes on your arm?'" He flicked the needle gently. He then waved his gauntlet. "This is an old formula. It works, of course, but I did not bring you all the way here to test the old stuff."
He placed it back on the table before walking up to the man's arm. "Tell me, do you have a wife? Maybe children?" He got a muffled response. "Interesting." He gave the arm a few taps looking for the vein.
"I don't want to miss the mark on my first test." Crane pulled a marker out of one of his pouches and marked the vein. "Believe it or not, it does in fact matter where you inject my toxin. True, you will still feel the horrifying effects, but they will not be as… potent."
"Now, about that family you mentioned. What were their names again?" An angry muffle this time. "Ah, yes, a beautiful name for a beautiful women. 'Rose.' You should introduce her to Ivy one of these days. Her name alone would get in that woman's good graces. And your child, Jessica, I believe she will be… seven? Eight? I forget.
"She's a strong one. Straight 'A's' in class. You should be proud. You look proud. It is such a shame then, that you will not see your child grow into adulthood. Honestly, I can think of no other punishment more severe than taking a child's father away. That will make them suffer, especially when your wife realizes that the last conversation she had with you was a fight. About payments, I believe.
"Oh, well. At least Rose will only have to support Jessica alone now, will she not?" The man strapped to the chair cried his eyes out,
Without further warning, he shoved the needle inside the man's arm. He began squirming in his bonds. Crane got down to look at him eye level before asking, "Tell me… how are you feeling? Any… ill effects?"
The man's eyes bulged out. His eyes clearly stated the fear he was feeling. From his perspective, Crane was a colossal shadow creature, whose face he couldn't see.
From Crane's perspective, a pathetic man was cowering at the sight of him. So far, so good. The effects will eventually wear off. They usually do. Crane stated, "You can feel it running through your veins, can you not? As your mind crumbles around you, you will notice that I have added a little something special to this mixture."
Another syringe was pulled out of his pouch. "This contains the 'mega-cure,' as the news channels have dubbed it. Terrible name. It is a cure. A powerful cure, to be sure, but a cure nonetheless. Somehow, the Bat was able to design this to counteract all of my toxins as of late."
He injected the man in the same vein as before, much more slowly this time. His eyes were still bulging. "Notice anything? No? Exactly. I was able to find a way to combat this cure. It was actually a rather simple technique. I am quite ashamed that I did not find it sooner."
He circled around the man again, whose muffled cries filled the room. Crane kneeled down to look the man in the eye. He ripped off the duct tape, allowing the man to both breath and scream. "Do you fear me? What do you fear, exactly?"
The man sputtered. Crane tilted his head lightly. "Yes? Go on."
"Scare…" the man muttered.
"Scare?" Crane repeated.
"Scare… cr…."
"Yes." Crane's face became illuminated when he moved closer towards the man. It looked as though it was mauled horribly and stitched together carelessly. String held his lips together. "A scarecrow."
Scarecrow plunged his syringes on his arms into the man's neck, pumping into his body. The scientist stated, "You can feel it, right? The fear running through your body, your mind collapsing in on itself. The last of the sanity that you hold oh so near to your heart slipping out of your grasp. That is okay. You have served your purpose.
"Now you can go into the only eternal peace that can be offered. Funny thing. 'Peace.' There is no such thing. There are only lulls in war time. And that is exactly what is coming, little one. A war on Gotham. And you are the first casualty. You are a test. You will be a catalyst. A slow one, but one nonetheless.
"So scream, my friend," Scarecrow stated gently, rubbed the man's trembling shoulder. "It will be the only thing you can do."
And so, the man did scream. Scarecrow sat and watched him until the screams went silent. He walked over to the man and checked his pulse. He was alive, but the toxin will eventually take its toll. And then the man can experience true peace.
The war was coming. It was only a matter of time.
Scarecrow left the man alone in his final moments. He was already offering eternal peace.
Why should he offer any more comfort?
Three days later,
Matt Jenkins, 38 years old, married.
Now dead.
His body was dumped outside the Gotham Bridge, found by two bystanders.
Comissioner James Gordon only recently arrive. Based on the rate of decay, time of death was a few days ago. The body was limp when they found it. That meant rigor mortis had already come and gone.
"Any ideas on what the hell happened?" Gordon asked aloud, lighting a cigar.
"I do," a deep voice replied. Out of the shadows, the Batman stood to his full height. "Crane."
"He's back in Gotham?" Gordon threw the match away. "Why?"
"I don't care," Batman replied. "But when I find him, I'm taking him down."