Jonathan Crane sat in the only piece of furniture in his cell-an off-white chair bolted to the floor-and tried to concentrate all of his energies on wriggling out of the straight-jacket that bound him.
He knew in the back of his mind that it would be nearly impossible to get out of this one as the straps had been tightened to almost full capacity, but he needed something to both stave off boredom and keep his arms from completely falling asleep.
Down the hall in another cell, an inmate screamed.
Jonathan smiled.
Fear.
It had given him power, made them all fall to their knees before him.
And it had landed him here.
But fear would get him out again.
He just had to wait for the right opportunity…
"You must be incredibly bored."
The Scarecrow's head snapped up and he looked about for the owner of the voice. He couldn't find it, but snapped back instinctively.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, knowing that you've been in here for over a month and the only form of mental stimulation in that box they call a cell is trying feebly to get out of your straight-jacket, I would say you're dying of boredom by now.
Of course, that's just conjecture.
For all I know, and I know a lot, you could be positively riveted by that straight-jacket and its constricting straps, but somehow, I seriously doubt it."
Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
"What do you want?"
The voice paused for a moment, but when it spoke again, the Scarecrow could practically hear the smirk in it.
"What do I want? Hmmm…oh, several things. Knowledge, being one. But then everyone wants that, don't they? Unless they're a complete idiot. Alas, we seldom desire what we really need…"
The voice trailed off at this point and for a moment the Asylum was silent. Then the inmate down the hall screamed again and Jonathan stopped trying to deduce who the mysterious speaker was for a moment to savor the sound.
Coincidentally, his visitor chose that moment to continue.
"I want you." the speaker said abruptly.
The Scarecrow's other eyebrow rose to join its twin.
"You want me?"
The voice chuckled suddenly, an amused sound. "Oh, yes. I need you. But don't get too excited. I simply require your assistance for a…project I'm working on."
Jonathan ground his teeth together. He'd had enough of 'helping' since Ras Al Gul.
"I am nobody's pawn."
The voice chuckled again, but this time it sounded surprised.
"'Pawn'? Oh, dear me, no. I need a helper, not a henchmen."
"And the difference is…?"
"Henchmen are stupid."
The Scarecrow couldn't deny that. The short time that he'd had access to the brutish thugs, he'd been astounded by their idiocy. 'Can the Batman really fly' , indeed.
"That's true." he conceded.
"Of course it's true!" the speaker exclaimed in a sudden burst of energy. "Henchmen are no more than mere blocks of muscle and tissue with a brain the size of a walnut rattling around in the thick masses that they call their skulls…if they have the vocabulary to do so. But you…"-the voice softened-"You fascinate me." using fear as one would use a weapon…well, that, my friend, is genius. And I know intelligence when I see it. After all, I do look in the mirror every morning."
Jonathan snorted softly. "You think pretty highly of yourself, don't you?"
The audible smirk was back.
"I consider myself a genius of the highest caliber."
"Narcissism is a dangerous thing."
"You say narcissism, I say honesty." his visitor responded calmly.
"Who are you?" the Scarecrow asked.
"Oh, I can't tell you that…" the voice said as if Jonathan had just asked him if Are 51 existed.
"That's part of the fun! But I do need to know…will you join me?"
"I'll do nothing until I know who you are."
A different sound echoed through the corridor. A slow, congratulatory clap.
"Of course you won't." the voice purred warmly, then went back to a calculating tone.
"That was a test. Fortunately, you passed. But the question remains. Who am I?
Riddle me this:
Easy first it seems to be
But I am more than what you see.
What lies entwined in words and lines
Is something else entirely.
I will be back, Dr. Crane. And I'll expect an answer to my query."
"And if I don't give you one?" Jonathan challenged.
The voice was silent before replying flatly, "Then you will rot here, slowly wasting away until you're nothing but a shadow. A ghost of your former self. No longer a 'Master of Fear', but a wraith, haunting the already doomed in a cursed asylum. And in your final, fading moments, you will think of me and wish you had taken my offer.
Or…you could say yes. And together we could watch this city burn in a grand mixture of terror and chaos as they pay for their stupidity and know that I…"
Here the visitor stopped, as if realizing what he was saying.
"Well, let's just say you have a lot of potential. Why waste it by grasping at the feeble screams of the delusional?"
The Scarecrow said nothing, mentally digesting the voice's words.
There was silence for sometime and then the sound of soft footsteps.
Jonathan strained to see through the shadows, but all he saw was what he thought was a flash of green, caught by the faint glow emanating from the tiny cell window, as the footsteps receded into the blackness.