Usual disclaimer. I do not own any rights to Batman or any other character that belongs to DC Comics. My personal characters belong to me, of course. I do not make money on this, nor do I plan to. This, in my mind, is visually similar to the mid 90's cartoon that fascinated me so much. Please read and review, that means a lot to me. Rock on!

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Chapter One – Book

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It all came down to leverage and logic, really. When to time the jump, what line to set up for that death defying swing over the rooftops, it was all about leverage and logic. Batman took a quick second look at the ledge coming close in front of him as he ran, just to be safe, and then plummeted down on a line that looked far too small to support such a weight and the pull it was about to go through. But the leverage and logistics were with him that evening, and Batman made a perfect landing on the roof of the building a block and a half away, not making a single sound in spite of the pebbled surface his feet contacted with.

Robin followed in his own swing and landed close by, not bothering with any of his usual showy rolls or flourishes. They were not on patrol, after all. Tonight was serious, and the information had come at a high cost to their knuckles and feet. Taking his cue from the taller man, they both were on their stomachs by the time they had made it to the edge of the building's roof. Pulling out a miniature microphone on an even smaller dart housing, Batman handed one of the ear pieces to Robin while loading the microphone into a dart blower. A deep breath and sudden release of air led to the microphone landing on the wall across from them, near street level. Holding the other ear piece to his cowl, the two caped men could then hear the conversation going on below in the grubby alley.

"I don't care how you found it, or how many throats you claim to have cut to acquire it, you miserable little wretch of low intelligence. I could care less, to be honest, as long as it is still in pristine condition. All I want to know is what amount you are asking for such an item of interest." The Scarecrow was busy trying to hustle some mid-level street punk by the sounds of it. The conversation continued for a bit longer, as Batman recorded it for later play-back. Not even bothering to glance over to Robin, he removed the earpiece from the side of his cowl and placed it in a holder on his utility belt, and pulled out a handful of stun pellets from a different place on the belt. Jumping in time with the tossing of the pellets, Batman made his appearance in his own trademarked style, kicking out to knock over the tall and gangly Scarecrow as Robin followed right behind, reaching out for the backpack resting over the street punk's shoulders as he swung to the ground level.

After rolling on the ground from the kick, Scarecrow came to a stop against the brick wall, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a pistol from his position now sitting on the ground. Not bothering with Batman, he turned the firearm on the punk, putting two neat shots into his chest. The smell of burnt gunpowder filled the chilled air. Then dropping the pistol, Crane took to his feet and darted for the streets. Robin reached for his headset to dial into the police scanner. "I'll call paramedics! Get that monster!" Robin turned to look back to Batman, but all he saw of the taller man was an edge of his cape, heading around the corner to the streets. "No prob, Robin, you've got it all covered. I'll give you an award later tonight," he said sarcastically to himself. He figured that after all of these years, he would be used to the silent treatment. Not bothering with any more comment, he turned his attention to the wounded punk, bracing a hand against the wounds to keep him from bleeding out before the ambulance made it's appearance.

Batman could move both silently and with speed when it was needed, and this was one of those times. Catching up with Scarecrow, he reached out and grabbed the edge of Crane's hood. Not bothering with a gentle tug or to haul him back into fist range, Batman pulled the fabric sharply to the left, sending the gangly man to the garbage littered pavement. The wails of an ambulance could already be heard on the chilly night air, heading in their direction. Crane rolled on the ground from the tug and toss, finally coming to a stop at the curb.

"Ah, the caped rodent. You are the most impossible man that it has been my misfortune to meet. I assume that this means yet another trip to Arkham?" Not bothering to answer, Batman pulled Scarecrow to his feet.

"You injured three asylum guards in your escape. You'll be in front of a judge in a day, then you will return to Arkham."

"Oh, they are so tough and drab there. They don't let me read my books, or continue my studies, or even entertain myself with the other prisoners. Surely you have enough brains under that cowl to see that stagnation is a disease for those of us that are truly geniuses." Crane blinked when Batman pulled out a set of handcuffs. "Really, this is totally useless. You catch me, they lock me back up in that boring asylum, I break out and continue my work. Then you show up yet again and the cycle repeats." Leaning close as he was restrained, Crane continued. "You do know the basic definition of insanity, my flying friend? Continuing the same actions, and actually expecting a different outcome."

Finishing the restraints, Batman spoke. "You could attempt the rehabilitation, and earn your freedom the right way." Giving the restraints one more look before sitting Crane on the curb, he gave way to a slight smile. "You are a genius, after all. At what point will you be willing to change for the better?"

Crane cackled at that. "Rehabilitation? That is for those that cannot find their way out of a wet paper bag. I am destined for greatness. You, my cloaked compatriot, are nothing more than a footnote in a future psychological thesis."

As the ambulance and police arrived, Scarecrow leaned close and murmured. "I am curious though. What are you afraid of, when the darkness comes to claim you each night? What is so satisfying about dressing like a giant winged rodent and puts you on the streets?" Mock seriously, he continued. "I certainly hope that your pet psychologist has looked into this little obsession of yours. This attitude could lead to a series of risky behavior, such as jumping off rooftops or driving dangerously through crowded city streets. Or it could represent a desire to commit slow suicide. Pick your definition, of course." Crane smiled under his hood. "The world might be better without you, but you know that saying about curiosity and cats. Do you have a death wish, Dark Knight?"

Robin helped the paramedics load the wounded punk into the ambulance and headed to the street with the flashing lights from the squad cars that had followed, to find Batman standing by Commissioner Gordon. An officer loaded Scarecrow into the back of one of the squad cars. Gordon took a look around, making sure that all was under control, then turned to Batman. "They really need to work on security at Arkham. You shouldn't have to run these patients down every time someone gets loose." Stubbing out his cigar, he continued. "What was his great scheme this time?"

Batman lifted the backpack from the ground where Robin had dropped it during the care for the wounded punk. "He seemed rather interested in acquiring whatever is inside this." Carefully unzipping it, he took a look inside, then pulled out what looked like...

"A book? All of this, over a moldy book? He must be off his rocker, to think that's important enough to break out of the asylum over." Gordon considered for a moment relighting his cigar, but decided against it. He settled for stuffing his hands into the pockets of the trench coat he was wearing, to ward of the bitter cold.

Robin chimed in. "Or at least off his rocker more than usual, for Crane. What it it, Batman?"

Dropping the backpack after checking if there was anything else in it, Batman turned the cover to the light. "The title is in Latin. The closest English translation would be 'Diabolic Fear.' I wonder..." Flipping through a few pages, he nodded to himself. "The book is in various languages, but Latin seems to be the most used. I would have to scan it, but it looks like real parchment was used." He closed the book, and took a long look at the cover again. "An old book on fear, handwritten. It fits with Scarecrow's admitted obsession on fear and it's outcomes." Nodding to Gordon, he continued. "I will look over it, and if no one comes forward to claim it, it will most likely be donated to the historical society."

Not bothering to say any more, Batman walked away, fired off a line, and once again took to the air. Shrugging to Gordon, Robin followed. To himself, Robin voiced his internal monologue. "Thanks for catching the bad guy, Bats. Thanks also for the info on the book. Time to go home, Robin, it's been a swell night."

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