I don't own Batman or any related characters.

A/N: Let it be known, I am not quitting on my first story. I just thought I start this one, until I found motivation to write the next installment of that one. Not that many people actually care, but for the few who do. I guess this can be considered a teaser, I don't know. Call it what you want. But you all know the drill.

READ. REVIEW. ENJOY.

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First the syringe, then the shot of pain flew through his body. Then the sound of rapid fire buzzed in his head. Following were the horrid flashes of images from his worst nightmares. His parents lying on the ground, himself in an Arkham cell, the lifeless body of his sidekick. He shut his eyes to the world in an attempt to forces the graphic images from his head, but to no avail.

"Bruce?"

He flinched as a soft handed rested on his shoulder. As he looked up he found the hand belonged to his long-time friend, Lucius Fox. He wiped his face unconsciously, finding he had broken into an unexpected cold sweat.

He had blanked out in the middle of meeting. A client, John Vanderbuilt, was throwing a pitch for a new product for Wayne Enterprises, a neuro-transmitter of sort. However, the flashbacks had caused him to drift into a daydream like state, paying no attention to the speaker. The attention had now turned completely to him. He had gone paler than normal.

"Bruce? Are you alright?" Lucius asked again.

With a deep breath, Bruce collected himself.

"My apologies Mr. Vanderbuilt. Please continue."

The skinny young man at the other end of the room continued his demonstration, and after twenty or so minutes he concluded, ending the meeting. Bruce waited for all the other directors to leave before he stepped up from the table. He went to grab the door knob.

The pearls littered the red puddles steadily growing on the ground.

Bruce quickly retracted his hand, and took another deep breath. The flashes had been growing more frequent. At first he thought it was just restricted to sleep. But the visuals had been plaguing his every waking moment. Distracted by his own thoughts, Bruce hadn't even realized that Lucius had opened the door for him.

"Last stop, everybody out," he joked.

"Sorry Lucius. I didn't see you there."

"Figures."

They headed out the room and to the head's office in silence.

Waiting until the door shut, Lucius asked the question Bruce knew he was brewing since the meeting had ended. "So Bruce what's really wrong?"

Bruce knew it was a matter of time before the question came. He continued to his desk, where he sat down, exhausted. Lucius stood before him patiently waiting for an answer.

"It was your second job wasn't it?"

Bruce simply smirked. Lucius was one of the few people who knew of his alias. Often times he was glad someone else was able to cover for him when he needed it the most.

"Scarecrow," was his only reply.

"Say no more. Take it easy though. You do still have that party tonight. But if you don't feel up to it, I could always host it or you could postpone."

"I'm fine. The party will go on as planned."

He knew Lucius was just trying to help him, but he wasn't helpless. Somehow he would find the strength he needed to finish yet another late night.

"Don't push yourself too hard. I won't make it tonight though. My son's birthday. Told the wife I wouldn't miss it this year."

With that he walked out the door. Bruce collapsed on his desk. He tried to focus, but it was useless. It had been a rough night. Scarecrow had been out of Arkham for months. He was working on a way to bind all his enemies and render them useless. This scheme involved a serum that forced the injectee to be paralyzed with fear by simple triggers. While he had been able to easily defeat Scarecrow, he had been caught off guard by one of his lackies. His physical prowess and brain had slowed the process of the serum, but had not taken the effects completely away. He was now seized with panic attacks from time to time as displayed in the meeting. However, he had a duty as Bruce Wayne, and Batman's work couldn't interfere, not this time.

That night he was hosting the annual Wayne Dinner for all the employees and sponsors of Wayne Enterprises. It was a tradition his parents had started, and he was determined to keep it going no matter how he was feeling. He would figure something out by the time the party started. But the show had to go on.

His arm filled with fire as he fired the gun that sent his sidekick flying across the room, barely clinging onto life.

He grabbed his head as it filled with pain.

Alfred jumped in front of him as he cowered away from the gunman who had murdered his parents, Alfred falling to the ground a small hole in his forehead filled with hot lead.

His legs gave way underneath him as he held on to the desk for dear life. His breath struggling to get out of control, he forced himself back into the chair. He knew he had to quickly figure something out before tonight, or something bad was definitely going to happen.