Beta's note: Here's more for you to enjoy! Trust me, you're in store for a treat soon.
It was a quiet night in Gotham City.
By this time, many of its residents were already safely tucked away in their beds, dreaming fondly of a world without the dirt and corruption they witnessed on a daily basis in the City of Shadows. The ones who were awake participated in such filth. Drugs, prostitution, robbery, even murder; all of these things were just a "day in the life" for the seedier residents of Gotham City. Everyone knew it was happening, from the tallest police officer down to the smallest child; everyone knew about the horrors of Gotham's underbelly. They just chose to ignore it, for the most part. At least until they had to witness it first-hand.
The masked figure, dressed in a black Victorian-era tuxedo, complete with a horned mask worn over his eyes and black gloves, stared out at the city as he sipped his wine and considered his guest's proposal. He turned back to his desk and flipped open the manila envelope that lay atop it. Its contents revealed a series of pictures depicting two children at school, home, and various other places. One of the children, a young boy with an oval-shaped head and tiny blue hat, smiled sweetly at a pig-tailed young girl who appeared to be trying her hardest to maintain a scowl, but the slight redness in her cheeks proved the effort futile. Many of the images featured the two children together, making it painfully obvious that the two were romantically involved. It was all very cute, and the masked figure couldn't help but grin. He directed his gaze back towards the mysterious visitor who had given him these photographs.
"When were these taken?" he asked.
The visitor, still hidden in the shadows, made some motion that his masked host could not see and then cleared his throat. "About five years ago. The children are teenagers now, but their love for each other is as strong and as pure as it's ever been."
The host nodded and picked up one of the photographs of the girl. She had a wistful smile spread across her face as she held a gold locket close to her chest. The masked man studied the picture carefully. "The girl, Helga…you say she's in Gotham City now?"
The visitor made another unseen gesture, then spoke. "Yes. So is the boy."
The man in the mask nodded. He brought the picture towards his face and slowly glided his tongue across the image of the girl, as if he could taste her, and then glanced at it thoughtfully before placing it back down upon his desk. "What you're proposing is the perversion of true love," the masked figure hissed with pleasure as he picked up a photo of the young couple happily holding hands.
"Can you pull it off?" the visitor asked.
The masked man stared at the photo for a moment before delicately tearing it in half, separating the two children. His eyes looked back towards his visitor. "Shouldn't be too hard...but what do I get in return?"
"You can keep the girl, if you'd like."
"And the boy?"
"The boy is to remained unharmed. For the most part, anyway."
The masked host nodded acceptingly. "A fair bargain, then. However, I like to make it a habit of preparing myself for unexpected…problems. If things don't go as intended, and the girl proves stronger than you originally suspected, what am I to tell her if she interrogates me and realizes that I was not alone in this endeavor?"
The mysterious visitor tossed him a folded piece of paper. "I've planned for that myself, actually. Wrote a little script for you."
The masked man unfolded the note, and his eyes widened as he read its contents. "Interesting choice for a scapegoat. You do realize how dangerous this man is, correct? If he finds out about this-"
"He won't," the visitor cut him off, "and by the time he does, he won't be of any use to me anymore."
The man in the mask chuckled to himself. "You intend on killing him, then? It's been tried before. I'm not even certain that he can be killed."
"You just leave that to me and remember your lines."
The masked man nodded as he folded up the paper and placed it into his coat pocket. "Then the game is set."
The visitor made yet another unseen gesture and turned to depart.
"I trust you can get the job done, Dr. Hurt. Or Thomas Wayne. Or Satan. Whatever it is you're calling yourself these days. Heh, heh, heh."
"Simon will do fine, for now," Dr. Hurt said to the departing visitor. He turned his attention back to the city before him and checked the watch strapped to his wrist. "Oh my," he said aloud upon noticing that he was late for the midnight orgy. He organized the envelope, placed the photograph of Helga Pataki into the folds of his tuxedo coat before gathering up his long, flowing black cloak, and headed for the door.
Helga Pataki observed the scenery around her. The room was small and somewhat claustrophobic, and the walls were covered with various notes, building blueprints, and many pictures of Batman.
"Geez, and I thought I was obsessed," she mumbled to herself.
On the far side of the wall was a dresser full of spare costumes, syringe-claws, a chemistry set, and dozens of notebooks packed with research notes and journal entries. She pulled one out and flipped it open.
April 19th
Despite my best efforts, the Batman continues to resist my newly-developed fear toxin. He truly is a remarkable creature. I have injected him with enough toxin to drive at least two dozen men completely insane. It is possible that the Batman is already mentally disturbed. After all, we're talking about a grown man who dresses like a flying rodent and beats criminals to a pulp with his bare hands every night. On a side note, my former college professor, William Bergner, is reacting just as expected to the amount of toxin he received. Apparently, Dr. Bergner has a deep-seated fear of lobsters! Intriguing. I'll have to investigate this further.
Helga closed the notebook up, placed it in an empty backpack she had brought with her, and glanced down at a piece of paper that had fallen out of the notebook and onto the floor. Out of curiosity, she leaned down to pick it up. Her eyes widened as she looked at the paper. It was a first-class ticket to San Lorenzo.
"What the fuck is he doing with this?" she asked aloud, then quickly slipped the ticket into her pink backpack.
She rummaged through the other books until she found the blood-red research journal she had been told to obtain. She opened it up, flipped through a few of the pages, then closed it and tossed it into her backpack. Helga then grabbed the chemistry set and a few other items she might need (spare vials, a few extra syringe gloves, and other random materials) and tossed the remaining books in an empty cardboard box she had found.
"Guess that's about it, then," she said aloud.
Helga was heading for the door when something in the far corner caught her eye. She walked towards it curiously, bent down to pick it up, and turned the small, black object over in her hand.
"C4.…" Her eyes narrowed, and she slowly turned to leave the room.
Helga's little apartment on the east side of Gotham was a cheap little number. Fortunately, the rent wasn't much at all (one-hundred dollars a month), and it suited her just fine considering that she didn't really plan on having any company. No matter how hard she tried, the young woman was unable to get out the sour odor in certain areas of the apartment (apparently, the previous tenant was a big cat lover), but she really didn't care. This was her life now, and she was just going to have to get use to it.
A life without Arnold.
She sighed and looked down at the floor before walking into the kitchen to sit down and examine the blood-red research notebook. She flipped open the book and skimmed through its contents until she found the formula for Crane's trademark fear toxin. She studied the ingredients carefully as she absentmindedly brought her hand up towards the base of her neck. Her face twisted in confusion as she felt around for her beloved locket. Then she stopped and let out a long sigh as she remembered that the item was no longer in her possession.
"Oh, yeah," she said aloud. "I forgot."
She let out another sigh as she set the notebook down and went for the chemistry set which she placed by the book on the kitchen table. She reached into her backpack and pulled out various vials of chemicals and ingredients for her fear toxin. She paused, staring at one of the jars labeled "MAGNESIUM PHOSPHORUS". She huffed miserably.
"Never was too good at chemistry."
She shrugged her shoulders and set the jar down by the chemistry set, and then opened up the red notebook to figure out what the hell she was supposed to be doing first. She poured a vial of white powder into a large beaker and then a smaller vial of red powder. She then grabbed a thin, long mixing rod and stirred the compounds together. She set the beaker on top of a hot-plate and turned it on to 300 degrees.
"Okay, what next…?"
She glanced back at the little notebook and absentmindedly reached for the jar of phosphorus, but while not paying attention, she wound up tipping it over the edge of the table, shattering the jar and spilling its contents all over the floor.
"God DAMMIT," she groaned.
This was going to be harder than she thought.
After about and hour and a half, Helga was finally able to recreate the fear toxin as per the instructions written in the Scarecrow's blood-red notebook. The toxin itself was a clear, watery substance that was completely odorless. The young blonde took a step back to properly examine the fruits of her efforts.
"Looks alright to me," she muttered. "Now, let's see what's next…." She picked up the notebook and flipped the page, reading the instructions written:
Upon completion of the mixture, place toxin in sprayer and test.
She hunted through in her pink backpack for something that resembled a "sprayer" but found nothing useful.
"Well, what the fuck?" she scoffed aloud, shrugging her shoulders.
She looked around the room for anything she might be able to use when suddenly her eyes fell upon a can of spray-paint. She hustled over to the object, picked it up, and shook it. Empty. She gave a satisfied grin and headed over to the chemistry set. After popping the top off of the can and pulling the nozzle off, the teenage girl then searched her equipment bag and produced a funnel and a thin tube.
"Perfect," she grinned.
She attached the thin tube to the bottom of the funnel and slipped the other end over the bare nozzle of the spray-paint can, and then poured the contents of the beaker containing her home-made fear toxin into the funnel.
"Mwahahahahaaa!" She gave her best mad scientist laugh as she watched the clear liquid slither through the tube and into the empty spray-paint can.
After finishing, she put her equipment back up and replaced the nozzle on the can, giving it a little test spray out of the one window in her apartment. A light mist emerged from the nozzle and she closed her window to prevent the toxin from merging with the air in her apartment. Examination of the can carefully for a moment produced an interesting idea in her mind, so she peeled the label off the can and searched through her own belongings for a blank label of her own.
"Good thing I came prepared for shit like this," she mumbled to herself as she pulled a solid white peel-off label from one of the drawers by the sink. She peeled off the label, stuck it to the front of the spray-paint can, took a red Sharpie from the kitchen table, and wrote in crude handwriting:
Scream For Me
Then she flipped the can over in her hand, admiring her handiwork with a smug grin. The now full can of fear toxin was placed on the table, and she glanced back toward the red notebook, remembering its instructions:
…place toxin in sprayer and test.
She looked down at the writing and studied it carefully.
"How the hell am I supposed to test it? Should I just kidnap some poor shmoe off the street like Crane suggested?"
Helga paused for a minute to think, then turned back to the book and flipped the page. On the other side was a short journal entry:
Over the years, when testing a fresh batch of fear toxin, I have often used myself as the first test subject. This process is useful for two reasons:
1) It allows me to properly and officially determine whether or not a batch is truly successful, and also just how potent and efficient it will be.
2) Prolonged exposure to the fear toxin will, over time, give me immunity to the toxin itself. This is highly useful in case of accidental exposure. On a side note, I have discovered that the fastest way to develop immunity is to expose oneself to a hefty dosage of the toxin. This is, however, a HIGHLY dangerous process that I, myself, have yet to even attempt for fear of complete psychological breakdown. I warn anyone reading this to perform such a dangerous act at your own risk, if at all. It is not something I would ever recommend.
She looked up and pondered the last paragraph of Dr. Crane's journal entry.
"Complete immunity, eh…?" she thought aloud.
The curious blue-eyed blonde directed her gaze towards the large beaker of still mostly full fear toxin that rested on her kitchen table. She approached and lifted it up, bringing it close to her face.
"Well, I've always been a risk-taker," she said to no one in particular. "Besides…it's not like I've got anything to lose anymore, anyway."
The teenager slowly opened her mouth, tilted the beaker back, and drained its contents down her throat. She choked a bit on the tasteless liquid and placed the glass beaker back on the table. The blonde then belched loudly and wiped a bit of the substance from her lower lip.
"May have drunk too much," she mused.
She stood there for a moment, not really feeling anything yet. "Damn," she grumbled after a few more minutes of waiting. "Sure hope this shit worked."
Then heard a strange noise came from behind her front door, sounding eerily like a woman's sobbing. As Helga cautiously approached it, the crying became more and more pained. She wrapped her hands around the doorknob and took a deep breath.
"C'mon, Helga old girl… you can do this."
She exhaled in one long confidence-building drag, turned the knob, and slowly opened the door.
