"He 's so ugly, and looks like a total dork."

"Hillbilly nerd!"

"FAGGOT!"

As the preteen ran out of his school cafeteria, he was battered with an empty soda bottle. His long legs didn't slow or tire, he just kept going until he was far away from where he was.

Things didn't get better with age. The school bullies just used bigger rocks if he looked at them a little too "strangely." Sometimes for just walking by them at the wrong place in the wrong time.

Home wasn't safe either.

Grandmother "Keeny" had his recently-laundered apparel and accouterments set out after a long day in the wheat field. He was sobbing because he knew what he was dressing himself for, and had no idea how to stop it.

Flash forward. Swarms of black swiping at you from the sky. Blinding eyes, shrieking rage. Their talons are so sharp.

Flash forward. A once-sweet girl fabricating stories about his actions. Weekly scheduled counseling for the rest of the school year.

Flash forward. The once-sweet girl crying, bleeding, screaming.

Choking, coughing, gasping.

Crane's eyes flickered for a moment before slowly opening. He was slumped upright in his choice armchair, with mild perspiration formed on his forehead. Taking a deep inhale, he straightened up with a quiet grunt.

Nightmare crowed loudly and flew from her perch to the top of a bookcase. Her usual sign for being hungry.

He inhaled deeply as he stretched both arms forward, and felt a few kinks work out of his spine. Lifting himself into a standing position, he paused to look at his wristwatch.

Time to work.

He picked up a steel medicine cabinet on his way into the spare bedroom, and opened the closet door.

As he descended the stairs, he gave loud instruction, "I expect none of you to be here tomorrow night. I have important matters to attend to."

Once at Gotham General, Crane approached the reception counter with briefcase in hand. Moving his head forward slightly, he asked in a quiet and excessively polite tone, "Ah, may I ask where miss Natalie Odell may be? I'm a visitor, her professor from Gotham State."

The stocky nurse nodded, flipping through a few papers. "Yeah I remember her. Room 2080, down that hallway and make the second right."

Crane nodded and charmingly smiled. "Thank you kindly."

Near room 2080, Crane noticed a physician being pulled away from his cart by a nurse towards another room. The professor made no hesitations and smoothly swiped the patient file before disappearing into the room without a peep.

... ... ...

... ...

...

"Hm, showing signs of recovery as of today's date, which means the toxin is temporary."

The voice was faint for Natalie, as she stirred awake and strained to hear. The eyes fluttered but the pupils didn't travel anywhere but the ceiling.

"The method of administration was effective. But I think I can still do better."

She blinked hard several times. She wanted to wipe the crust from her eyelashes, but found that her arms felt heavy. She was too exhausted to move.

Hey eyes moved from the overhead tiles to the ceiling-mounted rail of her dividing curtain. Someone pulled it shut - she thought it had been left open. The voice came in louder now. It was distorted and layered.

"Good morning, Natalie. How are you feeling?"

"Like crap." The blonde replied bluntly. She didn't quite register the abnormality of this disembodied voice. Regardless, she was already a little suspicious. After another few minutes, her muscles noticeably tensed, but her tone stayed consistent. "Who- ... What are you doing here?"

"Assessing the effectiveness of my medicine."

Natalie paused to consider her next words. "I thought you were supposed to be a mad psychology teacher, not a mad chemist."

Now that her eyes had adjusted better to the hospital lighting, she could make out the distinctive mask of that scarecrow. The rest was still a blur. Her blood pumped faster.

"What do you remember since then?"

"... Nothing. I don't know." She could feel her heartbeat in her neck. And realized too late that she was better off keeping quiet.

"You blink a lot when you're worried. Did you know that?"

Her breathing became heavier with effort. She was feeling warm. It was morbidly upsetting to have been right about him. "You'd know ..."

"I just thought you'd like to see my mask up close."

Now her throat seized. She couldn't force any words or sounds to come out, and only watched the scarecrow mask raise and head towards a nearby briefcase. As the eyes followed, she noticed in her peripheral: There were straps around her wrists and ankles, keeping her tied to the bed. Weakly, she pulled her wrists back as far as she could and pushed them side to side. It was futile.

"It's not scary to someone like you, I'm sure. Someone whose sheer willpower surpasses that of many young ladies your age ..."

She began to push herself into the bedding with frustration, tears now streaking down her cheeks. Something near him unclasped and creaked. Then glass clinked together, and the same creak with a soft thud. Whatever it was doing sent a chill up her spine and into her skull. All of her thoughts screamed at her in unison to panic.

The scarecrow held out a strange vial with some kind of mechanical attachment. It motioned to the vial with its free hand, like a game show model.

"... but that only needs a little help."

It stepped toward the bed.

"I prepared the perfect prescription, just for you, Natalie."

Another huge plume of white smoke, noticeably less opaque than the last, blanketed over her before she could cry out for help. She began to cough uncontrollably, and her arms found second wind to violently attempt to shake the straps free. Her bed began to squeak and sway.

Every millisecond, she became more desperate. Anything to get away. Anything to escape.

She was terrified beyond all reason.