Batman Beyond: Fear Factor
By Alicia Evilstone
CHAPTER 2
My Own Personal Hell
* * * *
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman Beyond or any characters within. Perhaps I may have modified some old characters a little, but all are still created by and the property of the good folks at DC Comics.
* * * *
ENTRY 71105629 : Subject : Dr. Jonathan Crane (a.k.a. the Scarecrow)
Once a professor at Gotham State University, Dr. Jonathan Crane lost his position once the education board found he was performing crude, bizarre experiments on his patients in regard to fear. Having no other choice the board expelled Dr. Crane from the university, leaving the doctor bitter. His first re-appearance was an attempt at destroying the university, though he since moved on and began to use all of Gotham City as his testing ground for his fear serum.
Under the raggedy guise of the "Scarecrow", Crane soon developed a formula for a powerful chemical, which, when used on living subjects in gaseous form, stimulated the biological chemicals for fear within their brain. He has used this method to blackmail and torture, and is his standard modus operandi.
Dr. Crane is now heavy care in a state facility. After years of exposure to his own toxins he has developed long-term symptoms and is now afraid to do absolutely anything himself.
Another sad case of "If you live by the sword, you die by the sword."
* * * *
His eyes slowly open, and before him appears a hazy vision of reality. All he is fully aware of is the pain throbbing inside his head, the rest is barely a blur. He can't hear Bruce calling for him through the headset, he can't comprehend the Scarecrow standing before him wiring cables to the visor resting on his forehead.
Batman tries to move his arms. He can't. Looking he can see that his hands have been restrained by powerful metallic clamps to some sort of large table. The Scarecrow smiles like death, lavishing in the Dark Knight's struggle.
"Welcome back to the real world," he muses. "It's the last time you see it before I introduce you to your worst nightmares."
"You've been out for ten minutes," says Bruce. "It looks as though he's attached you to an advanced type of virtual reality simulator. Terry, if you don't get out now then he's going to bring your darkest fears to life."
"Scare…crow…?" That bird must have hit him harder than he thought. It's difficult and painful to speak.
"Yes, Batman," the rogue says shushing him with a clawed finger. "Enjoy your last moments before I introduce you to your own personal hell."
"What kind of a monster are you?" the Dark Knight spits. His consciousness is finally beginning to get a grip on where he is.
"I guess it's time for an origin story." Batman is silent. The Scarecrow continues to work with his machines as he speaks. "As you can see I've taken on the role originally used by Professor Crane. I am, in a manner of speaking, his student."
From the Batcave, Bruce Wayne listens intently in quiet disgust. What a tragedy it is that a madman like Crane should also have a legacy to pass on.
"It is well known that my natural talent was in computer science," the new Scarecrow continues, "though in all honestly my passion lay in psychology. What made people tick always fascinated me. During the psychology course, which by the way I flunked, one of the subjects we studied was Professor Jonathan Crane, who taught me that the drive of man has always been fear. I learned much from him."
"So you chose to inflict these horrors on unsuspecting kids?" Batman struggles to free his hands so that he can attack this beast of a man, but it is no use.
"The strange thing about fear, Batman, is the adrenaline rush. With fear in your blood you will never feel more alive. That kind of natural high is almost a religious experience," he comments with zeal. "Why else do you suppose they keep coming back for more? They don't want to play games and kill time, they want a new life and a new high. Fear is addictive like a drug. Is that really so wrong?"
"You're insane," he growls back.
"And you," states the Scarecrow matter of factly, "are playing with semantics. Isn't the true insanity in that fact that people go day in and day out without living a single day in their entire lives? This is my gift, Batman. A gift I plan on sharing with the entire world, and not you or anybody else can stop me."
"Terry!" He can hear Bruce scramble from his post hurriedly. Right now both of them seem to be sharing the same sense of alarm.
The Scarecrow's clawed finger encircles a single red button on the control pad, almost as if he were flirting with it. His still mask smiles as if it shares the same hunger for horror as its wearer. "And now, Dark Knight, the real fun begins!"
His finger presses down onto the button and in an instant Terry's world begins to slip away like liquid down a drain. Existence as he knows it begins to die away and in the middle of it is he, still alive, still breathing, completely aware. The nightmare has begun.
* * * *
"Huh?" Terry wakes up with a sudden jolt. His hair is everywhere, his clothes are hung neatly on his bedroom floor… if this is Scarecrow's nightmare world then it leaves a lot to be desired. The only thing he can be afraid of here is his Mom.
He pinches himself, and definitely feels real pain. This is too real to be a dream. Perhaps last night was all a dream. Right now it's too hard to determine. The sun is shining into his cloudy eyes at a far too early seven thirty am. Maybe he'll just go and have some breakfast.
"Hi honey," says his Mom from the kitchen watching her elder son drag himself up from yet another long night. "I was in the mood so I made you boys pancakes for breakfast!"
Matt, Terry's younger brother, turns away from his morning cartoons at the sound of the word 'pancakes'. "Wow, Mom. You nearly never made pancakes."
"Yeah," says Terry drearily. "You usually only cook in the morning when you're worried about something. What's up?"
"Nothing's wrong," she tells him. "It may be politically incorrect, but I can't bear to see my two boys killing themselves every morning on that sugar-frosted garbage you call cereal. It's unhealthy, and the energy it provides is only short-term."
Terry takes a gentle hold of her arm. "Come on, Mom. You're never this diet conscious. I know you too well to think that something's not going on. What is it?"
"Well," she sighs, "Terry, I… was going through your room yesterday…"
Matt laughs. "Ha ha! Bus-ted!"
"Quiet, twip!" Terry raises his hand mockingly, leaving his little brother to fall back laughing. "I know what you're thinking, Mom, but at least it's thinking ahead. Dana and I are trying to be safe and…"
"I was talking about this." Terry's Mom steps out of his room carrying a full black costume with the emblem of a red bat in the center of its chest. Terry and Matt gasp in horror and surprise. "What did you think I was talking about?"
"Terry," Matt addresses him softly. "What are you doing with a Batman costume?"
"Because he is Batman," scowls his mother like a beast. "Night after night he has been going out, fighting in the streets, while we sit here thinking that he's looking after a frail old man!"
"Mom, I…" A cold wind blows, almost numbing his body. Inside he feels like a typhoon is raging and he knows he has let down the people he cares about the most. His heart just collapses.
"No excuses, Terry," she hisses. Her eyes glow red like a savage monster and she grows to gargantuan size. "I've already lost one man in my life who tried to do some good in this world, so don't expect me to cry when I find you dead on my doorstep!"
"Mom, please…" It is futile. His pleas fall on deaf ears as the elements tear the house apart. "I can explain! There's all a very good reason for this!"
Suddenly, all is still again. The family are frozen in the room in black and white as if cut from an empty scene in an old movie. Only Terry is aware. "They will not listen to reason, Batman," comes an all too familiar voice. "They are not made of the same stuff as you and I. They cannot understand the pure joy that comes with instilling fear in the hearts of others…"
"Scarecrow!" The black suited figure struts around the statues. He is covered in a mysterious mist leading to an empty land whose name nobody knows, nor do they care.
"You are so good at remembering my name. Somebody should give you a prize," he laughs. "Oh, but enough of that. We have more pressing matters. Look at these people around you. Who are they?"
"They are my family," Terry tells him. He grinds his teeth and wants to charge, though invisible hands seem to hold him in place. "You won't hurt them…"
"WRONG!" The Scarecrow stares him down, eyeball to eyeball. Under his black mask under a pair of dead green pupils glow from the darkness in his soul. "You are the Batman. You are a child of the night. You have no family. These people are not your loved ones, they are but a pair of statistics."
Again Terry struggles, though his skeleton fights his body from the inside. At one time his body seems to try and implode while also breaking away. "No! Scarecrow! Let them be!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Batman," says the Scarecrow, raising his knife over Terry's mother. "For once and for all you must be taught a lesson, and it seems only I am strong enough to show you the way."
"No! Mom!" Terry cannot bear to watch the blade fall down. He looks away, but he can still feel a warm, red stream flowing under his feet and between his toes. Below him lies the pool of death where his mother lies.
"That was all your fault, Batman," the Scarecrow tells him. "It was your fault for not stopping me."
* * * *
Bruce Wayne knocks on a front door in suburbia. It seems a nice place, white with a picket fence around the side, a freshly cut lawn and a tree in the front yard. This place is almost quaint, though he has no time to admire the setting. Instead he just continues to beat on the door.
A light comes on from inside and a large, bald african-american man opens the front door. He acts frustrated and tired, though not as much as the strange guest at his door. "Can I help you?" he grunts sleepily.
"I presume you are Maxine's father?" He looks inside, trying to determine where her room might be.
"That's right." He is confused. Protectively he stands up tall and crosses his arms, trying to intimidate the old man. "Might I ask what you want with my daughter at this time of night?"
"It's a matter of life and death," he says ignoring the father's act of bravado. "It's important that she come with me right now or else her friend Terry is as good as dead."
"Mr. Wayne?" Max, the girl with the short pink hair looks out from the living room dressed only in a gown and a pair of bunny slippers. "What on Earth are you doing here? What's this I hear about Terry?"
"We haven't much time," rants Bruce. He grabs her arm and drags her to his sleek black car. "I'll explain on the way!"
The father stands in the front threshold, still confused. "MAXINE!"
Max opens up the passenger door and hastily steps inside. "Don't worry, Daddy," she calls out, "everything is going to be fine!"
* * * *
"Who…" asks Terry, "are you?"
The shadowy figure is silent, pausing to let the tension of the moment fully sink in. Terry stares at it like an obsession. Its body is full like a man, tall, strong, yet its shape is so inhuman. "I am Batman," is all it says back.
"Who. Are. You?" He is not satisfied with the answer this demon is giving him. His curiosity will not be quenched by lies. It is already decided deep inside that he will never give up.
"I am Batman," it responds again. The spirit stares at him, it's small white eyes searing deep into his soul like fiery hot pokers. On some subconscious level, Terry knows it is but a hideous reflection in his mind.
"I am Batman," the young man argues unsurely. Sweat flows from his bruised and bloody brow, stinging the open sores. His heart races like the Flash and his body wants to collapse. Again he states with more confidence, "I am Batman."
"You are unworthy, McGuiness," it seethes. "You are afraid. To be worthy you must cloak yourself in darkness, become like your enemies, strike fear into their hearts. Then you must become greater. Though you cannot face your pain…"
These words are like daggers into his heart. They hold some truth, maybe more than he would ever care to admit, but stubbornly he tries to reject the specter's voice. He swallows his doubts and loudly proclaims his truth. "YOU LIE!"
"Do I lie?" The shadows creep in. The tail ends of the ghost's cape come to life and entangle themselves around Terry's calves. Like a lamb to the slaughter it forces him inside. "Look to yourself and you will know the truth. You will know that I do not lie."
What unspeakable horrors that he encounters within are beyond words. Should doubt, loathing, denial and sorrow ever take a form this would be it as it washes over Terry McGuiness to drown his very spirit. Visions flash over his eyes. His father died being a hero… and now he follows suit. The madness continues, though at what cost? Family, friends and loved ones?
In all his life Terry McGuiness has been to some low places in his own humanity, but never before has he prayed for death. Not like he does now.
* * * *
Another wall falls on his brain like a ten-ton hammer. It is as if he is ripped from one world to another and a new backdrop of reality sets in place. His body automatically shoots up and he struggles for air. The old man's arms hold him firmly in place. "Easy, Terry. Calm down."
"I am not like you!" The Batman leans back and with both feet kicks his mentor across the room. In a bolt he is on his feet and panicking in search for a way of escape. For some reason he cannot seem to remember where he is, or why.
Max steps back in worry. She can't stop Batman, and now Bruce Wayne is heaped on the floor at least twenty feet away. "The machines made you go crazy, Terry! Try and remember who we are!"
His body shakes uneasily, and cautiously he tilts his head trying to determine the person in front of him. Instinct tells him she is another threat, so he has no option but to attack.
"Terry, no!" Bruce leaps, knocking the Dark Knight from his feet. The two of them struggle and roll about grappled to each other. Max feels totally helpless, until she notices a stray crowbar on the floor beside her.
"I'm not like you," screams Terry. "I'll never be like you! I'm not a monster!" Batman, Bruce's former alter ego, grips onto the old man's throat, slowly choking the life out of him. "This ends here and now. Your demons won't be…"
Though he does not finish his rambling. A short, sharp blow to the back of the head makes sure of that. Above Bruce stands Max, weapon still in hand. He smiles and says, "Thank you, Maxine."
"Don't sweat it," she says helping him up. The two them throw the Dark Knight's arms over their shoulders. "Now come on. We have to get out of here before this place blows."
They hurry down the stairs, through the main corridor and out the back alley they entered. With the Batman as dead weight between them their hurrying is nowhere near as fast as it could be. Finally, they make it to the next street under a safe, shielded spot.
Ashtoreth's lair, Gotham's video game heaven, is silent for a final moment. Then, as expectant, it is engulfed in flames, sending glass and debris scattering about through the empty road. Bruce and Max look up from their hiding place, relieved that they managed to make it out even if it was only be a few precious seconds.
Terry groans and rolls his head about. His senses are numbed, and what isn't numb is in constant pain. Inside he burns, he bleeds. For a moment he isn't sure he wants to get up again. Then he sees his friends.
"Max?" he whispers. "Bruce?"
"We're here for you, Terry." He shoots up and wraps his arms around his friend. Tears flow freely from his eyes, and he weeps as if lost in the desert for a lifetime. Now he knows he's home again. Everything is as it was. "It was all just a bad dream…"
Bruce places his hands on Terry's back in the only way he knows how to comfort. Though the fire mainly draws his attention away. The Scarecrow nearly won this battle, and the madness is still not yet over.
* * * *
NEXT ISSUE: Still shaken from his last encounter with the Scarecrow, Batman must face his enemy once more or else risk seeing Gotham plunged into a world of fear. Stay tuned for the third and final chapter of Batman Beyond: Fear Factor.