Chapter 2: Phobias
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Kim Possible or Batman.
Author's Notes: I'd just like to give a great big thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! . One reviewer asked me if Kim would be using her suit from "So the Drama." Well, as I have yet to see that movie, I cannot include it as part of my story canon, so unfortunately, no, that suit will not be used.
Anyways, onto the next chapter!
Was it not Aeschylus that said "fear is stronger than arms"? He was indeed correct.
Fear, the most potent weapon that mankind has ever developed in its sick, brilliant mind. More lethal than 100 000 atomic bombs, more contagious than the flu, and as incurable as cancer.
Yet though its existence has outlived empires, dynasties, gods, it is treated as a pariah, a sickness. A disease.
Why cannot humanity embrace its greatest achievement? Because we've been conditioned to hate it. Foolish things by misguided men in power, like Roosevelt, who have stated "the only thing to fear is fear itself", have led us as a species astray. Why can we not learn to love and cherish our very genius?
The City, it understands. It pumps fear like its blood. And I sink my fangs into it, like a vampire, and lap at the intoxicating taste as though its fine wine. Its energy fills every fiber of my being, and in the transcendent experience, I become a God.
I came to the City with high hopes. Here was my breeding ground. With my knowledge, I could teach the deceived youth. I could make them progeny. We could be Masters of Fear. Together.
But those….infidels in charge of the university, they deemed me unworthy. In truth, they were afraid of me. They had let fear become their Master, when it should be the other way around.
I decided to personify fear, to show people that it could indeed be conquered and used for our own progress. I was trying to help people, by showing them that there was a way to overcome fear. But no, the imbecilic population took me as some sort of terrorist, some renegade freak. Something like the Bat.
Ah, Batman, the delusional villain of our little passion play. A man who realizes the power of fear, much like myself, but has corrupted it, abused it to meet his own personal gains. Like many a good piece of literature, the hero and the villain are two idealistically similar people, split by personal differences.
As the hero, I have a moral obligation to vanquish my enemy. I shall kill the Bat, who has taken the City's wealth of fear, and tainted it so.
I shall show the world what it is like to truly master ones fears.
As I sit here, thinking about how I shall destroy the Dark Knight, how I will watch the life drain from my eyes, something comes over me. A familiar old sensation. One that, in all these years, has never quite lost its grip on me.
Fear.
Kim groaned and rolled gracelessly out of bed as her alarm clock continued to scream like an obnoxiously loud klaxon. She could adapt to lots of things, such as going from the Amazon rainforests to the Arctic tundra in a matter of hours, but getting up this early in the morning was still a challenge.
Grumbling as she fumbled for clothes and a towel, her eyes adjusted to the room. Faint sunshine poured through the curtained windows, and lit up everything in the lightly-hued room. Well, everything except the gloomy bulletin board that still hung over her bed.
Some people would think it a bit morbid to keep such a strange journal hanging over one's place of sleeping, but it was those same people who never learned the true wisdom behind the adage "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."
The events of last week were still fresh in her mind. Her showdown in the bank between the crazed mob boss Scarface and his gang, and the confrontation with Batman was still as vivid as it had been since it transpired.
Maybe I was wrong about him after all, she thought to herself as she trudged down the corridor to the co-ed showers. Chloe was right, Gotham was different from Middleton. The danger posed here was much more prominent. Any city where a puppet controlled of one of the most dangerous streets gangs in America definitely had its problems.
No, I wasn't. He's a menace, just like the rest of the freaks he fights. He just doesn't get arrested because he's got half the cops in Gotham, the world-saver rationalized as she set the water to the right temperature and stepped into the shower.
His brand of "justice" is not only completely detrimental to society, but it's downright psychotic! Kim worked the peach-scented shampoo into her hair and continued her mental rant.
This kind of vigilantism will only breed more violence in future generations! Children need someone as a role model. It cannot possibly someone like Batman!
Pulling on her lavender t-shirt and matching jeans, that irritating voice in the back of her head once again stated its opinion.
He can't be completely soulless. He did take a bullet for you.
He was showing off, the enraged part of her mind countered, besides, you heard him, the gun was antique. It probably wouldn't have been able to break the skin.
Spitting the strong-tasting peppermint toothpaste into the sink, she ambled back towards her dorm. As she turned to the door, she very nearly avoided a full-on collision with her roommate.
"You're just getting back?" Chloe inquired, books already in hand, "I thought you were already in class! You'd better hurry, we've got like, ten minutes to psych class, and then we've got a physics test right after!"
Kim sighed as her friend brushed past her in a half-walk, half-run to class. This was going to be a long day.
Collecting her books for the first half of the day, she once again pondered on the fact that she and Chloe were in all of the same classes. It was odd, especially considering all of the courses offered at Gotham University. Chloe had told her that she was a fan of Kim, but by taking all the same classes was bordering into the "creepy-stalker" category.
The auburn-haired woman shook her head. It was simply a coincidence. All this concern over Batman had made her paranoid.
Racing out of the dorm, she crossed the bright, jade grass that was properly manicured by the maintenance crew. The campus was a sprawling series of complexes that covered everything in sight. It had taken Kim three days to find out where exactly to go.
Wasting no time to take in the beautiful scenery that the outdoors had to offer on the cool pre-autumn day, she jogged down the drab grey pavement walkway, the steps leading into the Cavendish Wing for Social Sciences drawing ever closer. So preoccupied with this temporary goal, she didn't even notice the man walking towards the door at the same time. The two impacted at the landing.
Kim, rising from the ground and rubbing her hand gently across her hurt back, offered other hand out to help up the man she ran into.
"I'm so sorry," she said earnestly, "are you alright?"
"Quite fine," a soft but uptight voice sneered as he batted Kim's hand away, "no thanks to you."
Lifting himself up off the ground, Kim got a look at the rude man. He was frighteningly tall, standing close to seven feet. In addition, he was unnaturally skinny, looking as though he hadn't been fed in four years. His dark brown hair was poorly cut and hung limply on his head. Thick-rimmed spectacles hung precariously on the bridge of his nose. He wore a tweed jacket and a burgundy vest underneath. In his left hand he clutched a shabby-looking briefcase.
"Sorry," Kim stated again.
"You're Kim Possible, are you not?" The man asked.
"Yes, I am." Kim flashed him an innocent smile.
"Well, I would expect better manners out of a self-proclaimed 'super-hero'."
Turning sharply on his heel, he stepped through the door, and marched off.
The smile disappeared from her face, and she stood there, momentarily shocked by what had just happened.
What a stuffy jerk! Kim thought as she collected the books that had been scattered across the ground. He must be one of the Ancient History professors.
Kim stepped through the door, and wound her way down the halls until the got to the door for her psychology class.
The heads of her classmates simultaneously turned to look at her.
Oh great, I'm late too. Oh well, at least Professor Nicholls is nice.
Looking to the front, she saw something that only served to make her day worse.
The gaunt, odious man glared from behind his glasses, and tapped his bony fingers in an awkward rhythm against the desk.
"My my Ms. Possible, we are not off to a very good start today, are we?"
She opened her mouth to apologize for the third time that day, but was cut off by an irritated wave of the hand, "no need to waste any more of my time with insincere apologies. Take your seat, please."
Kim, cheeked blushing furiously in embarrassment, hurriedly walked over to her desk, slumping down beside Chloe.
"You know this creep?" The brunette whispered to her.
"I bumped into him—literally—outside a few minutes ago. He's not the most forgiving of people."
"My name," the lanky man stated sharply, cutting off all hushed conversations in the room, "is Professor Van Brunt. I will be filling in for Professor Nicholls who is currently on leave. One thing I will not tolerate in this room is speaking out of turn. You are to show me proper respect. Is that understood?" His eyes narrowed to slits behind his spectacles, zeroing in on Kim and Chloe.
"Good," He finished."And now, for today's lecture. We will be discussing one of the most fascinating aspects of psychology," he paused slightly for dramatic effect. "Fear.
"We all fear something, whether or not we'd like to admit it. Deep down inside of each and every one of us is something that we dread. Confronting and conquering fears is something that is rooted in psychology's foundations."
Noticing the apathetic look on the faces of his students, his lip curled into a sneer. "I hope I am not boring you people. Hmph, perhaps a demonstration is in order."
He tented his freakishly long fingers, and then spoke again. "Ms. Possible, why don't you tell us what it is that frightens you."
"The only thing I have a fear of is being late for classes," she smiled slightly at the tightly-wound man.
A few chuckles were emitted by some students, quickly suppressed by Professor Van Brunt.
"If you did not want to participate in this exercise, Ms. Possible, all you had to do was say so. Now, is there someone who can answer this question seriously…?"
Kim sighed with relief as the class ended, and the students rose.
Professor Van Brunt's lesson had consisted of divulging into everyone's fears. Not much else was taught. It seemed as though the man had some strange obsession with them.
"Oh Ms. Possible," he called out as everyone gathered their books, "I would like to speak with you."
"Don't worry Kim," Chloe whispered, "I'll cover for you."
The gangly psychologist waited until every last student had filed out of the classroom, and then shut the door.
"Now, Ms. Possible, I think that your display in class today was disrespectful to my teaching methods, and disrupted the flow of the lesson."
"Sorry," Kim said halfheartedly.
"I've told you before, Ms. Possible, I am not interested in your apologies. What I want is an answer to my question."
Kim fidgeted uncomfortable in her small desk. This man was really starting to disturb her, "I uh…I think that's a personal thing."
"Hmm, I expected such an answer. Oh well, it looks like I will just have to retrieve it the hard way."
Van Brunt stepped behind his desk, and opened his suitcase. Casually, he laid a revolver on the desk before going back to rummaging through the leather package. As he did so, a stack of papers at the edge of the bureau suddenly toppled to the ground.
"Oh my," he muttered, bending down behind the table to retrieve them.
Kim wasted no time. This man was clearly insane, and she had to get out of there as fast as she could. Leaping up from her desk, she dashed towards the door. After a few frantic twists of the handle, she found it to be locked.
"It is futile to persist, Ms. Possible," Van Brunt's disturbingly soft voice whispered as she turned around to face him.
She let out an audible gasp of fright as she beheld what the tall man had turned into.
His faded suit lay on the ground. In place of it was a baggy shirt and equally loose burlap pants, held up by a frayed bit of rope. Gray gloves covered his hands, and bits of straw stuck out of his cuffs. Where his face once was a garish, haunting mask took its place. Eyeholes had been crudely cut into it, and the mouth had been sewn up. A large hat covered his head. Taking on the appearance of a scarecrow, he looked truly terrifying.
As she gazed at this monstrosity, something in Kim's mind clicked. Something she had read in one of the old newspapers about her obsession. This man was not named 'Van Brunt.' It was Jonathan Crane. Insane psychologist who dressed up as a scarecrow and frightened people to death.
"Y-you," she stammered, the fear beginning to grip even her, "Dr. C-crane."
"Quite perceptive, Ms. Possible," he spoke with ragged breath, only making him appear even more frightening. "Ah, I can hear the worry, the uncertainty, the fear in your voice. It's like a symphony to me. You see, fear is my…obsession, if you will. And right now, I want to hear you scream its praises."
In one fluid motion, Crane reached into his suitcase, retrieving a skull the size of his hand. Pressing a button on the back of it, green gas fired out of the eye sockets, surrounding Kim and causing her to cough uncontrollably as the substance filled her lungs.
"What you have just inhaled, my dear, is fear toxin, a specialty of mine. I could explain to you the exact biological properties of it, but I doubt your infantile mind could comprehend it. Let's just say that, in the end, your worst, most terrifying fear will be revealed to me. And I we'll savor it together, before I kill you."
The red-haired woman's eyes watered from the toxic substance, and her vision began to go dark.
"Ah, 'Fear always springs from ignorance,' as Emerson so richly stated," Scarecrow quoted as he watched the spectacle before him.
"Crane!" a booming voice shouted, causing the deranged professor to turn to his side to face the new threat.
"Batman. I didn't expect you so early in the morning."
"Let the girl go, you want me." The Dark Knight stated as he emerged from the shadow of the room.
"You are incorrect in your presumption, you simpleton. The girl is what I came for, but taking on the both of you will be even more pleasurable. Taste your fear, Batman."
Jonathan Crane pressed the button on his skull weapon again, only then to notice that, in the time he had been talking to Batman, the vigilante had hurled one of his Batarangs into the device. It exploded in a shower of shrapnel as the damaged jet propellers pumped the toxin.
Kim gasped in panic as she gazed at the two demons. One, a straw man with a face mutilated by unspeakable tortures, gasped and hacked as he was surrounded by a noxious cloud.
The other was far more terrifying.
Cloaked in perpetual shadows, his garish wings stretched from floor to ceiling, demon looked like it had escaped from hell. Massive horns gleamed with malicious shine as they hung from his head. Its eyes were white portals of oblivion. The Bat-demon turned to stare at her for a moment, paralyzing her to the very core.
The insane doctor cackled as the fear gas dissipated around him. "An admirable attempt, Bat, but it was all for naught. I have grown immune to my toxin."
"It's over Crane," the Dark Knight commanded as he drew two more projectiles from his belt, "you're going back to Arkham, now."
"Spare me the dramatics, pretender!" Scarecrow howled, "How many times do you think we've been in this same situation? I've come prepared this time."
The lightning speed of the gangly psychologist was something Batman still hadn't gotten used to. Before he had even halved the distance between them, Jonathan Crane had picked up his revolver, aiming right for his head.
"This time, I'm not going to miss."
Kim tried to scream as the horrific images flooded her, overwhelming all of her senses. The feral screeching of the Bat-demon and the ear-shattering cackles of the straw man assaulted her ears while the ghastly sight of the hellspawn caused her to shut her eyes in a vain attempt to make the nightmare disappear.
All sound evaporated, and all she could hear now was the nerve-wracking silence of the whole affair, its inaudible voice beckoning her to open her eyes. Without thinking, she did so.
Staring on in horror, she watched as the monster in the straw hat raise his gun, his gothic mask shifting as his pasty faced smiled underneath.
The gun roared in satisfaction as it dislodged the projectile from its barrel, streaking through the air, its target unable to maneuver.
As the toxin gripped Kim, she watched with muted horror. The Bat-demon was no longer on the other side of the barrel. Standing in its place, his face stoic with terror, was a blond young man.
"Ron!" Kim howled. Lost in the reality of the situation, she did the first thing that came to her mind.
Leaping forward, she threw herself at her petrified best friend, hoping to be fast enough to outrace the bullet.
Stupid. Stupid old man. He cursed himself. He let his ego get the best of him. Crane may be an utter lunatic, but he was still a threat.
He watched as his body drew closer to that of the madman in the straw outfit, and watched as the hammer slammed forward, the recoil causing Crane to take a step back, and sending a bullet straight for him.
This was not going well.
Fractions of a second later, that thought was pushed from his head as something heavy slammed into his side. The Bat was shoved to the side involuntarily, the bullet whizzing by his head, severing the right cowl ear as it traveled above him.
As he came to a stop, he looked to see what had saved him. On the ground, curled into a ball, the toxin still in effect, was Kim Possible. She, the cheerleader, had saved his life.
There was no time to ponder this. The Scarecrow had to be stopped.
Like a primal animal, he hurled himself forward, putting himself mere inches from the psychotic psychologist.
His tactics already planned out, he threw a fierce roundhouse, connecting with Crane's midsection, hurling him backwards against the blackboard. With a whimper, the professor collapsed to the ground.
That didn't stop the Dark Knight.
Stepping forward he towered over the wiry criminal. His iron hand reached down, gripping Jonathan Crane by the neck, and hoisting him back into a standing position.
"That's two of your ribs broken, Crane. Don't make me snap anymore."
"Y-you d-d-don't sc-scare me, B-b-at!" The man stuttered, staring into the narrowed white eyes that burned with hate.
The gloved hand of Batman reached up, closing around the ragged mask, tearing it off with one ferocious yank.
Crane's beady brown eyes widened as his face was stripped away. Perspiration rolled down his pale cheeks, and his black hair was matted to his head.
"You're pathetic." The Bat hissed, the timbre of his voice like a tank rumbling over asphalt. Clasping at his baggy collar, he hurled the crazed man to the ground.
The grimace on the face of the Bat did not disappear, even with the defeat of Jonathan Crane. He nearly died right there, because of a stupid mistake.
I don't make mistakes like that.
It was the cheerleader, Possible. He was too busy worrying about whether or not she'd get killed to even protect himself. He growled in frustration.
Walking over to the girl, he retrieved a small syringe from his yellow utility belt, injecting it into the redhead.
The antidote won't kick in for a few hours. In the meantime, she's going to have to deal with her darkest fears.
The Bat rose back to his full stature. He would deal with Possible later. The police sirens were already drawing close.
Returning to the window, ready to slip back off to the Cave, he could hear the shaky, panic-stricken voice of Jonathan Crane warble out into the silent room.
"Mommy…..I'm scared…."
Kim continued to shake involuntarily in the hospital bed as the doctors and nurses filed out of the room.
The fear gas she had been exposed to had been quickly neutralized, and there would be no long-lasting effects, the doctors assured her.
Sure, except for years of traumatic nightmares, she thought bitterly.
Kim still couldn't get that one hallucination out of her head. Laughing insanely, the crazed Scarecrow picked up his gun and shot Ron. Kim tried to run forward, to save her friend, only to find that she could not move. All she could do was stare on in absolute terror as the bullet perforated his body, exiting with a fresh coat of red paint. Suddenly, she could move, but it was too late. Ron convulsed on the ground, and then stopped moving entirely. The cackling of the madman gave way to the ear-splitting silence, interrupted only briefly by the choked sobs of a broken girl.
The green-eyed girl shook her head sharply, and pushed the horrible thought from her head. Her body tensed up, and she felt a shiver go through her.
Rage boiled in her system as she thought about that sicko pervert Dr. Crane. She would've gladly pounded his smug face into the pavement, but someone had spared her the trouble. From what she had been able to pick up on her way to the hospital, the self-styled Master of Fear was on his way to Arkham Asylum's infirmary with multiple fractures and a possible concussion.
It was the Bat. That hellish monster that showed up every time she was in peril in this miserable City.
Did he have nothing better to do? Was he some creepy stalker?
Or was he someone who was trying to protect his city, and was it her that was getting in the way?
All her thoughts were interrupted as someone new walked into the room. His blond hair was the first thing she noticed, followed quickly by his concerned chestnut eyes, and then the rest of his skinny body.
"Ron," she breathed.
"I came as quickly as I heard," he explained rapidly. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. That freak sprayed me with some drug that made me see some pretty terrible things, but I'll be fine."
Staring into her best friend's eyes, she still couldn't shake that one image. Ron lying in a pool of his own blood, dying slowly as she collapsed beside him. Unable to do anything but break down and cry.
"Ron," she croaked out as tears welled up in her arms, "could you do me one favor?"
"Anything KP," he said.
"Hold me."
The Cave.
An underground cavern, filled to the brim with jagged stalactites and precarious cliffs. Bats wings fluttered overhead, and screeches echoed off the unseen ceiling. Any sane man who entered would be driven to madness.
He felt right at home.
"A new style, sir?" Alfred sarcastically inquired at the one-eared cowl.
"Not now, Alfred."
Reaching up, he pulled off his damaged face, letting float to the ground. Taking a gloved hand, he rubbed it through the finely-cropped black hair that sat atop the perfect mask he had taken years to cultivate.
He walked over to the padded chair that sat in front of the gargantuan computer in one of the many corners of the cavern. Bruce Wayne exhaustedly collapsed into it.
With a few quick strokes of keys on the panel in front of him, a ten-foot tall image of a pretty lady with short red hair and glasses appeared onscreen. A headset was upon her head, with a microphone at her mouth, and she was typing furiously into a keyboard.
"Oracle, Scarecrow's been taken care of?"
"Already?" The woman asked, surprised, "Bruce, aren't you compromising your safety by going out in the daytime?"
The man glowered at the screen. "My safety isn't as important as those of Gotham. I will not sit idly by and allow a madman like Jonathan Crane to run freely around this city."
"Yeah, well you won't have to worry about our straw friend doing much running in the near future. I just hacked into the Arkham physician's report; you broke three of his ribs and gave him a concussion. He's going to be in the hospital for a long time."
"Where he belongs," The Bat finished.
"Bruce, these last few months, your actions have become more….aggressive."
"I'm tired of this routine I've got myself into, Oracle. I'm sick of waking up every morning to hear the Scarecrow, or the Joker, or any other criminal, is on the loose and killing again. I'm sick of it. If I have to break bones to get the job done, so be it."
"Bruce, don't you see the connection between here and what….happened a few months ago? With Tim?"
"Tim is a strong boy, he can handle himself."
"Don't get like this, Bruce," Barbara Gordon shouted, "don't act this way. Tim lost his father. He's all alone now. Don't shut him out. You were there for me after what happened with the Joker. You have to be there for him now."
The ex-Batgirl who now worked as his intelligence gatherer watched as the man's broad shoulders heaved and he sunk low into his chair. When he raised his head again to look at the screen, she could see that he was no longer Batman. He was Bruce Wayne. It could be plainly seen on his tired face.
"I can't Barbara. It isn't like the old days. The City is a different place now. I'm Batman. I can't afford to be weak."
"Please Bruce," Oracle softly implored, "just call him."
He sighed deeply. "I'm scared Barbara. I'm scared of losing him."
The man in the trench coat fidgeted nervously as he entered the room. Fumbling with a cigarette, he took a seat opposite the broad desk where his boss sat.
"Uh sir," he nervously reported, "I'm sorry to say that the Batman showed up earlier than we had planned. He uhh…..apprehended our operative the Scarecrow before he was able to ummm…..neutralize his target, Kim Possible."
"I am aware of this," the boss spoke neutrally, "and it's unfortunate that we have lost Dr. Crane so early in the game. He was a useful ally. But this move wasn't an entire waste."
"Sir?" the trench-coated man inquired.
With a finger sticking out to touch a button on the desk, the television screens in the room suddenly kicked to life. A grainy, black-and-white picture began to form. On it, a young girl was kneeling on the floor, the vision of her obscured by a cloud that formed around her. Standing across the room was a lanky man in a straw suit, laughing and brandishing a pistol. Coming towards him was a figure in a black cape.
The straw man fired off a bullet at the black-caped man.
"Ron!" A young girl's voice screeched through the speakers as she threw herself towards the Bat.
The tape suddenly stopped, and the feed was repeated. The same horrifying cry came through the speakers again. This happened one final time before the boss interrupted the loop by pressing another button, stopping the tape entirely.
His chair groaned as the boss leaned back leisurely.
"We now know Kim Possible's greatest fear."
End Author's Notes: Well, there you have it. Once again, tad long to write, but what can I say? I'm a lazy man.
Just a quick note, the name of the psychology wing of the school, the Cavendish Wing, is named after Doctor Charles Cavendish, the insane head of Arkham Asylum in the (fantastic) graphic novel "Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth." It is a little morbid to name a university wing after a crazy man, but it is Gotham City after all.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Always pleasant to read what you have to say.
