AN: Nomophobia, the fear of being out of mobile phone contact. Yes, really. I think my friend has it. It amuses me. For once, you and I are in agreement. I want so desperately to take my friend's phone. You are learning. At last.
SwordStitcher-I suspect he was hired out of desperation. Arkham doctors have a trend of either becoming like Harleen Quinzel and myself, or of ending up dead or mentally destroyed. Either way, they don't last long.
Jasmine Scarthing-Not even. I was bored and he was available. I have to practice on somebody, after all. Otherwise I might 'lose my touch', and that would be most unfortunate indeed.
It started out as a run-of-the-mill experiment. Tie the unfortunate lab rat to the chair, take his initial vital signs (keeping in mind that he were already frightened, of course), and pick one: injection, or inhalation?
Today was injection. It may have taken a little longer to start working-only a minute or two-but it always produced such a strong reaction.
Normally, of course, the Scarecrow would have been drinking in the shrieks while Jonathan made little notes about what the subject was seeing, taking his vitals again, et. cetera.
But not today.
Today, they had run across a much-mocked, surely-not-real fear.
Nomophobia.
The fear of being out of mobile phone contact.
"Give it back!"
Really?
People disgust me.
This is hilarious and pathetic.
Mostly pathetic.
"I need it! What if my mom calls?"
Both sides gave into the need to facepalm.
I can't study this.
His screams are annoying.
A conclusion was reached. They'd found a dud.
Kill him.
Fine.
Scarecrow dug out a scalpel and yanked the lab rat's head back. One quick SLICE! and a spatter of blood later, the screams were silenced.
We did him a favor. We cured his fear.
Indeed.
Jonathan cleaned his scalpel, put it back, and made a few more notes before heading towards the stairs. He'd get the men to clean this up-what was he paying them for, after all?
Nomophobia, indeed. Humph.
THE END