Following a Trail of Fear

It was nagging at him. Even as night was beginning to lose the darkness that enveloped it, giving rise to the first rays of dawn, it never left his mind.

These monstrous constructs were a result of fear, a response to terror. It was a puzzle piece that Batman was having to fit into the larger puzzle.

Of the pieces that he had, each subsequent night had produced more monsters and larger ones too. Was that a sign of Raven's fear becoming greater? Was it a sign of something else? If it was a sign of the degree of fear Raven felt, then he shuddered to think of how terrified she was.

However, there was at least one consistency present and it was the time each of these attacks occurred. It was always at night. Unless Raven was afraid of the dark—something he rather doubted considering the form her powers took—then she was purposefully being terrorized at a certain time.

Fear was an instinct, a baser emotion. No one person could just make themselves afraid on demand.

But an external source could.

Coupled with Cyborg's intel that Raven's powers seemed to be coming from the northwest part of the city, Batman found himself leaving the city limits in that direction. The criteria he was working on was that a person in this part of the city was exposing Raven to things she was afraid of.

There was one person he could think of that could and would frighten a teenage girl despite the powers she had at her disposal.

This person was also in a place northwest of the city.

It wasn't that long ago that he had been in Arkham, seeking out information out of Hugo Strange. Now, he had another person in mind. It wasn't long before he was in the maximum security wing, the corridor of plexiglass windows lining either side of the hall. The vigilante didn't go nearly as far, coming to a stop in front of a cell, where a thin man was resting on his bed.

If there was anyone that desired the fermentation of fear and invoking it in others, it was Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Entering the cell, the unlocking of the door's lock got the thin man's attention. Instantly, Crane stiffened at the sight of the Dark Knight, a response he usually had whenever the two of them encountered each other. Closing the door behind him, Batman glared at the fallen university professor. "Crane," he growled.

Crane scowled back at him, pulling his legs out from underneath the bed covers so that he could dangle them over the side of his bed. "To what do I owe the misfortune of this visit, Batman," he grumbled.

Before he responded, Batman eyed the man. The patient clothes offered by the asylum seemed to hang off of his body. Crane was already a thin man, but he seemed thinner. Was this the result of the hunger strike he had heard of?

"What are you up to?" the dark-clad man finally questioned.

"I'm trying to sleep. I didn't realize that was a punishable offense," the straw-haired man shot back.

He took a step closer to Crane, and then another. "Two weeks ago, a girl on the West Coast was kidnapped and brought to Gotham. Every night since, she has been subjected to fear-inducing stimuli. It sounds like something you would have a hand in."

Crane raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes, you've caught me. I'm the mastermind you are after. I arranged the kidnapping and have been performing a number of experiments on fear on her. All of this I've done from this dingy little cell, locked away from the rest of the world, no contact whatsoever. You are truly…what is it they call you? Ah, yes, you are truly the World's Greatest Detective."

Batman ignored the sarcasm and mocking tone. "This has your fingerprints all over it. Who else would want to make a meta experience fear that creates nightmarish monsters?"

Crane stared at him. "I see. I must admit that is something I would do. The problem is that I am locked away in here. You also know that I like to see what my experiments have wrought. What is the point of performing an experiment if I cannot view the results? It is like asking the philosophical question of a tree falling in a forest."

"They can be recorded."

"For further study and review, certainly. But you know me better than that. I want to see the fear, in person, nothing to dampen it."

That was a point in the man's favor. However, Crane was rather loquacious tonight. Oh, the professor could certainly talk about his research to anyone that cared to hear him out and at great length; the issue was that he was a man of fewer words when it came to everything else.

By then, he was standing in front of the thin man. Shooting a hand out, he grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him up, forcing him to stand. Perhaps stand wasn't accurate. While Crane kept his feet on the floor, it was only the tips of his toes. He felt so light, Batman was almost surprised he didn't throw the man up into the ceiling.

"I know you have something to do with this," the vigilante growled. "And one way or the other, I will prove it."

"The cameras!" Crane cried out. "Check the damn cameras, you lunatic! They'll prove me innocent!"

Batman glanced to a corner of the room, spotting the black dome that hung from the ceiling. He then returned his attention back to Crane.

"I haven't left my cell, not once!" he continued to protest. "So don't you dare electrocute me! Not again!"

With a light shove, he tossed Crane back onto his bed, where he bounced off of the mattress once before landing back on it. Backing away, Batman opened the cell door and exited, closing it behind him. Once it was locked back into place, he then pulled out his palm pilot, opening a program that hacked him into Arkham's security feeds. He searched for the one on Crane's cell and accessed it. There was perhaps a few seconds delay, but the footage showed him exiting the cell.

Pausing it, he then put it on rewind, increasing the speed. He watched himself enter the cell and talk to Crane. Then it showed the man laying in bed, tossing and turning every so often. Most of Crane's time seemed spent laying in his bed, only getting up to use his toilet every so often. There were other times he either sat in a rocking chair, or at his desk, reading a book. Day after day for a week, this was all he saw, even at the fastest rewind speed he could get.

"Well?" Crane asked from his cell. "Have I lied?"

Batman turned his head and glared at the man from over his shoulder. "I'll be back, Crane. And if I find that you are involved in all this, I promise you that I won't be happy."

There was something about the quiet that was reassuring. That you could hear it was in and of itself comforting. It meant that you had once again survived what the city had thrown at you.

It was different from silence. Silence meant there was something else out there, waiting for you. You let your guard down, that's when it would strike. If you were lucky, you survived. If not, it was nice knowing you.

Selina debated on whether this lull was quiet or silence. Hope dared to suggest that it was over, the quiet covering up the horrors of the night. Her gut told her that the worst was yet to come. Long, hard experience told her to trust her gut.

"So what's the damage?" the rising kingpin asked, gazing out into the city from the balcony. The smell of smoke made it all the way up here. Something had caught on fire and it had been close by.

"For the most part, we came out relatively unscathed," spoke Chris. The consigliere didn't seem to be in the mood to pretend that he was putting up with anything tonight. Even the normally stoic lawyer was capable enough to realize that what was going on went beyond any of them. "Some small business we've been offering protection to suffered some damages, but nothing that can't be repaired."

The protection rackets. Small chump change there, she had learned. None of the bigger operations and more importantly nothing that had threatened the progress of the power plant. Small mercies there. Everything could continue apace then.

Still…

"Help out with those repairs," she remarked idly as a finger scratched the top of Isis' head. The black cat leaned into those fingers, desiring more attention and purring loudly to give her approval.

"I'm sorry, excuse me?" Chris must be losing his hearing.

"We offered them protection, did me not?" Selina mused out loud. "We didn't protect them, did we? There's no sense in rocking the boat over spare change. Throw some cash at them and they will remember and be more willing to pay their fees, yes? Consider this a more ethical form of insurance. We keep our word, others pay attention, and then they want to get in. You can't put too high a price on safety, right?"

"We aren't an insurance company, but I will send out the word," the Calabrese's party pooper drolled out. He might not like the idea, but the possibility of expanding any kind of operation did appeal to him. That, and knowing about it so that a proper legal defense could be planned out in case it went south.

Turning away from Gotham and stepping back into the penthouse, Selina took in the rest of her inner circle. Antonia was on guard as always. Nick looked like he was there to have a good time. Well, this was still business, and it had to be maintained.

"Antonia, be a dear and find out how the boys on the front lines are doing. If they're spooked, let them know to lie low until this heat wears off. Somebody is pulling something big, and I got a feeling we haven't seen anything yet," Selina remarked, passing by her cousin.

Nick gave a whistle. "So big and scary monsters aren't big enough? We looking at Godzilla next?" her younger cousin teased while balancing on the rear legs of the chair he was sitting in.

"In this crazy world, I wouldn't put it past anyone for a big reptile that isn't in Blackgate," she drawled. "Nick, what's the status on the plant? Any interruptions with construction? Building materials?"

"You know how it is. Clocked out before sunset," Nick replied. "The place is secure and out in the boonies. All I've heard is that the real mess is in the city limits."

Some small mercy there. The last thing she wanted was the real objective to be delayed.

At first there had been rumors of something unnatural sneaking around the back alleys. Then there were more tales of seeing monsters coming out of the woodwork. Tonight, it was big enough that no one was paying attention to a gaggle of wannabe killer clowns anymore. A bigger fish tended to have that kind of effect.

Bigger fish… Now how big were they talking about and who were they? Who was responsible for this latest upheaval? If anything, that was indeed a sign for any organized crime outfits to batten down the hatches. A storm was coming and the windows needed to be boarded up.

"For the time being, let's turn our attention inward and make sure we're ready for whatever comes tomorrow," Selina instructed, holding Isis close to her chest and no longer scratching the feline. Isis looked up at her, wondering why she wasn't receiving any more scratches. "Make sure we have everything on lock down. Any deals we have, postpone them and cite the typical Gotham crazy needs to run its course. Anyone who objects, treat them to a night at Atlantic City or something, anything to keep them entertained while they wait."

"That should be doable," Chris said. Glad to see he was on board. It meant there would be less objections from Antonia, if there were any to be had in the first place.

"I wouldn't mind handling the high rollers," Nick mused.

"Sorry, no gambling on the job. Yours is to make sure nothing gets to the plant. A delay now is the last thing we need," the dark-haired kingpin admonished.

"Ruining my fun," Nick said in jest.

"And while we have this lull, perhaps it would be better for you to find new investors," Chris advised. "We'll need the capital, especially if we want to speed up the construction. I can find more crews, turn this into a day and night job, one that does not end with the setting of the sun."

Not a bad idea. You could only do so much work during the day. Those with experience could continue at night and shorten how long it would take to finish. That was going to cost money, though, and so the need for more investors. Investors like Bruce Wayne and the like. She was going to need to get back in touch and make sure she had something definitive.

It would be worth it, she told herself. To pull off the biggest heist of her life, and to humiliate Max Shreck would make all of this worth it. She was close, so very close.

Were you watching, Lola? Were you pulling whatever strings you could to make this happen? If so, keep up the good work. The Shreck Legacy would be a prize worthy of making up for what he did to you.

In the meantime, this latest silence would require all the caution a thief like her had learned over one too many years. Then it was to wait until it too was broken.

The only light source in the room was from a dim night line built into the wall, and a television. The television was on one of those music channels, the one with the banner on the bottom of the screen that told you the name of the song, who played it, and what album it was off of. There were little "Did You Know?" facts on the screen as well, changing out every thirty seconds or so.

Currently, some soft, relaxing music was being played, which was the point. In the hospital room was Colin, the boy twitching every so often in the bed. His face was twisted with discomfort, whether it was from a possible nightmare he was experiencing, or his body was going through the Venom withdrawal process.

Soft restraints were wrapped around the boy's wrists and ankles. These were more to protect Colin from harming himself. The nursing staff would come in every hour or so, check to make certain the restraints weren't cutting off circulation, and every so often would push a medication into his IV line. Names like Lorazapam and Haloperidol would appear on the computer that hung from the wall when the nurses scanned the medication.

Huntress watched all of this from outside the hospital window. She had watched ever since Colin had arrived, his body thrashing. The hospital staff had to wrestle him down until they were able to give him some kind of sedative, which is what she assumed they were still giving him. In a way, they were purposefully knocking the boy out, but she honestly couldn't blame them. People had gotten hurt from Colin's flailing.

This troubled sleep was honestly the best case situation here.

Of course, the purple-clad woman couldn't just keep her attention on the troubled, abused boy. No, she had another one who was sulking next to her on the ledge they stood on. Well, she was crouched on it, Batman's son was sitting on it, his legs dangling over the ledge. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared out into the city.

"This is a waste of time," the spoiled brat grumbled. "We should be out there."

"It's only a waste of time if you let it be," Huntress countered. "We're right where we need to be."

"Watching some kid get manhandled by doctors and nurses? We could be fighting those monsters that are appearing. We should be doing that!"

Huntress turned her head and gave the boy a look. "And how would you beat them? Oh, right, you have to rely on Daddy Bat for that."

"That's because he has removed my arsenal! I could—"

"Cut that crap," she interrupted. "I've fought these things too. These are not your run-of-the-mill monsters. They're something else and the only ones that seem to have any luck are people with some crazy weapons. Katana and her sword, for instance. You don't have a sword like hers, so all you would be is a statistic in the death count."

The boy glared at her. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

"You're right, I don't, but do you see me shaking in my boots? If you and I were to go head to head, I'd beat you ten out of ten times, easily even. I've got reach on you, and I've got combat experience on you."

"All I need is the element of surprise," he scoffed back.

"You and every gang banger in the city. Many have tried, all have failed." Huntress looked back into the window. "Besides, there are other things just as important, if not more so, than fighting people."

"And what, pray tell, would those be?"

"For one, the victims." The dark-haired woman nodded towards the window. "There's one right here, fighting through the worst of the abuse he faced tonight. He's just beginning the road to recovery, and that's assuming he does recover from this. He could just as easily go catatonic from what he's been through. We're here to make certain he's able to start after he was kidnapped from this very place barely a day ago."

"He's in capable hands. There's nothing we can do to help here."

"You think Batman only ever patrols and fights criminals? Unlike you, I spent time on patrol with him. I can't tell you the number of times he would follow a woman to her home to make certain she wasn't attacked. How he kept an eye on homeless shelters until they were locked up for the night. How he watched a stranded motorist until a tow truck came for them, even in the worst neighborhoods in the city. These don't get reported because nothing happened, which is good.

"Hell, one time, I remember watching this family. It was the parents and this little girl. They were leaving a movie theater; it was late, later than they should have been. The little girl spotted him and waved at him so enthusiastically. Batman actually waved back. I saw that girl light up and babble to her parents, who looked up and saw him. You never saw such relief from them to know they had him watching over them, a dark guardian angel."

She tore her eyes from the window and looked back at the boy. "If you're doing this because Daddy Bat is, or to prove how tough you are, or even because you think it's cool, you're doing this for the wrong reasons, and I suggest you stop. You're just going to get yourself hurt, and worse, you'll get others hurt. Really think about it."

The brat just snorted before he pulled his legs up so that he could stand on the ledge. He maneuvered himself so that he was looking into the window of the room next to Colin's. That was just as well; Huntress had the feeling words wouldn't reach the boy. He was too consumed by his own injured ego, something else that he could do away with. He was the new kid on the block, and if he wasn't careful, he'd end up like the last one they had, with a crowbar to his head.

And it probably wouldn't be the result of a deranged clown either.

Suddenly, the boy hissed. Jerking her head towards him, she saw a look of anger on his face. "What is it?" she asked.

He didn't answer her, which made her roll her eyes. Standing up, she turned so that she could walk to the window, peering into it above the boy's head. Inside was a room just like Colin's except it was flipped flopped. Everything was a mirror image in placement throughout the room. There didn't seem to be anything wrong though.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong, or are you just wasting my time," Huntress demanded.

"The television," he spat back.

Eyes glanced towards the television, she saw it was on some program, you know, one of those celebrity gossip shows. In this case, there was an image of Bruce Wayne with some woman.

Hmph, the guy was barely a couple weeks out of prison and he was already making the news with some pretty woman. She couldn't blame him considering women were in short supply in Blackgate.

Though, why did the boy even care?

Minutes had passed ever so slowly, and Johnathon Crane remained laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling blankly. His room, more like a cell, had remained ever so dark, but his eyes had adjusted to it long ago, even after his late night visitor had left.

His breathing was steady, slow, and his body remained limp. It was as if he was waiting for a return, for that man in black to come storming in and demanding more answers. His eyes flickered over to the far end of this room, where a camera was set up. It was a small black dome, one that hid the actual camera and shielded it from tampering on the inside. He stared at it long and hard, then he sat up and placed his feet onto the floor.

With movements that were long rehearsed, he slipped over to a small segment of the wall, one opposite the transparent glass that allowed others to observe him. The tips of his fingers swept over a familiar area, gripping into the surface and pulling a segment of it out. What once was hidden in plain sight, an exposed square hole now resided.

It had taken months to make, difficult when you were always monitored, but once you knew the camera no longer watched you, there was quite a bit you could get away with. Tampering with the feed and using hours worth of strung along footage to record over the actual recording went a long way. Now, making sure the bed was positioned in front of this very spot was absolutely necessary and made it easier to hide. With a few tweaks, this portion of the wall was now his proverbial backdoor.

He couldn't take full responsibility for the idea. Some poor souls of Alcatraz had devised a similar ploy; he just adapted it for himself. Unfortunately, he had miscalculated the dimensions he needed to make it work and had crafted too small a hole. It was a tight fit, and either he could spend more time chipping away at it and risk potentially exposing it, or he could make himself fit.

A hunger strike had followed.

Removing a fake head, one that had hair attached to it—his own gathering whenever he deigned to have a haircut—was removed from the hole and then placed onto the bed, resting on the pillow. A few more pillows were withdrawn and then stuffed under the covers to simulate a body. The covers were drawn up and placed so as to cover the majority of the fake head. Again, inspiration from Alcatraz. Now, to slip through the hole and continue this merry little night.

It was still a tight fit, but bearable. Slipping through, he made sure to replace that segment and then stood up to full height. Another advantage to losing some weight was that he could fit into this very narrow space that had been forgotten about behind the asylum's cells. Brick and mortar pressed into his front as he shimmied sideways, moving to his right and into the recesses of Arkham that he doubted any of the current caretakers knew about. There might be something in the original blueprints, but who had dug those out?

Slippered feet scuffed against age-old concrete as he continued to shuffle. A ninety degree turn changed his direction, and he continued down that path until a particularly pungent odor offended his nose. It came from what had formerly been a vent, one pried opened long ago, and in here he entered. This brought Crane into another neglected part of the asylum, one that most would prefer not to go in.

This facility had been built around the time of the sanitation movement, and part of its construction included a private sewer system. Contaminated water sat stagnant; modern day plumbing had taken over the purpose of this place and there was no further need to dump human waste into it. Still, at one time it had flowed, and that would take him further underground where manmade structure was replaced by natural cave infrastructure.

He knew the way by heart, an intersection with three paths to choose led him to taking the one on the far right. It was pitch dark down here, but a quick clap of his hands activated a feature that was not natural down here. Clap-activated lighting lit up his way, and he followed it until his progress came to an abrupt stop.

This stop was made of metal, one that extended upwards from floor to ceiling and from side to side. A closed door would provide a way forward depending on whether you knew how to unlock it. A visible panel to the right of it was the way in, and he inputted the number sequence needed, pausing for a full three seconds and then hitting the pound sign. The panel's display lit up green, and then he was opening the door and entering the lab within.

It hadn't been easy to build this place, but Crane had found a way. What better way to continue his work when Arkham always seemed to be the destination he would arrive at? Better to have a workstation here than needing to escape and build another one that would only be taken apart once he was caught.

Too many times had he learned that lesson. Never again.

He passed two rows of counters, one that was littered with circuit boards both under construction and those blackened into disuse. In the corner was a kitchenette, one that could help produce a meal if needed. Kept far away from and at a personal workstation were multiple beakers and chemical components, all used to continue developing his namesake hallucinogen.

However, directly in front of him was the true crown jewel. It looked like a massive machine, a terminal embedded in its side, rectangular and tall with only one blemish on it. On its far left end was a cylindrical containment unit, from the transparent Plexiglas one could see the huddled form of a pale-skinned girl who had wrapped herself up in the dark-colored cloak she wore.

Her breathing was evening out. The effects of his toxin must be wearing off. An increase in tolerance? Perhaps the girl's true nature allowed for a faster recovery? So very interesting, but what was most fascinating was the manifestation of this metahuman's abilities.

The monsters that now stalked the streets of Gotham, all of her creation. To think, they were constructed by her fear and fear alone. There she was, trapped there, unable to escape and unable to resist the siren calls of his toxin. Quite the mess she was creating.

His eyes flickered upwards to a small section above the containment unit. An addition that was not part of the original design, but he had been convinced it was absolutely necessary. It was to hold a totem, one that was claimed to be able to prevent the girl from breaking out as well as transport the manifestations of her fear response into the wider area beyond. Crane had his doubts about it, in particular why it had to resemble the skeletal remains of a bat. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he would swear there was a light gleaming from the eye sockets, a pinkish-purple light that if he tried to focus on it would always vanish as soon as he noticed it.

Regardless, if it was doing its job, then that was all that mattered and his misgivings about a bat being in his lab could be ignored.

The entrance to the lab opened once more, and with it came excuses. "My apologies for running late but I did not wish to jeopardize our little project."

Crane waved the excuse away. There were more important things. "He came tonight, just as I predicted. Merrymaker's distraction lasted as long as it could, no surprise that it would end in failure. But, the data so far is very, very promising. Still, we are on the clock, and we need to finish before the next nightfall."

"You…you believe he will find this place?"

"I prefer not to underestimate Batman any longer." Crane's eyes narrowed, memories of past failures taunting him. Of course Batman would eventually find his way. He was counting on it.

"Then we shall need to have ourselves covered—"

"I fully trust you'll be able to do so," Crane interrupted. "We will have to work day and night to ensure everything is ready." Pausing, he looked to his left, eyed a parcel that hadn't been there when he had last been here. That was earlier in the night; anticipating Batman's appearance at his room meant he needed to be in there when the infuriating man arrived. It was a measure to buy time after all. As for the parcel, well, it was one of the final pieces and it had better be worth it.

Standing straight and returning his attention to the girl, her name he had been told was Raven, and he studied her like everything else he had ever studied. Gotham is the city of fear, and who better to watch over it and tend its nightmares than its malevolent god?

Author's Note: And here is the chapter you've been waiting for Protocol115. For everyone else, here's our villain. The clues were all there, especially if you kept in mind the events from Dawn of Generation Lost. Who else would it have been? With the second act fully out of the way, we start making our way to the climax. There are a few clues as to what Dr. Crane is planning, hopefully someone might have an idea of what it will be.