Tale of an Egomaniac

Sun had set and still nothing. Red Robin didn't like how that last meeting with Batman had gone. It was like he had been hearing it for the first time and wasn't checking in just to be sure. It implied that Batgirl had gone off on her own and had not said a single word.

Had it been one of them, one of the original Batclan, it would have been game over. How come he had a feeling that any consequence Batgirl got would be less? Stop thinking like that; resentment was not okay in this business. Be professional. Wait to hear back from Batman on whether he had found Raven or not.

That still left waiting, and waiting was unbearable. To his left was Wonder Girl who was keeping close to his side. Next was Kid Flash for a short time until he zipped away, doing something to keep himself occupied while they waited. Then it was Beast Boy sitting on the hood of the T-car, arms propping him up as he leaned back. Starfire was next, gazing out into the city and—huh, looked like a shiver there. Then again, Earth was colder than Tamaran, wasn't it? Last but not least was Cyborg to the masked teen's right, still fiddling with his left arm.

This was effectively standby. No way was Red Robin going to further risk Batman's wrath. The talking to from last night was still running through his mind. On top of that, Raven was believed to be in the one place he couldn't go. Where to even start there? It was one thing to suspect she was in the caves, but what if that was another wild goose chase?

The former Gothamite didn't like this, not one bit. But what could he do? Gotham wasn't his turf anymore, he had no authority here—not that he ever had—and the big man was breathing down his neck. Okay, that last one was more of an exaggeration, but come on, rule of three. Batman was doing the investigating now and…he couldn't blame him.

It was getting worse. Every night was worse than the last. Raven was becoming more and more unstable and it was like waiting for a bomb to explode and you knew what the fallout would be. Who would have thought, once you traced it all the way back, it started with a movie night. A simple, not so innocent movie night.

Now they were at the edge of disaster.

Note to self, filter what movies were allowed in the Tower. How else would Raven's powers affect the natural world if they were based on something like sadness or anger or even happiness. With fear it was monsters; what would all the other emotions out there look like?

Restless, Red Robin took another look at his team, starting with his left with Wonder Girl, Kid Flash returning to his once vacated spot, Nightwing, Beast Boy—hold up.

He was somewhat proud that he didn't jump, or cause too much of a commotion. Still, since when had Nightwing figured out that trick? You know the one. The one that let Batman sneak up on everyone. Damn it, he really needed to learn it.

"Since when did you get here—"

A few gasps and a girlish scream that Beast Boy would later claim did not come from him interrupted the masked teen. Ah, might have only spoken for himself when it came to not overreacting.

"Do all the people in this city not make any noise?" Cyborg demanded.

"But—how—when—where?" Kid Flash couldn't figure out what kind of question he wanted to ask.

"Greetings, comrade!" Starfire greeted, recovering faster than the rest.

Nightwing gave a nod of his head, lips curled in amusement. "Looks like our paths cross again. Before you ask, I happened to be in town and that was on business. The same as before. Oracle recommended I get some info on what's been going on."

At least Nightwing wasn't as scary as Batman was. The rest of the team was responding positively to that, if one could say how their postures relaxed as a sign of positivity.

"You've been using those little party favors I gave you?" Cyborg asked, closing up his left arm. "Need anymore? I can't promise an arsenal, but I might have a few things I can put together."

"Anything you can offer," the older vigilante replied. Then to Red Robin, "There were a couple more that slipped into my neighborhood. I think they're getting bigger."

Everyone had noticed that. "Raven's getting worse," he said frankly. "We do have a lead on where she might be, but Batman's handling it. That's why we're here and not taking care of it ourselves."

"I bet he made that decision," Nightwing quipped. "So where is she? Must be out of the way if it took you lot this long to figure it out."

"Arkham," Red Robin answered simply. His former teammate's wince was the only real reply he needed there. "We can't risk the team getting compromised there. Last thing anyone needs is another breakout. Who knows what those people will do with our firepower. In the meantime, we're waiting for any word."

Nightwing glanced over the younger vigilante's shoulder, looking out into the city. "Based on our history, it'll be best to plan for the worst. Who knows what's waiting for him there."

"Uh, you think somehow one of those bad guys in there is going to get one over Batman?" That surprisingly reasoned question came from Beast Boy of all Titans, but really, the shapeshifter could be sharp if he applied himself. No reason to keep dismissing his intelligence. That was Raven's job.

"Those people in there are the people who scare Gotham on a regular basis. You can't underestimate them. Not in the slightest." Nightwing's face had hardened somewhat. "They will kill you if given the slightest chance. Worse, there's a better chance they'll play with you first. They like to play with their food."

"All the more reason for us to remain on standby," Starfire concluded, and for once Red Robin understood her perfectly. Damn, was the situation really that bad?

"Fill me in on everything else, every detail. I want to be up to speed and hopefully, I won't be needed," the older male continued.

Well, they certainly had the time…

Fingers tapped against the steering wheel, and Gordon glanced to the precinct once more. There was no sense in counting, he'd lose the number anyway. It was late, and so far with the lack of, well, anything, the former commissioner was hopeful that his daughter would be let out earlier tonight.

Hopefully before the fireworks began.

You spend enough time in Gotham, and you get a feeling about it. Sometimes you could predict when everything went wrong down to the minute. He had also had prior history and experience informing him so this wasn't mere superstition.

So he waited. He waited while noticing how the traffic entering and exiting the precinct dwindled. This would make it easier to find a young woman in a wheelchair, wouldn't it? Yet, Barbara had yet to emerge. Was she working late on purpose? That was one thing he didn't want her inheriting from him.

Then again, when you were in the middle of a case, it was easy to lose track. Perhaps he should go in there and remind her how late it was. Just a convenient excuse and not giving away his fatherly concern for his daughter because that would just embarrass her. Looking up to the dark night sky, seeing no stars or even a signal, Gordon made a judgment call and got out of his car.

Slamming the door shut behind him, the retired commissioner made his way to the precinct, keeping his face controled as he recalled that just walking in would only get him so far. He wasn't employed here and he was armed. No way was he getting past the first security checkpoint, but he could ask to see if Barbara could meet him, couldn't he?

That sounded like a good compromise. Barbara would come wheeling over once she heard he was here. So up the few steps, nodding to some officers, and passing through the large entrance, Gordon strolled his way into the lobby, beelining it for the checkpoint.

The officers on duty there watched him, and the older man slowed his pace as he approached. "Evening. Could you do me a favor and let Barbara know I'm waiting for her," he greeted, internally wincing as he felt he sounded like a parent at a school, wanting to check their child out for a doctor's appointment.

One of the officers looked to the other, and that one replied, "I'll see what I can find out." Turning his large, uniformed body, the officer walked further into the building, heading for the front desk. That left Gordon with the other officer who was now manning the checkpoint solo. Someone had to remain behind.

Gordon put his hands into his coat pockets, looked around at the building that he had once been in charge of. It felt so different now. A simple laminated badge let him have unfettered access to everything inside. That badge had to be given up on his last day, a pity. It would have made things more interesting if he could sneak up on Barbara while she was hard at work.

Not unlike a certain…friend.

Looking to the front desk, he could see the second officer was still speaking with the front desk personnel. It was going to take some time, hopefully no longer than ten minutes. The longer he was out and about, the more it felt like anything could go wrong.

Looking away, by chance Gordon spotted Bullock entering into the lobby, naturally on the other side of the checkpoint. The lieutenant spotted him and made his way over.

"Com'mish! What brings you here so late?" the disheveled man greeted.

"Picking up Barbara. Last few nights have made me a bit worried," he answered readily.

Immediately, he noted the queer look that Bullock gave him. "Hardy let the lab—I mean, let Forensics out early so that they wouldn't get caught up in whatever emergency happens. Didn't she tell you?"

No. No she had not. No one had. Now why was that? Well, admittedly, he wasn't the commissioner anymore so he wasn't high on the need to know priority list.

Not needing an answer, Bullock had put two and two together, though his next words indicated that the lieutenant might have one more piece of evidence that Gordon did not. "Maybe she's with that Blüdhaven detective. Saw him chatting her up a while ago."

Blüdhaven? Now what was one of theirs doing all the way here? And why was this fellow chatting up his daughter? Maybe there might be an ulterior motive behind not telling him about tonight's early release.

Incidentally, Bullock then gave voice to his suspicions, "Looked real chummy. Maybe they wanted a minute alone?"

Holding up a hand, "I'm her father, and that is not something I need to hear." He was getting a very powerful and very familiar urge to become protective. That old enemy, boys, had reared their head once more. Perhaps he should…invite himself over. Make sure that this Blüdhaven fellow's intentions were pure.

On that note, "You wouldn't have happened to have gotten a name, would you?"

If there was the possibility of him being brought in on charges of assaulting an officer, he would like to know the name of who could be his victim this night.

Bullock looked down, scratched the back of his head. "Grayson," the larger man answered. "Detective, I remember that. Mentioned something about having a monster of their own in Blüdhaven and wanted to see what we knew about it."

The urge to be overprotective was pushed to a side at that detail. It wasn't just Gotham being affected? Could it be this was more widespread? That it was worse than any of them had previously believed?

What the hell was going on here?

"Thanks, I'll be swinging by to check in on her," Gordon told his former right hand man, giving a nod of his head.

And take care of any other problems that might be happening tonight.

Dark eyes blinked blearily as Raven felt a distinctly new sensation. There was a change…a physical one. Like…like…fresher air was descending onto her body, flowing over her skin, and beating back the sterility that she had been enveloped in for…

Her ravaged mind was having difficulty measuring any time. Had it been days? Weeks? Months? Too much time trying to keep up her mental barriers and defenses; it had left her vulnerable and weakened over time. Even with being fed, fatigue had set in quite some time ago. How much time, she could not say anymore.

But she still had the energy to tilt her head to glance up, to see the tall figure of her incarcerator. The man had undergone a change in wardrobe. In what looked like patched up rags of browns, faded reds, and…eyes shut tightly for a brief second and then opened once more, was that rope she saw? Was that…was that a noose being worn like some kind of necktie?

"Still with us, yes? Very good," the man praised as he bent down, a hand drawing close to her face. Dully, she watched it without reacting, perhaps the clearest sign of her mental degradation. The hand seemed to rear back, the underside of the wrist became more prominent, and then a gas sprayed into her face.

Raven did not react. Not initially. This allowed the gaseous concoction to enter her lungs without challenge, and to add further insult she didn't even cough. No attempts to clear her lungs, and in seconds her body felt both heavier and numb. Belatedly, she wondered if it was more of the gas she had been exposed to again and again, and while there was a spike in arousal, she couldn't…couldn't…

"Fear not, young Raven," the man teased. "This is a mere paralytic. Something to keep you docile until all is ready. I can't have you pull off a desperate act that could ruin everything, especially with us so close."

Arms slipped under and around the empath. The next thing Raven knew, she was being lifted up and withdrawn from her prison. The paralytic that she had inhaled kept her from moving her body; she could feel the toxin seizing up her muscles, reaching out to her extremities. It was getting harder to breathe, like she was being kept on the edge of breathlessness, but enough concentration kept her diaphragm working.

It was having more of an effect on her skeletal muscles. This man, whoever he was, he had a great knowledge on chemicals at the very least. With her mental state tattered as it was, if she were to invoke her powers, at the minimum her chant of Azarath Metrion Zinthos was required. The paralytic kept her from even opening her jaw. The vestiges of panic were clawing at her mind, and iron will was all that kept a panic attack from striking.

The empath could still feel, and as the rag-wearing man turned around, she could feel the cool air rushing past her face. It was something to concentrate on, which diverted more of her attention to her face. Her nose was still getting air, but it felt like not enough. A lot was feeling numb as well. Her neck was not cooperating. Her eyes were very still, and it took so much of an effort to blink.

Because of this, she was getting a new perspective of this place. Immediately, she spotted two individuals who were restrained to chairs. These two hadn't been here before, just this man and the other one. As best as she could, she focused on the two restrained ones if only to give herself something to be distracted by.

Both of them were in black. Rope visibly wound around them. One was bigger than the other, the other much slimmer. Their heads, they were distinctive, two little horns…

No, not horns. It was a design, one for a mask. A distinctive mask. A familiar mask. An eye trailed downward, and even with the rope, it could not block off the symbol of a bat…

A bat. Batman. The smaller one also had the symbol. Could she…was she in Gotham? Is that where she had been this whole time? That meant…she hadn't been in Jump, so how would the Titans be able to find her?

There was too much information, and the fear within her was rising. Too quickly! Calm down. Calm down now! Focus, center yourself. This was bad, but not…too bad. Batman, and someone else inspired by him, they were here, meaning that help was so close. It was just right there. Right there…and moving away…

"They have no part in what is to come," the man carrying her told her. "Nevertheless, I prepared entertainment all the same. Us, on the other hand, are leaving. Do not panic just yet, young Raven. That comes later."

They were moving away, moving to a door that she had never seen due to how limited a view her prison had provided. Raven wanted to resist, put up a fight, do something, but like she had been this whole time, she was powerless. Helpless.

Hopeless.

Consciousness was slow in returning, too slow for his liking. It took an effort of will not to groan out loud. He did not want to give away to any watching eyes that he was no longer incapacitated. Carefully, he flexed the muscles hidden by his suit and felt resistance against them. No surprise, something was holding him, some kind of restraint.

He was sitting, head slumped forward, neck cramping from the angle, but his back was pressed against a solid surface. No, not pressed, held to. His mind was becoming sharper and sharper by the second. Legs…no movement, so restrained as well.

With all due caution, he cracked open his eyes, let his vision clear up, and found his lap was the first thing he saw. Rope became more visible; that was what was restraining him. Nothing too serious; he had first learned how to slip out of rope-based restraints years ago. It would only take a few seconds, but first, he needed more information.

In his peripherals, he noticed the armrests of the chair. That was what he was sitting in. More rope held his arms to them. If he wanted to see anything else, that would mean giving away that he was conscious.

Batman continued his act, this time letting out a small groan while raising his head. Anyone watching would know he was awake just by the act of moving his head; the groan was to play into any belief that he wasn't top of his game. That he wasn't as alert as he normally was.

Immediately, he recognized the lab. His exposure to it may have been less than a minute, but it was so recent in his memory that recognition was immediate. Crane's secret lab under Arkham, where he had been holding the missing metahuman Raven. Eyes slid to his left first, and he spotted the machine with capsule attachment that had held the girl. It was open, that much was obvious, and Raven was nowhere to be seen. Damn it, Crane had moved her.

His attention began sliding to his right where it then stopped directly in front of him. A few feet away, also restrained by rope to another chair was Batgirl. Like he had before, her head was slumped forward, breathing shallow as if she was still unconscious. There was some relief there; she was alive.

Relief was replaced by anger. Where was Crane? Did he really think this would be enough to hold him? The bastard was too overconfident if he thought so. First, to get himself out of his restraints, then he would further check on his daughter before heading off after the former university professor.

"You don't much like the sight, do you? Despite the rope, your body language is giving you away. As expected, you're right on time."

Batman stilled. That was Crane's voice. He was still here. Plans to escape were halted. As much as he wanted to throttle the man, finding out what the hell was going on was a priority. Why did Crane want Raven? What need did he have that he purchased her from the dark web? What was the endgame? Right now, he had too little information and that needed to change.

Fortunately, Crane had always been a talker, even when lying. Right now, the self-styled Scarecrow would see himself in control of the situation, and that would only help the vigilante in prying out the details he needed.

"I had much time to observe you. You're much different when you're still, unconscious. I took the opportunity for what it was." Crane was getting louder, and sounds of cloth-covered feet slapping onto the floor drew closer. There had been rustling, as if the thin inmate had stood up. "I suppose all of our encounters were either fast paced, or I was more directed to your face. I never had much of a chance to see you. Quite the armor you're wearing. Big, yet small, small enough to allow limber movement I'm guessing. That mask, it's less of a mask, more like a helmet. A very safety-minded individual, aren't you? It shouldn't be too surprising."

From his right, Crane slipped into view. Gone were the Arkham-mandated jumpsuit and slippers, and in its place was the costume that Crane tended to prefer though minus a police Kevlar vest. Ragged, patched up, and faded, a noose hanging around his neck like a necktie, but there was a noticeable absence of a mask.

The thin, boney features of Johnathan Crane were visible for all to see. Brown hair that was much like dying straw wisped about atop his head and narrowed eyes continued to study the vigilante.

"I really took note of your arms, the lower portions. Those gloves look a bit too loose," Crane continued. "Yet they never fall off. I presume some sort of locking mechanism, something to tighten them down. I took the opportunity to introduce a little wedge to them."

Involuntarily, Batman's eyes flickered downward. He held back the grimace because now he could see the thin bits of metal that had been jammed into the upper portion of his gauntlets, specifically where his arms entered. Wedge was an understatement, the metal was stabbing at an angle that there was a possibility that the mechanism within was affected. That would have to wait for later to try. No sense confirming Crane's suspicions. Nevertheless, both of his gauntlets had metal wedged into them.

A potential problem, but he still had options to get loose. The triangle blades that lined his gauntlets were an option even though Crane had guided the rope between each blade. With some effort, he could cut through them. The locking mechanism just made slipping out easier.

"What are you up to?" he half-asked, half-demanded.

Crane patted his shoulder mockingly. "Oh, I know better than to give away all of the details. Each time I do, you find a way to mess everything up. I've learned from our previous encounters. You won't be getting any answers out of me this time. At least, no answers that will help you."

"This isn't your style, Crane. You prefer your toxins. You want to cause fear, but you don't use actual monsters to do it. Who are you working for?" That question was to jab at the man's ego. Crane held pride in his work, and to question that he was fully responsible was a way to inflame it.

"We all have to change, Batman. Repeating the same thing over and over gets us nowhere," Crane reported, stepping away from the Dark Knight, but that brought the fear-obsessed man closer to Batgirl. His daughter was starting to stir, he could tell, but hopefully Crane wouldn't notice. "I'm your little mastermind this time, though I will admit I had to outsource a little here and there. To pull off something big these days, you need a little help. But everything that you have faced recently, that's all been me."

"Doubtful," Batman challenged with a deadpan.

"But it's so true!" Crane spread out his arms, gesturing to everything around them. "Building a lab here under Arkham? I needed to continue my experiments somehow since you insist on interfering all the time." Arm lowered while a hand placed itself on a counter. "And I was looking for something different. Something you wouldn't see coming. I found many things in the darkest recesses of the internet, and that's where I found her, young Raven."

There we go. Enough prodding and Crane's ego would do the rest. Doing his best not to draw attention, he began exerting his right arm, making the triangle blades of his gauntlet press into the rope. It wasn't enough to do anything, not yet, but given enough time and pressure, he'd begin to start cutting him. This meant he needed to keep Crane talking.

"Metahumans are becoming quite the commodity these days," Crane continued, doing his work for him. "All sorts of powers, capabilities, how is anyone else supposed to compete? She was just another one I skimmed, that is until the little description provided gave me insight into her powers, how her emotions are connected to them. That got me thinking. Then I began researching as all academics do. Finding information on the Teen Titans, finding footage of the girl using her powers, I was drawn ever further.

"To think, emotions influence her. What emotion does she call upon when she fights other metahumans? What would her powers do if it was fear motivating them?" A dark chuckle, but Batman was following the logic. Of course Crane would be drawn in by that.

But, how would he know? Based on what Red Robin had told him, any information about how Raven's powers responded to fear were isolated to their tower in Jump City. There was no news coverage on it, he had checked. Too few would know anything about it.

Somehow her captors had learned of the link. It was the only explanation why, and how they would be able to list it on their…marketplace. The thought of human trafficking, and now metahuman trafficking, something to check in with the League at a later date.

"My experiments so far have been to test not only her limits, but to see what she was capable of doing. The containment unit needed to be…special. Something to hold her physically and counteract her powers. I came across one method that was promising, and so far it has proven itself despite its…less than scientific history. Nevertheless, in case it all failed, you got to see the last line of defense yourself. That I had the surprise benefit of directing the monster born from her nightmares away here was also a pleasant bonus."

Naturally, Crane wasn't telling him what it was. The chatty man was trying his best to remain enigmatic, but even mentioning he had found a way to keep Raven's powers under check implied he had found a method to do so. Further investigation was needed, which meant keeping him talking.

"And this leads to what, Crane? What are your experiments supposed to accomplish?" His arm was starting to shift by the smallest of movements, better than being completely immobile. More time was needed to cut through.

Crane opened his mouth, completely ready to continue his performance to his captive audience. Next to him, Batgirl had achieved consciousness, but was keeping still so as to not alert him to that fact. Good girl. Keep playing this game and Crane was sure to slip up. However, the thin man's jaw snapped shut and he shook his head in amusement.

"No. I've learned. We're not going there, but tell you what, I will give you a consolation prize. Everything that has been happening, all of the recent events, all part of the design, especially when I could not keep hiding my experimentations. I needed a distraction for you, and I figured one out.

"You and I, we're practitioners of fear. We wield it as weapons. We understand like no others." A cloth moccasin stepped around Batgirl, the rest of Crane following after until the madman stood before the bound vigilante, leaning over him. "But despite this, there is one who inspires fear like no other. We can only hope to do the same, knowing we both will fail. You know of whom I speak. I had the chance to watch the man up close with a front row seat as he enacted his craft. The Joker."

He wouldn't dignify that with a response, no matter how true it was.

"I figured he wouldn't mind me using his reputation for my own ends. He might even find a joke in it," Crane remarked. "An organization of Joker-obsessed worshipers and their Merrymaker, the perfect distraction for you, for the cops, for all of Gotham. To invoke his name is to draw all attention to it and away from me."

It was a struggle not to respond to that. The League of Smiles was Crane's doing as well? It seemed too far away from the madman's MO…until you considered his words, how the Joker spread fear, and fear was Crane's trade. When looked at in that aspect, combined with the fear-based constructs created by a more than likely poisoned Raven, it started to add up.

The underlying fear that had taken hold of Gotham in the last few days, all the Scarecrow's doing. All it took was the man's own words readjusting reality so that sense could be made. So much wasn't random, all planned.

The scheme had been enacted under his nose and only now did he understand how deep it went. Damn it, how had he missed the signs, the clues, the evidence? No, he knew how. The Joker, the perfect distraction. Not for the first time was obsession used against him and now it endangered his city and his daughter once more.

A throaty chuckle drew him out of his self-recrimination. Crane stepped back and away, then turned back to Batgirl. With a swagger, the reedy man approached the counter behind the vigilante's daughter, reaching behind her and picking up a scalpel. Batman eyed the small blade, knowing intimately about its sharpness.

He didn't like how Crane put a hand on his daughter's head, then pulled it up. He became even more alarmed as Crane stepped in front of her, a bent arm rising up. The vigilante's fists clenched and his body gave an involuntary jerk, the first sign of lost control. The ropes held him and fury was flowing through his veins because what the hell was that bastard doing to his daughter?!

A long, thin hand emerged into sight, pinched between two fingers and a thumb a thin, black material. Light was absorbed into the black colored lens embedded in it, lens that held the same recording functions as his did. It was discarded onto the counter, and Crane continued to do what he was doing until finally ending his unseen act by stepping aside.

Batgirl's eyes blinked. Batman knew this because he could see that the Scarecrow had cut out the fabric that once covered them. He could see her dark eyes, ones that were trying their best to give nothing away of her confusion.

The scalpel blade went back to work, cutting into the area where shoulder and neck connected. All in all, what was cut out was a thin strip, one that exposed the skin under it.

By now, Batman was glaring, not even bothering to hide his rage. Crane seemed amused as he passed in front of Batgirl, moving around and to another counter where he picked up something larger and heavier than a scalpel. It slid over the thin arm and then fingers spread widely, directing anyone and everyone's attention to the long needles that projected out of it.

That damn glove had been rebuilt down here. Should have figured.

Crane circled around the two of them, eyes watching them. "Now is about the time I make some witty remark about how fun everything has been and that all good things must come to an end. These haven't been good times, not since you first interfered in my life. Destitute, abandoned, tortured, and betrayed, that's everything that has come my way. More even. I hate you even as I respect you as a fellow practitioner of fear.

"Which is why I take great pleasure in what comes next." A hand cupped Batgirl under her chin and forced her to look up, her eyes level with his. "You care about this one, don't you? The anger you've been expressing gives that away. Don't be surprised, I had to learn how to read others body language during my studies, and your armor can only hide so much of it. I'll admit, I was tempted to take a peek under the mask, but I don't think our fellow in purple would much appreciate that. So I leave you with this…"

The needles placed themselves against the exposed skin on Batgirl's shoulder. Skin depressed slightly but did not break, not yet.

"Don't even think about it," Batman growled, wracking his brain to recall if he brought more antitoxin with him. Anxiety, concern, rage, all of that made it hard to think.

"I know you'll find a way out of this, you always do," Crane stated. "That's why I give you…" The needles pressed down, penetrated the epidermis, and liquefied fear toxin was injected into Batgirl's body. "...an extra challenge. Given enough time, you'll break your way free." The needles withdrew, leaving behind four puncture wounds to mar the skin. "But will you be fast enough?"

Batgirl's eyes narrowed, her body giving a shudder that not even the retraining rope holding her could hide. Hands balled into fists. Her body tensed.

Crane lowered himself so that his face peered around her shoulder. "I wonder what you are seeing? Is it an ally? Your hero? Your worst nightmare? What will you do? Will you fight? Cower and run? Remain where you are and hope nothing horrible happens? Perhaps you have a strong mind, but my toxin is stronger still. You can't beat it, and what you'll see, I can only imagine."

Standing up taller, Crane retrieved the scalpel he had used earlier, but now he was taking one of Batgirl's fists and slipping the blade into it.

"To give her a fighting chance," the madman remarked casually as he began withdrawing. His footsteps took him away from the vigilantes, and stretching out his arm once more, he picked up a burlap sack, one that he simply slipped over his head. The mask that he had designed years ago and continued to wear, all a part of his Scarecrow ensemble. "If you'll excuse me, I do have a date with destiny to attend to. It's not everyday that Gotham sees the rise of a new God of Fear. I mean not to keep them waiting."

And then he was gone, leaving Batman with a fear-poisoned girl who was armed with perhaps the sharpest object in the room. Her breathing was picking up, it was easy to tell that she was trying to fight the toxin's potency. It was a losing game, the Dark Knight knew. His arm began to shift with urgency, hoping to use the triangle blades on his gauntlet to start slicing into the ropes. He worked with his left as well, finding that he had more room to shift there.

Batgirl's eyes were shut, tight with tension. Needing to buy time, he spoke with as soft a voice he could muster in the moment, "Stay calm. It will be alright. I know you can do this. You're strong enough to keep yourself calm. You can do it."

Much like how Crane had been able to read him, Batman was able to do the same with his daughter, and he could see the young woman's body tensing even more than it had already had.

Her eyes snapped open, and with despair did he see the dilated pupils.

The scalpel swiftly swung to the rope binding her and began to cut.

Author's Note: This last scene was inspired by a conversation with long time reader and reviewer Protocol115. Part of the long conversation we had helped give birth to this story, but a few specific comments gave birth to this particular scene. I hope it is meeting with your expectations Protocol115, even if it does end on a dreaded cliffhanger.