You're Late

The lenses to Batgirl's mask were gone, which allowed Batman to see the growing fear overtake them. The very sight of them infuriated him. No way should his daughter ever feel that way.

Unfortunately, she had a scalpel in her hand and she was using it to cut through her rope restraints. She was making pretty damn good progress and it would only be a matter of time before she got herself loose.

He needed to be free as well. Already, he couldn't slip his hands out of his gauntlets, so that removed the easy way as an option. He moved his arms and legs, not in a feeble, half-hearted attempt to force his way out of them, but to test what slack he could work with. He had a little more wiggle room with his left arm versus his right, so he put his focus on that arm. While his upper arm could move, he did find his wrist was more secured to the armrest. However, when he tried to move his arm up, the armrest shifted upwards as well, a gap forming between the armrest and the parts of the chair that it was nailed to. In fact, he could see the body of the nail as it slid out of the wooden chair frame.

Hmm, it seemed Scarecrow had chosen poorly what he restrained the Dark Knight to.

Glancing back to his daughter, he saw she had successfully cut through one of the coils of rope and was frantically thrashing her arm, freeing it further. With one arm free, she was attacking the rope on her other arm. She would be free sooner rather than later.

No time to try and use his triangle blades then. Batman began rocking his body back and forth then. The chair he sat in wiggled back and forth at first before it too was rocking, the front and back legs taking turns lifting off of the floor before striking back down on the ground. He needed to time this…just…right…

As he leaned forward, the chair leaned forward enough that he was able to stand on his two feet. Perfect. He wasn't able to get much of a jump, but he was able to throw himself backwards, lifting off of the ground for a brief moment before gravity dropped him down.

The wooden chair shattered into pieces as he landed on it, the wood splintering and breaking. Immediately, he felt the restraints slacken all over his body. Quickly, he began untangling himself, even as he forced himself onto his feet.

By then, Batgirl was free. She flung herself at him, holding the scalpel up, ready to stab him with it.

"Batgirl, no!" he barked, even as he threw his arms up. There were a couple coils of rope wrapped around one arm, which caused it to dangle from it. Thankfully, he was able to block his daughter's arm with the palm of his right hand. He immediately lashed out with his left arm, the back of his forearm striking the dark-clad girl's hand and dislodging the scalpel from her grasp. It went flying through the air, clattering across the ground when it struck it.

Though she was disarmed, Batgirl's arm being flung away from his block and counter, the girl went with it, twisting her body as she leapt into the air. Batman's eyes widened just before her foot slammed right into his face, her kick launching him backwards. Because he was crouched on the floor, he was thrown to the floor, landing hard on his back. Thankfully, he landed on the relatively clean floor rather than the broken remains of his chair.

Gritting his teeth, Batman flung his legs up, going into a roll. He ended up on his feet, just in time to see Batgirl leaping into the air again, swinging another kick.

Shooting up so he was standing, the vigilante backpedaled, avoiding the kick. Undeterred, the dark-clad girl touched back on the floor before leaping up again, doing another spinning kick, which he avoided as well by backing away.

He knew what his daughter was doing. Though she was trying to hit him, those spinning kicks were more for keeping him at bay. She was controlling the fight, forcing him into a position where he couldn't be able to dodge and she could land a solid hit. Even overwhelmed by fear, she was falling back into her training.

And she was certainly that. The slight moments he caught sight of her face, he could see the fear shining from her eyes. Her body was stiff and rigid as well, which made her usual flowing motions more jerky than normal.

"Batgirl," he called out to her, softening his voice. "Listen to my voice. It's me."

She only answered with another spinning kick, one that backed him right up to the cave wall. He couldn't go any further other than darting to one side or the other. No doubt, his voice was just feeding whatever hallucination his daughter was seeing. Instead of his words, perhaps she was hearing the grunts and snarls of a monster.

At this rate, one of them was going to get hurt, or rather, both of them.

As she went into another spinning kick, Batman countered. Raising his arm closest to the incoming kick as high as he could, he took the kick to his ribs, causing him to grunt from the blow. Immediately, his raised arm clamped down on the girl's leg, followed by his other arm shooting out to wrap around it as well. Yanking on the leg, he swung Batgirl through the air until her back slammed against the wall. She gave out a pained cry from the collision.

Immediately, Batman let go of the leg and backed away, allowing the girl to land on the floor. She immediately went into a roll and was back on her feet in an instant, though she kept crouched.

He noticed her hands by her belt in one brief instant. Eyes widening, his hands shot to his own belt as he pulled out a couple shuriken. One after the other, the two vigilantes whipped their arms out, Batgirl first, Batman second. Bat-shaped shuriken flew from their hands, closing on the two combatants.

Thankfully, Batman's shuriken struck his daughter's, sending all of them ricocheting off of each other and in different directions. One even whizzed right by the Dark Knight's head, missing only by mere centimeters.

For a moment, the two stood their ground, staring each other down. Even consumed by fear, Batgirl was putting up a good fight. Part of him would have been proud about that if it weren't for the fact she was fighting him. He also needed to go after Scarecrow, but he couldn't do that with Batgirl in her current condition. She would fight off any attempt he made to counter the fear toxin, meaning he would have to subdue her the hard way. That would take up time, time he didn't have.

So he needed to end the fight sooner rather than later.

Hands going back to his belt, he began pulling out shuriken after shuriken, throwing them as soon as he could. He fully expected Batgirl to try and dodge them, but instead, she began grabbing for her own shuriken, throwing them to knock his own projectiles out of the air much like he had done to her previously.

It seemed she was copying him. He could work with that.

Back and forth his arms pumped, throwing shuriken after shuriken. Each one he threw, Batgirl countered by throwing one of her own. The projectiles would strike each other in the air, sending them off course, hitting the floor, the walls, the various equipment and tables in the lab.

It was during this that he snuck a small pellet out of his belt. With his thumb, index, and middle finger, he held a shuriken; in his ring and pinky fingers, he pinned the pellet to his palm. As he threw the hand out, he sent the shuriken flying, which was countered by his daughter. He then quickly swung the arm back, releasing the pellet this time, sending it flying through the air. Because of all the flying shuriken, it went lost in the mayhem.

The pellet landed at Batgirl's feet though, and a cloud of gas immediately erupted. There was a startled cry from the girl as she immediately grabbed at her cape, pulling it up to wrap it around her mouth.

Immediately, Batman was already running. He took a deep breath as he threw himself into the cloud, leading with a leg bent at the knee. His knee rammed right into the girl's abdomen, forcing the air out of her lungs, causing her to gasp. The moment she sucked air back in, she was breathing in the gas—the knock-out gas to be precise.

Instantly, she was coughing. Batman wrapped his arms around her and carried her away from the gas cloud. He continued to hold his breath as long as he could, lowering his daughter to the floor even as she continued to cough. She didn't struggle against him, for that he was thankful.

Quickly, he pulled out his airgun, one that was already loaded with antitoxin for the fear toxin. Seeing where Scarecrow had initially injected the dark-clad girl, he shoved the barrel of the airgun in the exact same spot and pulled the trigger, injecting the antitoxin.

Immediately, Batgirl began to thrash against him. Tossing the airgun aside, Batman wrapped his arms around the girl, pinning her down onto the floor. "Shhhhhh," he shushed her over and over. Hovering over her, he had a good look at one of her eyes. He could see she was fighting the knock-out gas still and was slowly losing. However, the fear in her eyes was beginning to lessen. That eye focused on him and he could see her iris slowly contracting. Her body seemed to relax against him, her struggling becoming less and less.

Then that same eye rolled into the back of her head and she went limp. Batman grimaced at the sight of her, but he knew she was no longer a threat, to him or her. Slowly he released his hold on her, leaving her lying on the floor.

That's when anger erupted throughout his body. How dare Crane do this to her?! Standing up, his head moving this way and that. He was going to have some words with Crane, some very heated words.

Ones that were backed up with broken bones.

First, he needed to figure out where Scarecrow was going. Hopefully there was something in this lab that would give him a lead. By now, the cloud of knock-out gas had dissipated, but he needed to be careful still. It would remain potent in the air for at least a minute yet. So, he began searching the part of the lab he was in. This led him to the capsule that Raven had been kept in.

At the moment, it was open. Peering inside, he saw there wasn't much room inside, mostly standing, if not tight sitting room. Glancing up to the ceiling of it, he confirmed there were vents.

The setup was rather simple from the initial review. How did something like this keep Raven captive though? He had seen her strange power burrow a hole into the World Engine with relative ease, the alien materials not standing a chance. He rather doubted there was a material on Earth that was stronger than whatever had comprised the World Engine.

Moving around one side, and then the other of the capsule, he eventually found a slot positioned above the opening in the capsule, one that held a little statue of a bat. This immediately caused his eyes to narrow.

That wasn't a statue—that was a totem.

He had seen that totem before.

What the hell was Scarecrow doing with Barbatos worshipers?

At least he had an answer as to how Raven was being subdued. There was no doubt some sort of magic spell on that totem, one with the power to keep Raven's power in check. He didn't dare touch it, not right now. He was going to need to call in Zatanna on this one, if only to make certain it was safely removed.

By then, the knock-out gas should have safely dispersed. Moving away from the capsule, Batman searched the rest of the lab, eventually finding himself at the work benches. There were all sorts of circuitry there, along with the tools necessary to work on them. Curiously, there was a nearby set of blueprints.

Immediately, the Dark Knight snatched the blueprints up. He rifled through them one at a time, finding one that detailed Raven's capsule. Going back to the others, he kept up his reading before he found his eyes narrowing.

What was all of this? From what he could extrapolate, there appeared to be some sort of plans for energy absorbers. In fact, one of them was titled POWER ABSORBERS.

But what kind of power? Or energy as the case may be? There were a number of equations and dimensions that covered the prints…

Now his eyes were narrowed for an entirely different reason. All of these calculations, these weren't some run-of-the-mill numbers. This was highly advanced calculus. The skill needed to even build what this power absorber was required a lot of training and expertise.

Expertise a university professor like Johnathon Crane distinctly lacked.

It was one thing for him to develop that gauntlet of his to inject his victims with his fear toxin. Hell, he could have rigged up a system himself if he wanted. However, these blueprints indicated they were far and beyond more advanced than that gauntlet. No way could Crane build it himself. He would need someone else to help…

But who? Who could he get to hide out in a cave underneath Arkham Asylum? One with the necessary qualifications to actually accomplish this? There weren't that many people and there hadn't been any kidnappings that he knew of lately.

It would also have to be someone Crane trusted, which was few and far between. He had to know the individual too, which was also self-limiting in criteria. Who the hell could Crane convince to spend time in a cave creating and building a machine to his specifications?

Slowly, his head tilted up until he was staring up at the ceiling. Crane had been able to slip in and out of his cell to spend time down here, all without alerting anyone to his activities. Who wasn't to say there was someone else doing the same? Someone with the engineering background Crane desired; someone he could trust to be discreet and not draw attention to what they were doing.

He could think of one such person.

It had been a long time since he had last seen these streets, looked out onto the skyline, look up at a starless sky that manmade lights would always cover, and to be surrounded and alone all at the same time. It felt like a small homecoming; you never could leave everything behind, could you?

Nightwing had taken his leave of Red Robin and the Teens Titans. He hadn't gone far, just sought out some space where he could keep vigil and see if anything started acting up. Gotham was not Blüdhaven, and for a mercy that was a good thing. Both cities had their dark sides, and his fight was with the latter's.

But you never could ignore the calls from the old home. Events here had pulled him back after it had spilled over into his new backyard. To save one was to save the other.

Now, as of late, he had been having problems with lying to himself. There had been a few…mishaps, shall we say, some of which had had consequences. Some could be recovered from, and others had been more severe. He didn't want to talk about it, not to anyone, and he definitely didn't want to make Barbara worried.

This time, the lie had been that he was by himself. Yes, he had stepped away from the Titans, but he hadn't done so alone. He had been followed by one of them, and he couldn't quite say that he wasn't bothered by her presence. For whatever reason, she tended to stick close by to him.

From the corner of his eye, he observed the orange-skinned Tamaranean. Starfire, she was called, and he didn't need to be reminded of it. He more than recalled the last time they had met, and that had been when he had still called Gotham home. She had the looks, you could even call them exotic, possessed a gentleness as soft as a freshly laundered towel, and she knew her way around a fight. A package, really. It was hard finding that kind of combination.

It didn't help that he didn't know if there was anything he could say to her. It wasn't like he had ever tried anything beyond a hello, much less asking for dates. Had never been quite in the right headspace to give something like that a try, with anyone and, well, didn't feel right to use one of Tim's teammates as a trial run. Damn, that sounded bad.

Let's face it, their interactions were minimal. Really, they were. Each left an impression though, he couldn't argue that.

"Um, your team is alright with you splitting?" he asked, hoping to keep it neutral. Now why was he speaking up?

Starfire tilted her head in such a way that it expressed so much innocence. "I do not know about division, but I did explain my reasoning for spreading our forces out to them. Red Robin was agreeable. If necessary, I can return with haste. I am not limited to the ground."

Right. Okay. She was able to fly, right? Some of the worst he had to deal with was whatever freaky assassin Desmond was able to find. Any time superpowers came up, he was playing by ear. It wasn't often they were on his side.

"You do not mind if I am at your side, are you?" Starfire asked. "I recall from our last cooperation, we were able to mesh ourselves with little difficulty in the midst of battle. I am concerned that the current threat we face may prove too challenging."

He shook his head at that. "I've been figuring out some new tricks myself. You don't need to be concerned about me."

"I hope you are not offended if I remain concerned," the Tamaranean said. "Even with my experience, I find myself struggling with the beasts that my friend Raven is able to summon. I cannot hold back my strength, yet I find that many of these creatures are highly resilient. I worry if my friends will remain with healthy constitution. I worry if the people of this settlement can protect themselves. I am worried that the challenge we face is too great. I hope that the guardian of Gotham is able to succeed and prevent such travesty from repeating this night."

You and him both. Arkham was not a nice place to be and the people kept there… He had made it a policy to stay far away from that place. Best case scenario, Batman was able to defuse the situation before it indeed got worse. If not…then fighting was the only choice they had left.

"We can only trust that he'll pull it off. If not, then we need to be ready for the worst," the vigilante told the orange extraterrestrial. "If someone from Arkham is involved, then we'll have to expect the worst."

"I understand the trepidation. I have met many individuals who inspire fear in those unfortunate to face them." Green eyes looked at him, flickered away shyly. "You remind me of someone who…it was a long time ago. My apologies for any comparisons."

Hm? So quick to change the subject? Now he was a bit curious. "I remind you of someone you know." Recalling what he knew about the Tamaraneans, "Someone you don't know if he is alive or not."

"Too many of my people have died in too short a time. I…yes, you remind me very much of him, though I do not know how you know it was a male." She was back to looking at him, and Nightwing was turning enough so that he could face her.

Wel, it was a guess, but the shy looks she had been sending him had been a bit of a tip off. "I've learned how to pick up on small cues. Was he someone special to you?"

She shook her head, no abruptness to any of it. "I first encountered him during a celebration. We spoke, he was friendly with me, we shared some words, and then my mother wished to give me the speech about feathered avians and the second letter of the human English alphabet. It was much discomfort there, but I believe that she was hoping to engage in the making of a match. The following day changed the course of Tamaran's history when my sister seized power."

From what little he was able to get out of Red Robin, he knew that was a sore topic. "I guess that was a difficult time for you. I'm sorry."

Orange hair swung from side to side as Starfire shook her head. "There is no need for you to apologize. I am noting the similarities you had with him. I have faced many powerful opponents, and none of them possessed the quiet confidence that you exhibit. It is a very attractive feature."

Attractive? Where was she going with this? "He was also quietly confident?"

"I did not spend enough time to learn if it was confidence. You do possess similar heights, though. I have spent more time in your presence if that is of import. There were occasions I did have cognitions of him, but most of my concerns were for my family, my parents, my younger brother." Starfire gazed wistfully out into the city, greens seeing phantom images that Nightwing could only guess at.

She had a way of talking, didn't she? An element of unnatural that felt natural at the same time. That is then watered down by the topic at hand. Talk about parents and wondering about them, that was a subject he understood all too well. Word about the destruction of Tamaran had managed to reach even him, then again it was one of the big arguments for the current occupation of New Tamaran out west.

It sounded like she had lost a lot. Her world both literal and metaphorical. So had he.

"It's not easy when your world falls apart," he agrees. "What did you find to help you carry on? If that's private, I understand."

The Tamaranean shook her head again. "The hope that I would see my family once more. That was what helped me to endure the darkest moments of my life. Now, now I have to find another hope. Something else to fight for. My friends have become that hope, and for now rescuing Raven and helping her to recover from this ordeal, that is what motivates me. It was my fault that she was placed into this situation and I will see that she is saved."

Was that responsibility he was picking up there? He knew a thing or two about responsibility. Leading the Batclan in its two different incarnations, though the first was more spread out responsibility wise, the second iteration had him watching over two newcomers to the fight.

Nightwing understood the burden of responsibility, how every failure was magnified. Even now, Jason was a sore spot. A failure could happen in the blink of an eye and the hardest part was coming to terms with the fact that there was nothing you could realistically do about it.

"I don't know everything about what happened that led up to this, but I do know that holding on to something that you couldn't do anything about, no matter what it was, there is only so much you can do. Was there any way you could have stopped it? I bet you went through a thousand ways already. I could point out a thousand other ways why each one could and would have also failed. It's easier when you're on the outside; you have a better view of the situation. When you're on the inside, you only see your shortcomings."

"You speak with much experience." A shoulder pressed into his. She had been moving closer to him, hadn't she? "I know Red Robin looks up to you. When he believes there is no one around, I overhear him asking himself what you would do. He does not know I know this, and I wish that you would hold on to that secret."

Him? Tim looked to him as an example? Why not Batman? "I would've thought he'd ask what Batman would do," the vigilante said self-deprecatingly.

"The Batman does have leadership skills, and he does inspire, but he does have his failings too," Starfire said. "I have heard stories about him, anecdotes that Red Robin will share on occasion. I have noticed that many of the agents protecting this settlement lack a cohesiveness. If they are all fighting for the same goal, then why is it that I do not hear about Batman organizing them and keeping them focused? Why does it appear that each one pursues their own agenda? What truly unites them?"

Those were questions he did not want to think about right now. It almost felt sacrilegious to even consider.

"Where is it that your strength comes from?" Starfire asked, her voice soft, like a whisper. "Would you share it with me?"

Nightwing turned his head, found himself staring into inviting green eyes. He had maybe an inch or two over her, but they were so close in height that they were almost eye to eye. He took in the beauty, so foreign and yet so enticing. It was hypnotic, really.

His throat was dry, but he swallowed anyway, using his tongue to lick what felt like chapped lips. "I would love to get to know you better. I don't know if we have the time."

The young man didn't know if his words had any meaning, not really. They were the first to…slip out. Yet, Starfire was smiling and maybe he had said the right thing.

"I too would enjoy learning more about you, learning new words."

It would be several months later when he would eventually learn that what had happened here was the Tamaranean version of flirting and he had lucked out by saying all the right answers.

In this moment, though, he felt more like a boy who had found a girl who he could not take his eyes off of and could not answer if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The plexiglass door slid open. Batman passed through it without breaking stride. His target was shifting around on his bed, pretending to have been awoken by the doors opening.

He wasn't buying it for an instant.

The moment the vigilante reached the bed, he grabbed onto the patient-issued shirt and hauled the man up, slamming his back hard against the wall. The blond man yelped in response.

Anger was radiating from the Dark Knight, so much so that he was baring his teeth like an animal. "Why did you help him?" he barked, pressing harder against the smaller man. "Why did you help him, Tetch?"

Jervis Tetch squirmed against the wall, a grimace on his face. "I haven't the faintest clue what you speak of, Batman," he spat back, looking at the vigilante through squinted eyes.

"I know about your machine," Batman pressed. There wasn't anyone else in Arkham that had the expertise to build Crane's machine. Jervis Tetch's technology was on the cutting edge, able to subdue the human mind, which was no easy feat. His knowledge and engineering had been used by others many times. "I know about how you and Crane have been leaving your cells night after night to work on it. I know about your connection to the Merrymaker and the League of Smiles. Now drop the act, or get ready for a world of pain."

Tetch stared at him before a wide smile began to form on his face. "You've finally caught up to the readers, my dear Batman. Well done."

Batman turned his wrist, which began twisting the shirt the blond man wore, which caused the collar to begin tightening around his neck. "I'm not in any mood for games," he growled.

The neuroscientist gulped, his Adam's apple rising, then falling. "A spot of tea then? It helps to relax the nerves."

"Losing my patience."

"Alright, alright! What is it you wanted to know?"

The Dark Knight leaned his face closer to the blond man. "Why are you helping Crane?"

"Is it wrong to offer assistance when asked? Is it wrong to help others achieve their long-sought goals? You are the one that goes out, night after night, helping others. You cannot fault me for doing the same. Far be it from me to help a fellow dreamer find their Wonderland."

Batman's scowl deepened. "Your 'help' is getting a lot of people hurt. Innocent people. Do you have any idea what's going on out there?"

"I have heard stories. It would seem the jabberwocky has come from on high to lay waste to the realm of mice and hares. Never mind the bandersnatches and borogoves that aid in its frumious deeds."

"This is not a story, Tetch."

"Oh, but it is, my dear Batman. Life is a gyre of infinite stories, of man, of mouse, of dodo, and of toves. They criss and cross, go up and down, side to side, and even backwards like time. It is a dream of interchanging stories interacting with all those around. I am a Carroll man myself, but the Brothers Grimm do quite a justice in retelling the stories that don't leave a desired ending."

As nonsensical as that was, Batman did understand the point. Some people did receive bad endings. However, "Then I'll make certain those endings go to those deserving of them."

"Only the Queen of Hearts has that authority, but try, try as you may," Tetch replied. "Like the White Rabbit, Crane is further down the rabbit's hole. He no longer requires my assistance, so I shall remain with the March Hare and Dore Mouse."

"Ooooh! Ooooh! Dibs on the March Chair!" Harley Quinn's voice rang out.

"That's Hare, Ms. Quinn!" Tetch called back. "Tea will be ready at the brillig!" He then returned his attention to the Dark Knight. "And as for you, your watch is two days slow. You're quite late, for a rather important date. No time to say hello, goodbye, you're late…you're late…you're late."

The heat was stifling, sweat was beginning to darken the undersides of his sleeves, but the heavy lifting was done. The Scarecrow looked out onto the city of Gotham from the rooftop of an office building in which he had set up on.

About eight stories tall and far from being one of the mighty skyscrapers like Wayne Enterprises, it would be one of the last places he would be searched for. So very innocuous, it blended in easily, which would buy time because once Batman subdued his little acolyte, the man would be looking for him.

Over the costume that he had first made all those years ago, a metallic vest covered his torso, slipping over thin shoulder, and appearing quite bulky. Had there been more time, something slimmer could have been whipped up, but Jervis had done his best with what he had. On each shoulder were two half-spherical globes, opaque for the time being. Where his chest was, covered by the vest, was a small recess and placed within was a bat-shaped totem. Personally, he would have preferred a different design, but the supplier of this trinket had insisted there was no way to personalize it without compromising its function.

To better comfort himself, he had to slip his noose out from under it, and the rope dangled in front of the shrunken bat, obscuring it. Perhaps it was foreshadowing, how he would overshadow his adversary.

The arm gauntlet that allowed him to terrify and inject his test subject had to be removed temporarily for elbow length gloves that connected to the vest through several cables. Within those cables were assortment of wires, each one meant to fulfill a purpose only Jervis truly understood, but so long as it met his expectations, that was all that mattered. As he barely managed to slip his gauntlet over a glove, he reflected on this moment of triumph.

And over there was the key to fulfilling that. Laying on the rooftop, slowly recovering from the paralytic he had administered was the metahuman Raven. In a few minutes, he would feel more confident that the paralyzing drug would not interfere with his intentions. In the meantime, her body would need to burn through more of it first.

This had been quite a journey, hadn't it? From disgrace and termination from Gotham University, allowing himself to become a puppet for his former mentor Hugo Strange, and finding an ally with the mysterious Phantasm, all he had done was to continue to refine and improve himself. From nothing, to on the verge of something great.

He had heard the stories, mostly from Pamela Isley, or Poison Ivy as she preferred to be called these days. Actual gods had descended onto Gotham, inhabiting the bodies of a chosen few. One of them, one of them had been Phobos, the Greek God of Fear. To think that god was real, had been here in this city, and how infuriating that he had inhabited the body of a second rate charlatan.

A cannibal who was content to terrorize one victim at a time. Where was the ambition? Where was the grandeur? Why restrict yourself so when you could spread that primal sensation throughout the city itself? Why was the nobody granted the honor?

Why hadn't it been him? The master of fear itself!

This would have to be rectified. Oh yes, it would.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Scarecrow examined young Raven once more. There was more movement there, good. Good. Then he could complete the final preparations.

That meant loading up more of his liquified toxin into his gauntlet. One last dose to ensure success. He spread his fingers wide, admiring the needles. Yes, this should do well.

Fully turning to Raven, Scarecrow approached and crouched down beside her, pulling her up into his arms. He made sure that he could see her face; the face was always the window into a terrified soul's mind. The girl made eye contact with him, her breathing still shallow but gaining strength. Perhaps she believed she had a chance at fighting him off now.

"I have but one favor to ask of you," Scarecrow spoke casually. "I do not mind if you scream, but please, unleash every demon inside of you. I want to see…everything."

Maybe Raven had a reply. Perhaps it would have been full of bravado, youthful indignation, and incorrigibility. He didn't care. With one hand he pulled back on her hood, exposing her head complete with its pale, almost gray-tinged skin, and the dark hair naturally highlighted in blue.

All the better to expose her neck.

The girl's mouth was opening, but she was too late. His needles were faster, piercing into the side of her neck and injecting the payload. A gasp fled through her lips as her eyes widened. Then the injection was over, and Scarecrow lowered her to the gravel beneath them.

Standing up, he withdrew, taking several steps away without looking away from her. Already her chest was rising and falling rapidly, the last of the effects of the paralytic wearing off while the fear toxin replaced and took hold. Breathing was becoming louder and shorter, and then the first of the distortion around her began to become observable.

Placing a hand over his chest, fingers positioned around the recess holding the totem, the fallen professor applied enough pressure to activate his vest, the dull hum signifying the combination of reliable science and the mystery of mysticism, concept that had been initially been tested with the containment unit used to house the metahuman and now for a new purpose.

The eyes of the bat totem lit up, a purple-pink glow radiating from them. Around Raven, a black aura of sorts enveloped her, then began to pull away, as if being coaxed to. Streams were drawn towards him, towards the totem, and the black-colored power that the fear-obsessed man had studied these several weeks was devoured and absorbed into the vest.

On his shoulders, the half-spherical orbs came alight with purple radiance. The gloves that swallowed his lower arms came a buzz with life, the ends emitting that purple glow and the fingertips lighting up with that hue as well.

More and more of that black-colored power was drawn into the vest, and the distortions that had once begun to disturb the area weakened and vanished as the natural order reestablished itself. A steady stream continued to flow to him, into him, but the visible nature of it was fading as well. The connection would remain, but no one would be able to see it.

By all appearances, it seemed to be working, but the Scarecrow was a man of science all the same, and testing was needed. So, how about…?

Shadows seemed to well up and pool in front of him, then began to rise up. It was thin, but this black-colored construct continued to grow as Scarecrow worked his will on it, focusing, concentrating. Eventually it stood taller than him, and with a gloved hand, he reached out and grasped it. What once was shifting shadow solidified, hardening in his grasp. The top of it began to bulge until a curved blade tore out of it, its ebon hue reflecting the manmade lights of the city.

Lifting his arm up, the scythe-shaped construct tore from the shadows and there, right there, was the proof that he possessed control of these powers. He marveled at it, fascinated beyond belief. A chuckle escaped him, one that continued as darkness wisped about and nipped at him, staining the rags that he had donned so many years ago.

From within the eyeholes of his sack of a mask, eerie red and yellow illuminated. The stitching in front of his mouth began to pull back, glowing crimson and caustic yellow slipping through.

Throwing his head back, Scarecrow cackled as he unleashed a column of pure power that thundered to the heavens, booming with might that caused the very physical plane to tremble. Higher and higher did it rise until it eventually slowed down at its pinnacle. There, the power began to spread out and expand, stealing away the night sky and all its promises. Bigger and bigger it became, unstoppable as much as his ambitions!

Initially indistinct, much like a blob, this new construct began to take form. A head pulled ahead, resembling that of a bird. For those who had even seen such a sight, they may have once described it as a raven. The differences, though, changed that distinction enough that one would say it wasn't a raven, that it was a different bird, a bird like…

…a crow.

Four red eyes opened, a cruel beak emerged, and the construct gazed upon its new domain. Its underside began to bulge, distorting horrifically until two massive wings tore away from the body. These wings ascended until they dangled about the city limits themselves. The beak opened, and an otherworldly caw called forth the raging storm to descend.

So the storm began, taking the form of an army of abominations that rained out from the wings, falling to the city and its inhabitants whose nightmares would only begin. All shapes, all forms, so many colors, and all nightmares inspired by a single twisted mind.

May Gotham welcome its new God.

Author's Note: Here is Scarecrow's magnum opus, Protocol115. I hope it lives up to the hype.