The Scarebat [Crane]

[Deleted]

Robert was sitting on his cot, staring out of the plexiglass and into the dark hall. It was relatively quiet, probably because Joker and Harley Quinn weren’t around to stir things up. Most of the other patients were probably amusing themselves in some small manner. Robert didn’t bother himself with such things, as his pupils flitted about in some paranoid display. He didn’t have anything to occupy himself with anyway, asides from the ever clashing thumbs on the quivering hands that sat in his lap. He appeared to be sick, or rather, having withdrawals from some drug, and it was quite true.

Since he had arrived, Robert had changed. He was still obsessed, still dreamt about the Man-Bat. He hardly ate, and hardly slept, and his skin had grown pale, his eyes sunken. Yet, he was even more driven than before, since the failure of his last formula. He could still feel the Man-Bat inside of him, more raw and brutal than ever before. It clawed at his mind, begging to be released, as if it had some feral mind of its own. He wanted to oblige it, wanted to give it whatever it wanted, to release it upon the world. But not in its current state. It was to wild, to uncontrolled.

The powers Man-Bat granted him were addictive, for sure. It gave him the strength he had never had before. It gave him the ability to rise from his life, into something more. It gave him the prowess to crush his enemies, where they had formerly dominated him. But only if he had control. His last transformation had given him no such satisfaction. Robert still remembered nothing of it. The Man-Bat had taken his body, and twisted his mind to its own desires. It became nothing more than an animal, albeit one of his dreams, if he had been in control of it.

If only he could have seen with his own eyes that night, and planned with his own thoughts. If only he could have applied some human quality, to perhaps, one day, enhance the Man-Bat without setting it free of his control. Robert had made a habit of throwing out ‘if only’ towards a lot of things. It was just another thing that drove him to perfect his formula, to create the Man-Bat as he dreamed of it. The formula had had so much promise, and yet, in the end, it had failed him, taken from him everything that had made him human, and replaced it with an untamed predator.

He still didn’t know what had happened that night, asides from waking up in sweat and pain inside a cold cell. He had heard small tidbits of information. That he had gone wild, and that he had killed people. He didn’t yet even know who had finally subdued the Man-Bat. That didn’t stop people from calling him a monster, and a freak, not that he minded. For the moment, he could only agree that it was true, after what happened. But in the future, Robert would prove them wrong, he would prove that he was no freak, but a genius, and perhaps even a savior.

A small chuckle broke through the silence of the hall, and the glassy light that had settled upon Robert’s eyes shattered as he glanced up from his thoughts. It was nothing new; Robert had grown used to the spontaneous actions of Arkham’s patients. A few fits of laughter here and there had almost grown into the background. It would be ignored, as usual. Some idiot had probably found a roach to play with, which was quite disgusting, but likely true. The many strange things one might experience in Arkham was easily enough to drive a sane man mad. Robert didn’t know how the staff coped.

With nothing more to do, Robert swung his legs up onto the cot and lay back, shifting uncomfortably. It felt like the mattress was filled with lumps. A carpet floor would be more comfortable. His stomach rumbled with hunger, but it was long passed dinner time. It was so late in the evening that only guards walked the halls. He could only imagine what they might be thinking, patrolling through the asylum filled with insane, murderous patients at every turn. In the middle of the night, only the lunatics would hear their screams. But what would they do about it?

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

There was no doubt that the asylum would turn someone into a different man. But he was no normal man, he was no mere man. Dr. Crane was something far more than that. But that didn’t mean that the asylum didn’t take its own toll, it just made things that much more heavy around him. It imprinted his theories around him that constantly swam around his thoughts and told him how right he was in every situation, especially sitting here, on the metal bars of his cot.

His mattress had been taken away last week due to some new ordinance for him. There was very little they would now trust him with. The fools didn’t know what trust was, the made up sense that they used to protect themselves from the truth of what was going on around them. His pillows and blankets had been taken long before. He was not allowed a sink or any means of obtaining water what so ever. Every time he had to use the restroom he was escorted by heavy guard. Which debatably he could turn that into quite a mistake for them, but he would let that come in time. Right now…Something else was weighing heavy on his mind.

The doctor flipped over his hand in the cell and looked at the protruding veins on his wrist. The man was so thin all he had to do was close his fist once to get them to come up. The glacier in his eyes stared at them, almost as if he could see the blood that ran through them from underneath. Edward would have never understood what he did, but he didn’t know that the truth was already within him. He was such a fool to let the rest go to waste…But it didn’t matter anymore.

Dr. Crane rose from his metal cot slowly and approached the glass. Something had passed in the hallway. It was two orderlies that were doing something and neglected to move the roll able stretcher in the hall. His eyes tried to almost come out of the glass as he tried to remember what was in the hall. He had stalked those hall so many times. The bed was right below a vent that went above the intensive treatment cells and into the penitentiary area. Dr. Crane got a far look in his eyes, as the life left him he began to remember them bringing in Mr. Langstrom not too long ago. He would be held in that area and he knew exactly what cell they would put him in. As a man known to turn into a creature such as that they would need to make his environment suitable and more importantly, an easy way to slip drugs into the room if needed, it was one of the places where the shaft vented. Not that he could reach it, or get through it if he did turn into the creature, but Dr. Crane was certainly slim enough. Now he had to get out of his cell.

There was nothing to be had in his cell. They had taken everything, but Dr. Crane was a cunning man and manipulation was something that he excelled at. The fact remained that he had nothing to get their attention with, nothing except….

Dr. Crane suddenly lifted his palm to the level of his eyes, turned his wrist and sunk his teeth deeply into the part just above the bone. When he lifted his head again he was crying out into the air in a blissful mixture of pleasure and pain, ever the masochist. His hand poured blood onto the floor and he suddenly slammed it against the glass. He smeared it from as high as he could reach all the way down to the bottom until he was on the floor. An emergency, that was the only way they were going to open it.

An orderly rushed down the hall and saw the blood. He cursed under his breath and opened the door quickly as it looked like Dr. Crane was already incapacitated. Before he could even utter out a word for help the doctor was off the floor and slamming his head into the wall to knock him unconscious. He was on a clock now, a timer to get to where he needed to be. The doctor quickly grabbed the glasses off the unconscious man’s face and stuck the bleeding portion of his hand into his mouth. He didn’t want to leave a trail of blood to where he was going to be. Dr. Crane went straight for the cot and jumped on top of it. Carefully he took the glasses in his right hand and began to unscrew the sides one by one with the tip. Each screw he got he threw down the shaft and when it was open he climbed in. Once he was inside he pulled the vent behind him and slinked his way down.

The shaft was hot, but at least he knew where he was going. Inside he didn’t have to be cautious about his blood anymore so he let it leave a trail from his wrist. The doctor made his way to where he needed until he approached the spot into his cell. It was a short slide down and then a hard kick that let him finally drop in.

Dr. Crane landed hard on the ground in the middle of his cell and cast blood onto the floor. The lanky man collected himself from it and stood to his full height in front of the one they called….

Man-Bat.

[Deleted]

His eyes closed, but sleep danced mockingly, just beyond his grasp. The mattress was uncomfortable, stained, and it smelled terrible. Robert did his best to dispel the odor from his nose, breathing from his mouth. The air tasted dusty and stale. Disgusting. Did they even clean these cells? Did the Arkham staff even care? Robert let a sigh fall from his lips as he rose to lean against the hard wall, staring into the hall with obvious boredom. Was he even crazy? He didn't have voices in his head, or anything of the sort. No, Robert didn't believe he was crazy at all, and yet here he was, in an asylum, being treated for what? Robert didn't even know.

A sound above Robert made his gaze lift to study the ceiling. Rats? They'd have to be huge to make racket like that, but he didn't doubt the rodents. They probably fed in the kitchens when the cooks were away. They probably rolled all in the food, too. Perhaps the hair in his potatoes didn't belong to an old lady after all. Robert frowned. The thought sickened him, but he held back any nausea. He had a strong stomach. Robert continued to study the ceiling, with little more to wonder about, curious to see what it could be. Of course, he had never expected it to be a person.

Crane's drop from the ceiling splattered the floor with blood on impact. Robert recoiled in obvious surprise, his eyes wide as a quick glance at the man's face sent a jolt of recognition through the man. Scarecrow? No, Robert hadn't been expecting that at all. He took a moment to breathe, as his mind still processed the sudden appearance of one of Gotham's more famous villains. Of course he was wary. Robert had little means to defend himself without the Man-Bat. He was by no means strong, or even intimidating. If he were to stand against anyone, they'd laugh. If he were to stand against Scarecrow, he'd die.

His dark eyes followed Crane as he moved to stand at full height before him, rising tall to stare down at Robert. He had been about to suggest that Crane had stumbled upon the wrong cell, but the eerie moment that his eyes locked with those of the devil, Robert knew by their focus on him that he was just the man Crane had been looking for. And that was quite frightening, to say the least. Yet, Robert was somewhat intrigued. Why would Crane seek him out, of all the patients in Arkham? Robert had nothing to offer him. No formula that would give him the Man-Bat. Was self satisfaction the goal?

Perhaps, The Scarecrow was just seeking a test subject? Yet, in Robert's current form, he would display nothing special. In silence he sat, awaiting an answer to his thoughts. Awaiting some sort of acknowledgment. Robert's pupils flitted to his visitor's hand, where blood trickled from a wound. It looked as if Crane had done it himself, by the teeth marks, but there was always a chance that some other lunatic had tried to take a bite out of him. Though Arkham patients were not permitted to have cell mates, so the first idea seemed more logical. Crane appeared to be just the person to harm himself, just to achieve his goals. And Robert knew he was just as willing to hurt others.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane never did much sleeping in this place on his own. There was always another party involved. There would be a struggle and a rattle of chains before his body would hit the floor and he would wake up hours later in the same spot with no one around, or worse solitary. If Dr. Crane was asked about the staff personally he probably wouldn’t say a word about them unless he just truly wanted to say it to the person, but getting him to talk unwillingly was another matter entirely. Dr. Crane had never cared for the staff or how they practiced, even when he was one of them. But of course they believed he was the one doing something wrong.

Dr. Crane stared at the silent man before him, his line of sight remained in contact as he stood up to meet him but still no words fell from his mouth. He had heard a lot about Mr. Langstrom but didn’t meet with him often outside of these walls. He was a beast, from what he had heard and hybrid types were not the particular type that he enjoyed dealing with. In the past his toxin has failed on most hybrid beings. At times, he even had trouble getting the serum to work on animals in general. The flower was very particular in its subjects it seemed but Dr. Crane was always willing to test the limits. There was going to come a time, very soon, that he would need to adjust a serum to work on animals and hybrid beings. There were more….”professionals” popping up all over the city and more and more of them with stranger qualities.

This was why Mr. Langstrom was a perfect target. He wasn’t a very intimidating man by nature and in this cell where was he going to run? Being on the same side of the glass as him was an advantage, a repour that he would have rather cared not to build, but it was one all the same. Due to his reputation alone Mr. Langstrom should have been terrified to even be in the same room as him, but he was holding up rather well at the moment. Nothing could get passed the Scarecrow however. The lanky doctor took a half step toward him and stopped to see if he’d react. No words really needed to be said yet, if he was here then the Man-Bat should know what was going to happen. He should know that he was looking at the very face of fear and that his eyes would soon be gloriously opened to the truth.

Before Mr. Langstrom decided to change his mind about doing anything or reacting to how close he was he raised his bleeding wrist. It was really something that needed to be taken care of while he was in here and he would get to it. The doctor’s eyes never came off of his as he lifted it, refusing to break eye contact for a moment. “Mr. Langstrom” A lifeless voice finally broke the deafening silence in the room. “I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing in your cell but I believe you already know the answer…So I’ll move on. Do you enjoy being here Mr. Langstrom? Is this by choice..” His voice almost seemed as if he was mocking or testing him in some sort of way. Dr. Crane was well aware that there was no such thing as a voluntary patient in this side of the building. “Before we get started I wanted to ask you before I find out myself what they allow you to have in your cell..” He asked without really asking a question.

This wasn’t a courtesy, he wasn’t trying to be nice to him, he was getting to exactly what needed to be done and how it needed to be done. They didn’t allow Dr. Crane anything in his cell anymore but Dr. Langstrom already had several things more in his cell that he could see. It was interesting that they allowed such a creature to have anything at all in his cell. So what was the asylums trick to keep this beast at bay? The thought fascinated him, What fear gripped them so that they needed to put him on this side of the treatment area.

[Deleted]

Robert quickly thought up all the reasons Scarecrow would have sought him out, and after going through so much trouble. Most of them were rather disturbing to think about. As everyone knew, the man before him was a master of fear. He harnessed it as a weapon, and spent nearly every bit of his free time searching for ways to improve his toxins. Normally, when a man gave himself the title of the master of fear, you thought them to be a lunatic and chuckled a bit at their stupidity, but Scarecrow wasn't stupid. He was well educated, and that was another thing that made him so dangerous. Scarecrow knew what he was doing, and he had earned that title countless times over, bringing his victim's worst fears into relaity, and drawing out their deepest nightmares.

Robert didn't have a lot of nightmares. He didn't fear many things, and most of the stuff he did fear were no different than what most people fear in general, like uncertainty, or the unknown. But everyone had their secrets, and while Robert might not have been aware of them himself, he was certain that Scarecrow could tug them into existance with ease. And that was frightening. Of course, some would argue that it was not Scarecrow, but his toxins, that made people relive their most terrible thoughts, but looking at him now, with crimson fluids trickling down his arm, his very appearance made Robert uneasy. Scarecrow had the eyes of a devil.

He watched the man warily, tensing as he took a half step forward. Robert was still sitting on his mattress, he couldn't find the strength to rise up and meet his visitor. If there had been a way out, it was almost guarenteed that Robert would be doing his absolute best to scramble out of the cell and flee, but since there wasn't, he was forced to brace himself for attack and hope Scarecrow didn't notice the sweat that had begun making it's way down his forehead. He certainly didn't want to encourage the other man into doing something harmful. Robert eyed the wrist for a moment. Though the blood sickened him, it was much easier to watch than Scarecrow's eyes.

Still, he couldn't help his pupils from flitting over to Scarecrow's face as he was addressed, and Robert gulped nervously as he listened. It was true that he had some ideas as to why the villain was here. The most promising one being that he wanted to be allies and break him out of Arkham, but that was highly unlikely. He could only wish of the chance of escaping the man. Robert blinked at the question, but remained silent. If he tried to speak, Robert feared he might whimper instead, and that wasn't a good first impression at all. The second question seemed to demand an answer, however, though all Robert could really reply with was a tilt of his head.

It probably wasn't a good idea to simply not answer Scarecrow, at least not verbally. He hoped the gesture would be sufficient. Why explain what he had when it was right in front of the guy? He had a bed, a sink, a small nightstand where he planned to store his books, if he ever got any. The usual appliances, of course. As Robert, he wasn't much of a villain like Scarecrow was. High security wasn't needed because Robert didn't have the means of escaping or causing harm without assistance, and so he had much of the stuff that other high level Gotham villains didn't have. But then again, most of the others didn't need a special formula to turn into monsters.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

The doctor stood there for a long moment, just trying to determine the creatures next movements if at any. The man had made it clear that he had his attention by standing and meeting his eyesight. He kept that stare, only a twitch coming into it as he began to lose more fluid from his wrist. He was going to have to get back to his cell and fix that soon, before the doctors here saw. Especially Dr. Arkham. All he would end up doing is making his security even tighter and making the measures he had to take to get out even greater than before. The crimson stain rolled down his hand and off his finger tips. Since the Man-Bat refused to speak there was nothing to be heard except the small drip, drip, drip of blood off of his middle finger to the floor. A sanitary issue that Mr. Langstrom would have to figure out on his own, Dr. Crane simply didn't have time.

The moment that his newest patient took a step forward he rose his blood dripping hand to stop him. He rose his index finger as a warning. The small droplets of blood began to pour in the opposite direction this time, staining the rest of his skin. "That's far enough Mr. Langtrom." He acknowledged that he was trying to make some contact with him even if it was in the form of a sweet whimper. It was music to his ears. He had done as expected, Mr. Langtrom wasn't much outside of his beast form and even so it wouldn't be wise to try and start an altercation with him in such a small room. The doctor lowered his hand when he began to look around at the several objects in his room.

There was a cold flash of jealousy in his eyes that he wouldn't admit to ever being there. This....worthless beast had more furniture than he had ever had in his cell. It was if they always expected Dr. Crane to be a handful from the moment he came in. How could he blame them? They were correct for once. But it took them a long time, like old dogs to learn his habits and behaviors and to finally get the right flair of how he worked the system to his advantage. Sometimes he didn't win right away - But he was always ready with a basic plan, a plan that had a beginning and an end. But whatever happened in between would happen.

The ruckus he had caused before must have gotten someone's attention somewhere. There was no telling how long he had in this cell before he was drug out, so he was going to have to work faster. Dr. Crane rose his hand again to indicate that Mr. Langstrom was to stay put as he moved about the room. His hand ran over the short table and the empty shelves on side. He must have not had any items yet. "For a creature that fears captivity and the light you sure seem like you're planning on staying a while. Tell me why you plan on staying?" The doctor mused as he turned to face him again from looking at his effects.