#39: What Are You Afraid Of? (HoM / Jarin)

Gotham Central:

“We’ve got one Arkhamite still running around outside the walls, Commissioner,” Sam Merkel passed the folder to James Gordon. “I can’t say I’m happy with who it is. But then again, who would be?”

Gordon opened up the cover and then shook his head slowly. “Jonathan Crane. Damn.”

“Yeah,” replied Merkel. “Arkham’s guards were prepping Crane for short term transfer when they found his cell empty. The Justice League have already built the new Asylum, the inmates are being transferred back in as we speak. And here's me hoping to spend my birthday in a bar...” Sam smiled. "But I guess overtime is a welcome birthday gift for any cop, eh?"

“Sorry Sam, you know how it is... you know how many birthdays, anniversaries... Hell, you know how many dentist appointments we miss because of this job." He sighed, and pulled on his long, brown trenchcoat. "I’m going up to the roof. I’m lighting the signal,” said Commissioner Gordon. “If Scarecrow is running around Gotham a free man… I don’t even want to think about the hell that could break loose. But when we reel him in... I've got a bottle of scotch in my bottom draw and two glasses with our names on, for old time's sake, you up for that?”

"Let's drag this bastard back in," replied Sam, as he placed his fedora on his head.

[/b]

Gruinberg Residence:

“If you go out to the woods tonight you’re in for a big surprise…” the sing-song voice rang out through the house and David Gruinberg jerked up in bed. He breathed in deeply, suddenly, and tasted a weird pungent tang on his tongue, but ignored it, and leapt out of bed. “…If you go out in the woods today, you’d better go in disguise.” He opened his bedroom door and screamed.

“Not…. not… not you! NO!”

The Scarecrow grabbed him by the face, and threw him back across the room. Gruinberg hit the back wall and slithered down to the floor. “I know what you're scared of, David.” The Scarecrow's body began to shift and change, his lank, thin frame growing, muscles multiplying. "I know what made you cry yourself to sleep at night." The Scarecrow was now towering over the man, and as soon as he reached a certain height, black fur began swirling and convalescing over his frame like fire. Suddenly joining the fur were a pair of piercing white eyes, rippling back into The Scarecrow's skull and uniting with the millions of teeth in his mouth that grew larger and larger as he stepped closer and closer.

“I… I know what… I know what you are… God, oh, God, God, God… this isn't-- isn't-- isn't--”

“Don’t cry, no, don’t cry sir! No, no, this is not the time for crying… this is the time for DYING!”

Route 67 Diner:

Jonathan Crane was sitting in a diner sipping a fresh cup of coffee and eating a blueberry muffin when he was found by the GCPD. He looked up to them, and yawned, and his mouth stretched into a smile. “This muffin is delightful, Detective Bullock. Would you care to join me?”

Harvey Bullock slammed Crane’s face onto the table and handcuffed him. “You’re going back to Arkham, Scarecrow.” The waitress of the diner slowly walked toward the Bull and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned suddenly, scaring her into taking a step back. “Whut?”

“Are you… are you… are you the gentleman who’ll be paying Mr Crane’s tab?”

Gotham Central:

“We’ve retroactively tracked Jonathan Crane’s movements from when he escaped the Asylum, and you need to know this, Commissioner… he went straight to that diner. He drove three miles away from Arkham in a stolen car… so I guess we could add grand theft auto to his sheet. He didn’t intimidate the staff, in fact, they say he very polite. He asked to use the phone, but there was no answer and we're working to track the number... the CDC have searched the diner for any Fear Gas delivery systems or trace but seriously Commissioner… it appears that he went straight to the diner, tried to make a phone call and then sat down for pie...” Bullock shook his head. “It don’t sit right with me.”

“I don’t like this either,” said Gordon, as he sat in his office. “Crane wants to instill fear in people. Maybe this was the idea. Make us run around chasing our tails so we were scared.”

“Commissioner,” Sarah Essen entered the office, “Jim,” she breathed in deeply, “we’ve got a murder, trace evidence shows Fear Gas residue present at the scene.” She looked over to Bullock and Merkel, and then tried her best to smile. "Happy Birthday, Sammy. Sorry it couldn't come under better circumstances."

"No worries, Es," replied Sam.

Gordon's next words pulled them back into the matter at hand. “Sonofabitch,” he pulled on his holster, and checked his service weapon. “I knew it wasn’t going to be this easy.”

“He’s working with someone.” Bullock, Essen and Gordon turned to the window, where Batman stood, half-illuminated by the lights flickering outside as cars went by. The office was dim, as per usual, the dark helping the Commissioner to think.

Gordon noted the ‘difference’ in posture that Batman had. His ‘weight loss’-- now more swimmer than brick wall. His jaw line was ‘different’. Every instinct in him screamed. His theories were right. Of course they were. Gotham City had changed with the terrorist attack of Ra’s Al Ghul. And so had the Batman.

The Dark Knight continued: “He didn’t have enough time to murder David Gruinberg and get back to that diner.”

“So you know?” Gordon turned away from him. “And I assume you’ve been to the scene?”

Different, but exactly the same, the Commissioner thought.

“I like to keep on top of things, Commissioner,” replied Batman, as he stepped forward toward the three officers.

Bullock put his hand up. “Hey, Bats, I’d prefer it if you got the Hell out of this building,” he said, “‘cause if one of the boys outside sees you traipsing around like you owns the place, they’re going to want you down in the cells, and I’m in no mood to stop ‘em. The press may be lapping up the return of the good ol’ Caped Crusader but we ain’t forgotten that it was your actions that lead to this city going to Hell in a hand basket. Remember that.

"Bull..." hissed Merkel, shaking his head

"What? You and me both know the £$%^storm that'd go down if Petit caught a glimpse of ol' long ears in here..."

“Noted,” said Batman in reply. “But I don’t give a damn, Bullock.” Gordon was surprised by this reply. “Someone is dead, it’s connected to Jonathan Crane and I intend to finds out where the connection lies.”

Bullock tensed, his fists clenched. “I say this every Goddamn time, you ain’t a cop!”

“And these are your normal criminals, Bullock!” Batman shook his head. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I’m going to investigate this, and I’ll keep you informed.” He turned to Gordon. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.”

Leaving:

Damn, Batman swung from the window out toward the rest of the city, leaving Gotham Central behind him. Focus on the case, he thought, Crane didn’t have enough time to get from Gruinberg’s to the diner. So this means there’s something I’m missing. It means I’m going to have to pay a visit to Crane. It means… I’ve got to visit New Arkham.

New Arkham:

The walls were white. Clean. None of the neo-gothic architecture that Jeremiah Arkham insisted on remaining part of the Asylum. He was no longer in a position of power at the Asylum. He was removed from his place of power by board vote, spearheaded by Dick Grayson, who had taken Bruce Wayne’s seat there when he died. He sat in his office, working on papers, there as a name only, castrated by the people who held the controlling stake in what was his family’s crown jewel of psychiatric help. He scribbled away at his latest Joker paper, struggling to describe the Crown Prince of Crime’s disorder.

“‘Shows signs of…’ no. it’s all been said before. What… is different?”

“What are you working on, Doctor Arkham?” Jeremiah looked up, and then down at his paper. Three words. Three words and nothing else. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Ehh, of course not Doctor Langdon. It is Doctor Langdon, correct? Part of the new staff…”

“Yes, yes, I’ve wanted a chance to work here ever since I graduated. I have to say, the restructuring gave me prime opportunity to do it!” He laughed, slowly, awkwardly, well aware of Jeremiah’s piercing glare. “Erhem, yes, anyway, I was wondering if you wanted a coffee? I’m headed down to the Staff Room?”

“No, I’m fine, I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll see you later, Doctor Langdon. You’ll soon realise that working at Arkham Asylum-- any Arkham Asylum, new or old-- is not the opportunity it has been made out to be by whoever instilled those thoughts in your head.”

Langdon laughed, and then excused himself. Jeremiah sighed and stared back at his paper. Three words.

* * *

He had overseen the designs of the new asylum. Green Lantern had looked at the plans, thought about them for a while, and then green shovels dug the foundations, green drills screwed real nails into walls and The Flash and Superman did the rest. New Arkham was built in three hours. Three hours. Batman knew where all the blind spots resided inside the new asylum, just as Bruce had with the old. He knew the tunnels, he knew the camera locations, and he knew where the main cells were. And so here he was. In the belly of the beast.

“Jonathan Crane,” he said slowly as he stood in front of the pitch black cell.

“Hrrrm?”

Batman pressed a button on his belt, and the lights inside the cell flashed on, sterile and bright, leaving no spot inside the cell darkened. Jonathan Crane climbed out of his bunk, and approached the thick plastic that made up the front of the cell. “Oh. Batman. What a pleasure. How can I be of service?”

“Does the name David Gruinberg mean anything to you?”

“What if it did, Batman?” Crane pressed his lank fingers against the plastic, “what if I told you he was my long lost brother? Or maybe… he worked with me back at the school? Or maybe he was a stranger to me, or someone who once bumped into me in the street and didn’t apologize? I don’t know, Batman, do I know David Gruinberg?”

Batman was studying Jonathan’s every move. Dick had been trained by the best, he’d studied under some of the biggest minds in the world, just as Bruce had all those years ago, and not forgetting, he’d been trained by Bruce as well, and there was something about Crane’s body language that bothered him. Crane was a psychiatrist as well, a psychologist of the highest order. “You do. You wanted him dead and you’ve got your wish.”

A flash of a smile erupted onto Crane’s lips, but then faded almost immediately. “Spectacular. He’s awake then.”

Batman slammed his fist against the plastic. “Who’s awake? What have you done?”

“What was that, Batman? A surge of adrenaline? A glimmer of fear? He’s awake, and he is doing what he must do appease me. Batten down the hatches, Batman! All Hell is about to break loose!” Crane waved his hand up, and then returned to his bunk. “Turn the lights out when you leave.”

* * *

“Cheers.”

"'Til tomorrow, Detective!"

Sam Merkel made his way home. Even on today of all days, he took the bus; owning a car never really appealed to him, living in the city and all. He knew how to drive, don’t get him wrong, but it was just… unnecessary. The elevated train that ran overhead could take him anywhere he wanted in the city within ten minutes, and considering the traffic that piled up in the day, it was for the best. But right now, it was late, this was the last bus home, and his shift was over. He smiled at Jerry, the driver, as he exited the bus, and headed for his apartment. He breathed in deeply. Home. Safe. He clicked his tongue, a metallic tang present in his mouth.

“What?”

Was he bleeding? He put his finger in his mouth and checked, but found nothing, so he shrugged his shoulders and put his key in the lock and… he heard a rustling.

“Who's there?!”

Merkel pulled his gun from his holster and opened the door slowly. His heart was racing. His eyes adjusted to the dark immediately, and then he saw where the noise was coming from.

“Hello Samuel, how are you this fine evening?” Sam staggered back as the Scarecrow took a deliberate step toward him, “You can't contain me. You can't lock me up. Are you having a happy birthday, Samuel? Are you having fun yet?”

“This isn’t… you can’t… why would you…” his heart was drumming in his chest, he could feel his blood pump through his veins, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “Freeze!”

“I don’t thi-ink sooo…” The Scarecrow's hood began to crease across his face, as the hangman's noose around his neck wrenched tight. The master of fear's smile became visible underneath as the fabric shifted into his skin, and the grin stretched across his face, impossibly so. His now grey, tanned leather skin rippled and he barred his teeth. "No one will know, Samuel. No one will know it was me." Scarecrow's flesh quivered like water as the grin got wider and wider, the teeth sharper and sharper, until he was right in front of Merkel, his face comprised only of a smile, bulging, red eyes and thin, clawed fingers clashing together as they moved incredibly fast. “Goodni-ight…”

Merkel got off five shots before his heart exploded, and he fell to the ground, his eyes open wide and his face as pale as the moon.

Gotham Central:

“Sam Merkel is dead,” said James Gordon. “Sam… was with us from the beginning. He was Old Gotham, through and through, his family was part of this force since there was a police force, and he’s dead. Murdered. He didn't deserve to go. Not today... not today...” The bullpen rumbled with angered whispers. Gordon gathered himself, and slammed his fist onto the table in front of him. “We will find out who did this. Sam didn’t go down without a fight, we got DNA, we got blood, and that means it’s only a matter of time. This will not go unsolved. I don't care what you're working on right now, this case...” he paused, and surveyed the room, "... is the only case that matters."

“We heard Scarecrow had somethin’ to do with this!” shouted Bill Petit, “and we wanna’ know what you’re going to do about it!”

“Crane was in custody, Bill, read the reports!” snapped Bullock in reply. “Don’t go around accusing the Commish when we’re all well aware of th’ facts!”

“It’s true that traces of Fear Gas was found at the scene, and we’re investigating the possibility that someone has located one of Crane’s stashes. Montoya and Allen are on their way to interview him now.” Gordon then walked straight up to Petit, and squared up to him, looking him eye-to-eye. "And if you dare-- dare-- question my authority, or allegiance to this police force again, I will break you into so many pieces that you wished you were dead-- do you understand me, Petit?"

Petit snarled underneath his breath, but Gordon didn't back down. The head of SWAT glanced around at the other officers in the room, and noted their looks, then shook his head and backed off slowly. "Sorry, Commish. Sorry."

The Cave:

“David Gruinberg was a scientist-- and mad science at that-- known for experiments by way of animal cloning, that kind of thing. He dropped off the map three years ago, only to resurface three months ago. What could this mean? Cloning? Has Crane cloned himself and are there two of him running around? Is that too insane, even for Gotham City?” Dick Grayson was brooding. He was sat before the computers in the Cave, and perusing police files and dossiers. He sat, fingers latticed, and staring at the evidence. "No. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on either."

“It is always an idea to keep ones options open, isn’t it, Master Dick?”said Alfred Pennyworth, as he stood behind the current Caped Crusader.

“Even one as fantastical as that? We’re not dealing with Multiplex, Alfred. No, this is something else entirely. I’ve got trace analysis of the Fear Gas that was used at both scenes, and it’s different… there are components on the base level that aren’t present in previous samplings we have. This is Fear Gas turned up to eleven, Alfred, and I don’t know how that makes sense… this is above and beyond anything Crane ever worked on.”

“Who knows how a mind such as his works?” mused Alfred Pennyworth, before picking up the litter that Dick had left from his late night snacking from hours before. “You are aware there is a bin beside the computer, correct, Master Dick?”

“Hurm? Oh, sorry Alfred, I’ll remember next time.”

“Oh, I doubt that sincerely,” replied Pennyworth, before heading back upstairs. “Remember to stock up on Fear Gas antidote before you go out again tonight.”

“Point. What’s my schedule like today?”

“Completely clear, Master Dick. Do you intend to fill your daylight hours with sleep and research and maybe then some more sleep?”

“No, thought I’d fill my daylight hours with some exercise. Switch cowl communications to band N-1. I’ll be taking the other suit out.”

Gotham City:

It was strange how good the sunlight felt on his body. The uniform was light weight, there was no drag on his neck and back because there was no cowl, instead, it was just him, the air rushing against his face, his body a poised weapon ready to be unloaded. Nightwing somersaulted from the rooftops, the afternoon light still visible even in the darkened chasms of Gotham’s architecture. He sprang down from the top of the highest building, and plummeted down. At the last moment, with a smile, he flew the line out, and soared over toward Gotham Central. He landed against the wall, cushioned the impact with his feet, and then landed softly on the fire escape.

James Gordon was still in his office, and with a rap on his window, he had the Commissioner’s attention. “Nightwing?”

“May I come in, sir?”

It feels good to be less aloof, thought Dick, as Gordon nodded, and opened up the window. Less like Bruce.

“It’s been a while, son, thought we’d seen the last of you after the incident at the dam…” Gordon was eyeing Dick up and down, and the simple fact crept in on Nightwing’s thoughts.

He knows. He knows I’m Batman now. He knows that I’ve taken up the cowl. He knows!

“But then again Batman used to go times without appearing, and I’m assuming the same goes for you.”

Did he notice? thought Dick, did he see my reaction? Damn, why can’t we just be honest for once in our lives?! Why did we keep the secret from Gordon after all his support over the years?!

“Things have been hard,” Nightwing said finally, “I’m not in Gotham for long, but I heard about Detective Merkel, and I wanted to pass on my condolences, he was a good man. I worked with him on occasion.”

“Thank you, Nightwing,” said Gordon, “that means a lot. Do you… and Batman… do you have any leads that we don’t? I know my men would probably go crazy if they heard me consorting with the enemy, but dammit, I’ll take any help I can get when it comes to losing a good cop like Merkel.” He shook his head, and slammed his fist into his desk. “Dammit it all to Hell.”

“We’re working on it, Commissioner. Did you see Gruinberg’s profile? His history of cloning experimentation?”

“Crane informed us that he’d been working with him on something. Made references to a project they were both working on. Gruinberg’s bank accounts did swell parallel to Crane pulling some capers a few years back. They drained almost as fast, we think that they… made something.”

“Could be, sir.” Nightwing paced the floor. “Merkel and I took down Crane a few years back. Do you remember?”

“First thing that came to mind, Nightwing. Revenge killing. But Crane is locked up nice and tight in New Arkham, and Gruinberg wasn’t part of that case. But I am aware of it, son.

“Good. Ok. I want to go check out some leads, but don’t worry, I’ll keep you in the loop. It’ll be dark soon, Commissioner, I should go--”

“Nightwing, if you don’t mind me saying--” Gordon stopped himself, but then continued. “If you don’t mind me saying, you look tired.”

“You know how it is, Commissioner. How it’s been.”

“…I’m aware.”

“Well. I’ll be going.” Nightwing leapt out of the window and vanished from sight, leaving James Gordon alone with his thoughts.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” he said to no-one but himself.

New Arkham:

“Merkel was the one who broke the last case against Crane. Flat out took him down by himself, along with some handy help from that Nightwing character way back when.” Renee Montoya was walking side by side with Crispus Allen down the halls of New Arkham.

“The new director of Arkham was kind enough to grant us a late interview, out of hours. Much more receptive than Jeremiah ever was.”

“It can’t end well,” said Renee with a sad smile. “It never does.”

“I can hear you… trip-trapping down the halls, Detectives.” Crane came into view, standing up by his bunk, staring at the two detectives, a smile upon his lips.

“Stow the Hannibal Lecter bull$%^&,” said Montoya, “a good man is dead because of something you did, Crane, and we want to know what. So start talking.”

“My, my, so rude, Detective Montoya. I would appreciate it if you kept your tone at a calm and collected level.” Crane smiled, before turning his back on the investigators. “You already had your men question me mere hours ago--”

“Merkel was involved in a bust that took you off the field for a long stretch a few years back. Nightwing too. What were you involved with, Crane? Low level scamming to up your funds for Fear Gas experimentation? That’s what we thought. But it was something else. Gruinberg was your pet scientist. And he helped you make something.” Crispus Allen flicked through his notebook. “We have men at that location right now. One of your former underground labs. What will we find when we’re looking extra hard?”

Crane smiled. “What indeed?”

* * *

Dick had hung up the Nightwing costume in one of the satellite caves and adopted one of the Batman uniform instead, and then tracked down some leads. Whoever murdered Merkel was a damn efficient killer. The dosage of Fear Gas was enough that it caused Merkel’s heart to literally explode with terror… a horrifying fate that Dick would not appreciate being mete out to him.

When his leads lead to nothing, he finally headed to a place that was faintly familiar to him. One of The Scarecrow’s old labs. Dick was always amazed at how they could set up shop so easily in Gotham, how it was so simple for them to ship their equipment from Midway City or wherever and have a modern day lair of Doctor Frankenstein up and working within days. This example was stripped of everything, no chemicals remained, no equipment, no stashes that they could find… “What did we miss?”

The Caped Crusader crouched down, the cape spreading out around him. He flicked his cowl lenses onto a different frequency, and saw something strange. Heat signature? Faded on the metal, but there anyway. Someone was here. He jerked up, and followed the footsteps until he reached a far wall where the signature was strongest. It was there they vanished.

“Hidden door.”

Dick pressed his hands against the cold surface of the wall, and felt around. No discernable handle, switch or lever.

“What then…?”

There was a hiss and Dick looked down at the floor. His lenses picked up something seeping out from under the wall. Fear Gas. Something’s here--

New Arkham:

Crane looked around his bare cell. “What’s the time, Detective Allen?”

Allen checked his watch. “Midnight now.”

“Just right. Good. I’ve kept you waiting far too long, and for that I apologize. I adore fear. You know this. I don’t have to go over it again like some sick, mewling puppy dog wailing for attention. You know I love to hear people scream and suffer as their worst nightmares come to drag them down to the pit. Doctor Gruinberg was assisting me in a special experiment. I wanted to know if it was possible to have human pheromones, the things that attract and repel us from each other, transmuted into something else… into my own patented Fear Gas.”

“No…”

“Oh, yes, Montoya. We cloned glands from some amazing reptiles, and inserted them into a human subject. Animals are known for their ability to excrete certain fluids at predators when under attack. What if this was a default setting for a human being? To cause those around them to go insane with fear? And how would that make the subject feel? Never again able to hold a woman, embraced a friend, shake a hand… be normal. It would be terrifying, wouldn’t it? Oh, what we did to that man that day was a horrible thing. Drove him insane with fear, inescapable, unavoidable fear.” Crane licked his lips. "I locked him up, lickety-split. The stasis tube was accessed by a phone call, don't you see? I called it from the diner, the cell opened and he went to work. Gruinberg loaded up some specific instructions, even one he wasn't expecting... his own death warrant. Hahaha, I wish I could have seen his face!"

"You're insane, Crane."

"And I accept that fact. But my insanity leads to some very interesting effects in other people." He leaned in close. "Apparently I scare people."

* * *

The door shifted open, and Batman struggled backwards. “No… no…”

“Pathetic… little… boy…” Bruce Wayne took a step forward, flesh peeling off muscle, rotting skin falling to the floor with each step. “You think… this… is what… I wanted… from you…?”

Dick clutched his chest. “Ggghhh…”

“Pathetic! You’re pathetic!” Bruce grew larger, his fingers cracked and warped as they became sharper, and his face ripped off to reveal a bat’s face. “YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED INSTEAD OF ME, THEN WE WOULDN’T BE IN THIS POSITION WOULD WE?[/i]”

Dick dropped to his knees, his head hung low. “God… oh… God…”

“BE A GOOD BOY AND DIE FOR ME. DIE SO I CAN COME BACK. DIE SO I CAN SAVE THIS CITY FROM YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS TO DO GOOD.”

Dick looked up and smiled. “I’m not an idiot.”

Bruce looked confused. “what?”

Batman punched through the giant Bruce’s chest, and grabbed something. “Firstly, I had samples of your organic Fear Gas on hand to help me adjust the anti-serum that counteracts the effects of said weapon. I can feel the effects, sure, but I’m not going to fall for a cheap parlour trick.” He squeezed, and the Bruce began to shrink. “Secondly, I have infra-red lenses on. My eyes may be playing tricks, but my science isn’t. I can see you for what you are.”

The man underneath the hallucinations being forced up Batman quivered. “You… can… see… me?” He was small. Weak. His flesh was disgustingly pale, he had tufts of hair hanging out of his scalp and his light, grey eyes looked desperate. Things began to click. This wasn’t the villain of the piece… this was the victim. “God… kill me… please…”

"You don't need to be afraid anymore," said Dick slowly. He took a sedative from his belt, and nodded. "I can get you the help that you need."

"thank you," whispered the man, as he fell into unconsciousness, the sedative going to immediate effect.

"FREEZE, BAT-FREAK!" Bill Petit and his SWAT team stormed into the building, guns ready and gas masks over their faces. "THAT THERE'S A COP KILLER. YOU NEED TO BACK THE $%^& AWAY."

Batman put up his hands slowly. "This situation is under control."

"We tracked Crane's diner call to this location," said Petit loudly. "You need to leave right the $%^& now, or I'll shoot. I'm not gonna' coddle you like Gordon or his bitch Bullock. You are a vigilante, an' I'm giving you one free pass if you leave now."

"I'm not armed," Batman continued to say, as he stepped in front of the unconscious man, "and I'm not resisting you."

"Says you." Petit hissed, and opened fire. "S'a cop killer."

Batman dove out of the way, but span around when he saw the bullets tear into the man he had just talked down. "NO!" Dick drew a batarang from his utility belt and made a subconscious piece of math in his head, then threw it-- and the razor sharp blade flew through the air and ricocheted into the hands of the SWAT team, making them drop their weapons. He was at Petit in seconds, tearing away the man's gas mask and holding him by the shoulders. "HE WAS OUT. YOU KILLED AN INNOCENT MAN!"

"G-God!" Petit gasped, breathing in the Fear Gas that was still circulating in the room. "N-No!" Batman's cape shifted and snapped into a pair of wings, growing larger and larger as they began to take up the entirety of the room. His hands turned to claws, digging into his flesh-- he could see it, why couldn't he feel it?! And his face... eyes set alight, teeth were pushed out of gums by razor sharp needle fangs, and his voice...

"YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR SIN! YOU WILL DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS! SCREAM FOR ME PETIT, SCREAAAAM!"

Bill clutched his chest, and Dick took the anti-Fear Gas serum from his belt and stabbed Petit in the neck, immediately going to work to ease the symptoms of the Fear Gas. "He was innocent."

Gotham Central: Days Later:

[/center]

"You recovered from the Fear Gas inhalation?" Commissioner James Gordon was sat at his desk, and looking over the reports from the events of the week before.

"Yes, Commissioner," said Bill Petit.

"I called in some favours, Petit. At my request, the DA isn't going to pursue a case against you. Just to be clear. That man... whom we identified as one Robert David after the fact... he was a danger to every man, woman and child in Gotham City."

"Yes, Commissioner. Thank you, Commissioner."

Gordon shook his head, and burst out of his chair. "Don't you God damned thank me! I want your badge, you sonofabitch! You killed an innocent man, a man subdued, sedated, and of no threat to anyone! He was a victim, Bill! Remember what they are? First you didn't head Batman's advice when it came to dealing with Killer Frost-- yes, Bullock told me everything-- and then you killed an innocent man! We lost good men because of your pig-headed arrogance. You're out of control! Have been for a good long time now, but no one's called you on it. You're done, Petit."

"Commissioner, you just said the DA--"

"At. My. Request. I don't want this Department dragged through the dirt anymore. I want a clean force, and you and your SWAT team have always been a liability. Your badge, Petit."

"You can't--"

Gordon shook his head, and then pointed his finger squarely at Petit. "He had a family, Petit. they hadn't seen him for two years. Your. Badge."

Petit looked at his badge and then to Gordon. "You're really doing this. Taking the side of some dress-up over the blue."

"I'm siding with the law, Petit. Something you've long forgotten how to do. You'll survive outside the force. You've got friends. You'll get a solid job. But you're no longer welcome in this city. Don't test me. Your badge, your service weapon, and your word... your word... that you won't come back to Gotham."

Petit laughed awkwardly. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly," said Gordon slowly.

Petit unclipped his holster, and quietly placed his weapon and his badge on Gordon's desk. "I'll go clean out my locker."

James Gordon said nothing. He just watched Petit walk through the silent bullpen, his officers watching, and then slammed his office door shut.

New Arkham:

"How did you like my toy, Batman?" Jonathan Crane wiped his eyes as the lights in his cell came on. He looked outside the thick plasti-glass into the corridor outside, and saw nothing. "Hurm? Hello?"

Batman wrenched him out of his bunk, and pulled him close. "You broke a good man. Made him a weapon. This is unforgiveable, Crane. You murder, you torture, you think your actions have no real consequences."

"Oh, and what are you going to do?" Crane grinned. "New Arkham, Batman! New rules! You can't touch me. Whatever happened to make this place escape proof means that the system is no longer corrupt! You. Can't. Touch. Me."

Batman dropped Crane, and then took a small vial from his belt, and shook his head. "I'm not going to touch you, Crane."

"What are you doing?" Crane scrambled against the wall. "What is that?"

"I think you know." He popped open the lid, and smiled. "Don't you Crrraaaaaaannnnneeeeee..."

"No! NO! NO!"

New Arkham:

"Oh, God, look! Look!"

"What?! What's happened?"

"It's Crane! Look at him!"

Jonathan Crane was sat in the centre of his cell, his hair bone white. He was whispering to himself, again and again, over and over, the same sentence. "He can't get me in here. He can't get me in here. He can't..."