Sometimes, the best discoveries happen completely on accident.
Three gunshots rang through the heavily perfumed air, and socialites shrieked and swore as Jonathan and his hired grunts strode calmly through the front door. Women clutched pearls to their chests with an aghast gasp and scrambled out of the way, leaving a clear path leading directly underneath the huge yellow diamond chandelier hanging over the gala like a spider in its web.
Why do they still hold these things? Jonathan thought. They always get robbed. He stopped just before the chandelier, holding up a hand to signal his henches to do the same.
"Evenin' ladies and gentlemen," Jonathan said, adjusting his mask. The whole room fell silent, all eyes fixed fearfully on him. Excellent.
"Lovely time you're havin' here, isn't it? No expense spared, I see. Even had this specially made and shipped in, didn't you?" Jonathan continued, gesturing towards the chandelier. "From...Italy, I believe?" One of the partygoers stepped forward, raising his hands in the air as Jonathan's henches trained their weapons on him. Jonathan smirked when he saw who it was- the host himself, Bruce Wayne.
"Please, gentlemen," Wayne said, hazarding another step forward. "There's no need for violence. We'll give you whatever it is you want."
"Oh, I'm certain you will, Mr. Wayne," Jonathan said, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the trigger mechanism. After a moment's hesitation he added, "You may want to take a step back." With a brief glance behind him to make sure all his henches were wearing their gas masks Jonathan pressed the trigger. The nanoexplosive planted on the chain of the chandelier blew, and Wayne dove back into the crowd as it crashed to the floor.
The discovery of frozen fear toxin, like many other great discoveries, had happened purely by accident. In an intellectual discussion with Freeze gone wrong Jonathan had made the mistake of mentioning Nora. Victor had attacked, Jonathan had retaliated, and the frozen fear toxin had shattered on the floor and been released just as it was now. Gotham's richest and most influential screamed as fear gas billowed through the room, trying to no avail to escape their own personal nightmares. Jonathan allowed himself to grin underneath his mask, observing the chaos for a moment before turning to his henches.
"Grab anything of value and load it in the van," he said. "Quickly." They nodded, fanning out through the crowd and relieving the now-incoherent partygoers of their possessions. He turned his attention back to the crowd.
"Bruce Wayne," he mused, stepping over the twisted remains of the chandelier and kneeling in front of Wayne, who stared ahead in muted terror. Jonathan grabbed him by the face, studying him carefully.
"What could a spoiled little brat like you possibly be afraid of?" he wondered aloud. Wayne murmured in his delirium, fixated on something (or someone) that wasn't there. Jonathan leaned forward so that his ear was at Wayne's lips, listening intently to his words.
"Father...no, I'm- I couldn't- Mom..." he whispered.
"Yes, always the parents, isn't it," Jonathan noted, his lips twitching upwards in the ghost of a smile.
"No...Harvey! You don't- Barbara! Jason! Jason!"
Jonathan's smile died as the realization dawned on him. He'd heard these words all before, but someone else has been saying them.
Or else he hadn't.
"Jesus christ on a cross," Jonathan breathed, releasing Wayne and leaning back. Hardly daring to believe it he raised one hand in the air, covering the top half of Wayne's face. The resemblance was unmistakable. Jonathan stood, thankful his henches couldn't see his shocked expression beneath his mask. He gestured for the one nearest him to approach, and she did so apprehensively.
"What is it, boss?" she asked, pulling her gas mask farther up onto her face.
"Take Mr. Wayne here and load him into the back of the van with the rest of the valuables," Jonathan ordered. "And make doubly sure he's unconscious once you do."
"Not to pry, but why, sir?" she asked, grabbing Wayne by the arm and forcing him to his feet. "What do you think he's capable of?"
"Infinitely more than I realized just a moment ago," Jonathan said. He watched numbly as the woman half lead, half dragged Wayne away, lost in thought.
It seemed the greatest discoveries really did happen by accident. He would have to remember to thank Victor.
-
Bruce groaned as he slowly regained consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut against what he was sure were going to be the blinding white lights of a hospital. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing last. Had he fallen off a building again? Was that why his head was throbbing with steady pulses of pain?
"Evenin', Batman," a mild voice greeted him.
Crane.
Bruce forced his eyes open, taking in his surroundings. Crane had his back to him, still dressed in his full Scarecrow getup, save his mask. He was bent over a long mahogany desk, covered in loose papers and notebooks no doubt filled to the brim with his "research." The only light came from the sickly yellow glow of the beakers of fear toxin lining the shelf on the far wall, dimly illuminating the ragged and dilapidated brick walls cramping him in on all sides. He glanced down at the cracked and discolored concrete floor, covered in water and ill-removed blood stains. The only exit was a rusty metal door in the farthest corner away from him. Bruce tried to shift in his seat, and noted that extra precautions had been made to secure him. His legs had been shackled and chained around the legs of the cold steel chair he was tied to (which was bolted to the floor), and Crane had somehow managed to put him in a full-body straitjacket, which he could've easily escaped from if it weren't for the chains wrapped five times around his torso. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Bruce wondered numbly how Crane had managed to fit the straitjacket over his batsuit, then started as if he'd been struck as the realization dawned on him.
He wasn't wearing his mask.
"Or is it morning?" Crane continued, turning from his work to face him. "Well, I don't suppose you'd know, now would you?"
He'd called him Batman. He knew.
"Starting to remember it now, are we?" Crane asked, a contemptuous smile forming on his face. "You really shouldn't hold so many parties, Mr. Wayne. They'll be the death of you." Bruce said nothing, setting his jaw resolutely and glaring ahead. Crane chuckled, turning back to his desk and lifting a vial of some clear liquid in delicate fingers. In one stride he'd crossed the distance between them, and Bruce couldn't help but notice just how much he towered over him.
"This should ease the headache," Crane said, holding it out as if offering it to him.
"How can I trust you?" Bruce managed to croak out. His throat was dry and cracked- an after effect of fear gas he'd come to expect.
"If I were tryin' to poison you right now, would I really have to trick you to do it?" Crane asked.
"No," Bruce admitted. Without another word Crane tilted his chin up with one hand, pressing the vial to his lips and pouring it down his throat. Bruce winced as the bitter taste hit his tongue, pulling a face that would've sent Dick into hysterics, because Crane actually let out an audible laugh. He half-expected the hallucinations to start anew but, sure enough, the pulsing agony in his head dulled to a distant migraine.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Me?" Crane asked, pulling up the wooden chair that had been tucked beneath his desk and sitting on it backwards, straddling the seat and resting his arms on the back as he leaned towards Bruce. "Why, I just want to talk, Bruce." That rag-doll pose made Bruce uneasy- it reminded him much more of Scarecrow than Crane. If he had to be chained and taken hostage in a tiny room by one of them, he would much rather Crane be in control.
"Fine, let's...talk," Bruce said guardedly.
"Y'know," Crane said with a bewildered laugh. "This was just supposed to be a cash grab. In and out before the GCPD or the Bat- well, before you could get there."
"Oh really?" Bruce said. Crane might not have been the most boisterous out of the rogues gallery, but old habits died hard- he liked to lecture. If Bruce could just keep him talking for as long as possible, he might be able to get out of here.
"Oh yes," Crane continued. "They say some of the greatest discoveries happen completely by accident, and that's exactly what this was. Someone more...superstitious, might call it an act of God, but I'm inclined to believe this is just an incredible stroke of luck. Well, on my behalf, that is." Crane leaned forward, studying Bruce with a look of mock sympathy that made his skin crawl.
"It all makes perfect sense now, though, doesn't it?" Crane said. "Such a tragedy, to lose one's parents at such a young age. You musta been angry. Alone. Terrified."
"If you think you're gonna get me to talk about that, you're even more delusional than I thought," Bruce said, glaring. Crane chuckled.
"Oh, you will, Bruce," he said, folding his hands together. "All in due time." Bruce clenched his jaw, glaring wordlessly ahead.
"I will admit, this is quite the clever disguise you've crafted for yourself," Crane said.
"The cowl?" Bruce asked.
"The co- don't be absurd, Bruce," Crane scoffed. "You and I both know I'm talkin' 'bout your public persona." He leaned back in his chair, raising one hand as if outlining one of Gotham's dazzling bulletins.
"Bruce Wayne- carefree billionaire playboy," he announced with a derisive laugh. "And I fell for it, along with the rest of Gotham City.
"That's not the only one, either," Crane continued. "What was that other one...oh, that's right! 'Do the butts match?' Did you start that one?"
"...Oracle," Bruce admitted. Crane chuckled.
"Ah yes, Oracle," he mused. "I never could figure out what made her tick...that's the benefit of hiding behind a computer screen, I suppose." Crane straightened his back, gripping the back of his chair in claw-like hands and studying Bruce with a predatory intensity.
"But we know what makes you tick, don't we, Bruce?" he asked, smirking. "Just you and I."
"We're nothing alike," Bruce growled. Crane sighed deeply, rising from his chair and turning to root around in one of the long, narrow drawers of his desk.
"You're right, we're not," he said. "I know now the only way to overcome fear is to face it head-on. You run from it every night, hide behind your fancy little toys, paint yourself a martyr just to hide the fact that you're terrified." He turned back to Bruce, some sort of device made of coiled wire and electrodes dangling from his hand.
"I suppose I could hold you for ransom," Crane mused, bending over Bruce. Cold fingers brushed the hair deliberately from his forehead as Crane set to work securing the two electrodes to Bruce's temples.
"What are you doing?" Bruce asked, dreading the answer. Nothing good, that was certain.
"These are psychoneurotic analysis and projection instruments," Crane explained, not looking away from his work. "A gift from Tetch. They allow me to record your brain patterns and see what you see." He stood, working the second device over his own forehead and producing a small remote from his pocket. Bruce glared stoically forward as Crane turned, dipping an empty syringe into one of the beakers of fear toxin and carefully filling it to the amount he'd apparently calculated. He turned back to Bruce, lifting his chin up with one delicate hand as the ghost of a smile twitched at his lips.
"Let's get down to business, shall we?" he said. Bruce stiffened as the needle found the vein in his neck, clenching every muscle in his body as the toxin slid like ice through his blood. Immediately he felt his heart begin to race, pounding against the inside of his chest, and his vision swam with tendrils of winding pitch that wound steadily around his throat, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs.
"See you in your nightmares, Bruce," Crane whispered. His satisfied smile grew wider and wider, until it was a gaping abyss, waiting to swallow him whole. The floor crumbled beneath Bruce's feet, and he plunged into the depths.
Jon, I thought this plan was bad when it was just crawling into a box that might kill you, to save a woman who'll definitely try, but now you've decided to do it all with one arm and no brain cells?
