UnHolyPimpHand
Not LitShark
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2010
- Posts
- 539
Dr. Jonathan Crane was deep in concentration, staring through the lens of his microscope, keeping his hands steady as he set about engineering the last phase of his revised serum. The mistake, he’d decided, was counting on fear as a driving force—since the physical response to abject terror was “fight or flight,” that alone was too much of a variable. Especially since some—who he refused to name, even internally—fight very fiercely.
It was difficult, shirking his parole officer and laundering enough funds to establish and keep this lab—but now, it was finally coming to fruition. Even without a gang or a bankroll—or even a solid plan, Crane was on the verge of a breakthrough.
Then there came a loud crash as his door was knocked inward by a mountain of a man dressed in a tank top that identified him as the Ace of Spades. He wore an odd looking sweat-band around his head and his eyes looked vacant and hollow.
“Doctor Crane, I presume,” a much smaller, and frankly odd looking individual strutted through the broken door, wearing a purple overcoat and high top-hat, “I’ve been following your exploits with much interest.”
“Hatter,” Dr. Crane hissed, “then I guess it’s not a coincidence that you’re arriving here just as my experiments are completed.”
It was true, the bioengineering had worked just as Dr. Crane predicted—but now he was more concerned about preserving his results than arriving at them.
“’Well, look who I ran into, crowed Coincidence. Please, flirted Fate, it was meant to be.’ No, good doctor. It is not coincidence—but perhaps opportunity.” The Mad Hatter, Jervis Tetch smirked confidently.
“I’m listening…” Crane nodded, skeptically as more carded henchmen with hollow eyes streamed into his lab, “not that it seems I have much choice.”
“Oh, we all have choices, good doctor, it’s merely that some choices come with consequences. But you’re a smart man, I trust you to make a wise decision. Truthfully, I wish to think of this as more of an opportunity for collaboration,” the Hatter tapped his walking stick as he moved closer and his minions fanned out, seizing and packing chemicals and lab equipment, “you see, I’m afraid that our mutual nocturnal adversary has identified this location and is presently on his way with the GCPD to shut you down and lock you back up.”
“Bullshit!”
The Hatter just shook his head, reaching inside his coat he turned on a Police Scanner that was tuned to the SWAT team’s frequency. The voices were crackly and sirens washed in from the background, but the voice was still understandable.
“…down third street. We’re behind Gordon’s car, leading the rest of the convoy.”
“Copy that, be ready for infil and detainment in ten,” Commissioner Gordon’s voice crackled back, “we can’t let Scarecrow get away with whatever it is he’s planning.”
Click. The Hatter cut off the radio.
“Left to your own devices, your lab, your research and even your intellectual self would all be seized by the police. Fortunately, for you, Uncle Jervis is here to save the day. I myself have had something of a breakthrough with my own research and am in possession of the things you most noticeably lack—namely a crew, an undiscovered location and a solid plan. Shall we discuss it elsewhere, or would you prefer to wait for a police escort?”
“You’ve made your point,” Dr. Crane nodded, slipping the vial of finished serum into his lab coat pocket.
While the brainwashed “Cards” packed up the lab and materials, the Hatter led Dr. Crane to a waiting escape vehicle. Within minutes the space was stripped bare.
*-*-*
Commissioner Gordon kicked some shards of a broken vial across the laboratory floor. The space has been gutted, they were too late. After taking a moment to steady his temper at being outflanked yet again—there might be a mole in the department. The thought sent a chill down the Commissioner’s spine.
“Looks like they left in a hurry.” The deep baritone of Batman startled Gordon from behind—he seemed to love sneaking up on him like that.
“Yeah, but for being in a hurry they didn’t miss much. The whole place is stripped bare.”
Batman just held his gloved palm out flat over a Bunson burner, too common to haul away.
“We didn’t miss them by much. It’s still hot.”
Gordon reached out and burned himself on the brass mouth of the burner. It was indeed, still hot.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Reach out to Crane’s parole officer. Find out where he’s supposed to be. Then put out an APB to find out where he actually is. Batgirl will be along shortly to further inspect the scene.”
“Batgirl, huh? Counting on her a lot lately, aren’t you?” Gordon answered back, still tending to his burned fingers, “and while we’re all scouring the city, what are you gonna—?”
Gordon looked up, Batman was already gone. The skylight propped open.
“I hate it when he does that…”
It was difficult, shirking his parole officer and laundering enough funds to establish and keep this lab—but now, it was finally coming to fruition. Even without a gang or a bankroll—or even a solid plan, Crane was on the verge of a breakthrough.
Then there came a loud crash as his door was knocked inward by a mountain of a man dressed in a tank top that identified him as the Ace of Spades. He wore an odd looking sweat-band around his head and his eyes looked vacant and hollow.
“Doctor Crane, I presume,” a much smaller, and frankly odd looking individual strutted through the broken door, wearing a purple overcoat and high top-hat, “I’ve been following your exploits with much interest.”
“Hatter,” Dr. Crane hissed, “then I guess it’s not a coincidence that you’re arriving here just as my experiments are completed.”
It was true, the bioengineering had worked just as Dr. Crane predicted—but now he was more concerned about preserving his results than arriving at them.
“’Well, look who I ran into, crowed Coincidence. Please, flirted Fate, it was meant to be.’ No, good doctor. It is not coincidence—but perhaps opportunity.” The Mad Hatter, Jervis Tetch smirked confidently.
“I’m listening…” Crane nodded, skeptically as more carded henchmen with hollow eyes streamed into his lab, “not that it seems I have much choice.”
“Oh, we all have choices, good doctor, it’s merely that some choices come with consequences. But you’re a smart man, I trust you to make a wise decision. Truthfully, I wish to think of this as more of an opportunity for collaboration,” the Hatter tapped his walking stick as he moved closer and his minions fanned out, seizing and packing chemicals and lab equipment, “you see, I’m afraid that our mutual nocturnal adversary has identified this location and is presently on his way with the GCPD to shut you down and lock you back up.”
“Bullshit!”
The Hatter just shook his head, reaching inside his coat he turned on a Police Scanner that was tuned to the SWAT team’s frequency. The voices were crackly and sirens washed in from the background, but the voice was still understandable.
“…down third street. We’re behind Gordon’s car, leading the rest of the convoy.”
“Copy that, be ready for infil and detainment in ten,” Commissioner Gordon’s voice crackled back, “we can’t let Scarecrow get away with whatever it is he’s planning.”
Click. The Hatter cut off the radio.
“Left to your own devices, your lab, your research and even your intellectual self would all be seized by the police. Fortunately, for you, Uncle Jervis is here to save the day. I myself have had something of a breakthrough with my own research and am in possession of the things you most noticeably lack—namely a crew, an undiscovered location and a solid plan. Shall we discuss it elsewhere, or would you prefer to wait for a police escort?”
“You’ve made your point,” Dr. Crane nodded, slipping the vial of finished serum into his lab coat pocket.
While the brainwashed “Cards” packed up the lab and materials, the Hatter led Dr. Crane to a waiting escape vehicle. Within minutes the space was stripped bare.
*-*-*
Commissioner Gordon kicked some shards of a broken vial across the laboratory floor. The space has been gutted, they were too late. After taking a moment to steady his temper at being outflanked yet again—there might be a mole in the department. The thought sent a chill down the Commissioner’s spine.
“Looks like they left in a hurry.” The deep baritone of Batman startled Gordon from behind—he seemed to love sneaking up on him like that.
“Yeah, but for being in a hurry they didn’t miss much. The whole place is stripped bare.”
Batman just held his gloved palm out flat over a Bunson burner, too common to haul away.
“We didn’t miss them by much. It’s still hot.”
Gordon reached out and burned himself on the brass mouth of the burner. It was indeed, still hot.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Reach out to Crane’s parole officer. Find out where he’s supposed to be. Then put out an APB to find out where he actually is. Batgirl will be along shortly to further inspect the scene.”
“Batgirl, huh? Counting on her a lot lately, aren’t you?” Gordon answered back, still tending to his burned fingers, “and while we’re all scouring the city, what are you gonna—?”
Gordon looked up, Batman was already gone. The skylight propped open.
“I hate it when he does that…”
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