"Good evening, Gotham City." The words that cut into every television across Gotham this night, and reveal the familiar and incredibly creepy masked face of the Scarecrow on every screen, dead centre, and utterly void of emotion.
"First of all, allow me to apologise for interrupting your viewing pleasure this evening. I'm sure it must be sheer
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Batman pauses the recording - he has watched twice - and then sends it to Oracle for information on the children. If Crane is in hiding, Batman will be finding his partner in crime, as it were.
Nevermore Detective Agency is first on the list of visits for what promises to be a long night.
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"God damn it, Crane."
He grasps the remote with both hands, as if to break it in half in frustration, but pauses.
"On the other hand, this could have benefits."
Setting it aside, he makes his way out to the main office area of Nevermore, from the back room.
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"I should've expected you'd come here, first. Would you like the key to his desk? I don't imagine you have a warrant, but I'm willing to let that slide in the interest of the public good."
Nygma's tone is one of irritation. But possibly not directed at Batman.
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Two-Face is leaning back in a chair, watching a small black and white TV on his desk. Loading a pair of guns.
"And a sitcom reference to end it all. Aping the clown is not a good career move."
He stands up and slides on his coat, tucking the guns into twin holsters over his shoulders and heading for his door.
"The hero business is picking up," he mutters to himself. "Time to see if we can't add to the Black Mask Bonfire."
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Boston sits in silence for a few minutes, unsure of who to go to, and who would actually want his help. He comes to the conclusion that a bit of scout work may be necessary, so it's down to one of the Scarecrow's last recorded haunts with him, and that's where he sees a rather familiar scarred villain.
"Dent." Deadman manifests some way behind Two-Face. "I'm not the kind of guy to beat around the bush, so I'll come out and ask; are you in league with Crane?"
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Greeted by the sight of a man in a truly ridiculous costume.
"Who the hell are you?"
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"If you don't answer my question I can literally take control of your body and mind, and read the information... Not that it would be pleasant in a mind such as yours." Now Boston floats a few feet forwards.
"The Scarecrow has kidnapped around a hundred kids, from what I heard. This doesn't sound like your kind of crime, and I doubt you've ever worked for that madman before, but you'll have to excuse my caution."
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"I understand that we have had very few calls... I understand that the press have called my claims to do these children harm a bluff, and a pathetic cry for attention. Freeze? I would like you to crystallise three of the middle-class children, and dump them in the river. Allow them to float into the city proper. Firefly? Incinerate another three of the same social background, and have two of the mindless thugs deliver their ashes to their parents' postbox."
Scarecrow is going to be taken seriously. Looking up from his cell to the children doped up on fear toxin in his old family home, he smiles behind his mask.
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Dressed in his Brutale costume tonight, he's cleaning his workshop in the Gotham Village part of the city (torture can pay damn well), when a knock comes on the door. Well, more of a thud. Checking the monitor in his workshop, he can see a very large figure standing there.
"Croc, eh? What could he want at this hour...?" He presses a button on the intercom. "I'll be right there, amigo."
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Leaning on the door frame Croc tries to put Brutale at ease. "Craziest shit i've heard about in a good while huh?"
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"You got that right. Scarecrow's going loco with all this shit." He walks in, trusting Croc to close the door behind him. "You got the call as well, huh? So what did he offer you for involving yourself?"
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Occasionally he peers into one of the wards where some of Scarecrow's lesser thugs are standing guard over the babies, all with untraceable cellphones to hand should any of the ransoms be paid.
When Scarecrow had called and demanded the incineration of some of the kids... Well, it bothered him somewhat. He did it of course; he's being paid to work. But it bothered him that he then had to put the fire out. Putting out a fire feels a bit too much like half-cooking a meal and then throwing it away.
What's the point?
So far this little mission is going without much of a problem however. Is the Batman expected? Almost certainly. But as long as Firefly can detonate all of the high explosives in the building, the caped crusader is going to be far more interested in saving babies than capturing an arsonist with wings.
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That has to be Firefly.
Firefly needs to die.
Finally, his eyes shift to Deadman, wheels turning again.
"Tell me exactly what your powers are capable of."
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"I can take one of the heavies sat outside the hospital, and distract the others while you slip into the building. Leaving one of their bodies will be difficult, as the previously inhabited host will be aware that he's lost his memory over the past few minutes, unless-" a spectral snap of the fingers "-I get all of the guards to leave their position, and then have my host return to his. He may well just presume he fell asleep once I've left him, by which point you'll be inside and I can join you."
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