[ Last night, The Batman found the Scarecrow again. Jim Gordon had summoned him, concerned about an excess of chemicals gone missing. Concerned maybed the new player in this game might have been the culprit. Concerned what kind of fresh horror he might have been cooking up with it. Batman didn't know, but when he slipped out of sight (when Jim's back was turned, of course), he was determined to find out.
What he found, is another another lab, though the missing chemicals still remained missing. But Scarecrow is there and honestly? He's the better prize. The fight that ensues scatters the men working there, but Bruce is laser focused on Scarecrow and bringing him to his knees. Instead, he catches a lungful of the toxin being made. He's prepared - of cours he is - and injects himself with the antidote. But Scarecrow is gone in the chaos and the lab a wash. There are clues and Jim collects them. Batman is no where to be found.
Tonight, Bruce is on time. Maybe for the first time in quite a while. He looks as put together as always as he sits down, on the sofa, away from Crane's desk. And on the surface everything seems pristine. No fresh bruises, no cuts or scrapes. Just a man attending an appointment with his therapist. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Save the ghastly visage standing next to Crane's chair - Robin, face bloodied, suit still smoldering. He stares back at Bruce. The boy isn't there. He's dead and Bruce didn't believe in ghosts. Not this kind anyway.
He doesn't stare. He cannot stare at what's not really there. He only glances then he sets his gaze on Crane. ]
So funny story. I met someone. She threw her drink in my face.
Sessions (three)
What he found, is another another lab, though the missing chemicals still remained missing. But Scarecrow is there and honestly? He's the better prize. The fight that ensues scatters the men working there, but Bruce is laser focused on Scarecrow and bringing him to his knees. Instead, he catches a lungful of the toxin being made. He's prepared - of cours he is - and injects himself with the antidote. But Scarecrow is gone in the chaos and the lab a wash. There are clues and Jim collects them. Batman is no where to be found.
Tonight, Bruce is on time. Maybe for the first time in quite a while. He looks as put together as always as he sits down, on the sofa, away from Crane's desk. And on the surface everything seems pristine. No fresh bruises, no cuts or scrapes. Just a man attending an appointment with his therapist. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Save the ghastly visage standing next to Crane's chair - Robin, face bloodied, suit still smoldering. He stares back at Bruce. The boy isn't there. He's dead and Bruce didn't believe in ghosts. Not this kind anyway.
He doesn't stare. He cannot stare at what's not really there. He only glances then he sets his gaze on Crane. ]
So funny story. I met someone. She threw her drink in my face.