Chapter 18

JONATHAN CRANE-Scarecrow

Doctor Jonathan Crane was panicking as he felt his body being dragged across by some men.

He had been on his way to the office, annoyed at the news of Carmine Falcone's arrest, knowing that he would not be pleased by this proceeding. And then, just as he was about to enter his car, he was approached by two men, men who served him.

"Where are you taking me!" he shouted, his face covered by a mask, something that was quite ironic.

"I had nothing to do with Falcone's abduction! I asked where are you taking me!" he shouted and shoved, yet the men remained unmoved as they dragged him to a chair and then plopped him down.

"Let me talk to him!" he shouted when suddenly the mask was torn off of him. The bright lights of the building blinded him for a second as his vision adjusted, his heart still hammering in his chest.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but I am afraid there was no other choice," came his voice. The man who had begun it all, his eyes focused on him, his hair slicked back as he sat there surrounded by nearly a dozen men clad in black body suits and masks that covered half their faces.

"Why did you have your men drag me like this? You could have contacted me through our regular channels," he nearly shouted, annoyed by this whole ordeal, as the man shook his head.

"I am afraid that was not really a choice," the man began as he walked up to him and threw towards him newspaper.

He frowned as he picked up the paper, yet realized the meaning behind those words as soon as he saw the headline.

ARKHAM'S LEAD PSYCHOLOGIST MISSING! FOUND IMPLICIT IN FRAUD AND ILLEGAL EXPERIMENTS!

And right below that headline was the picture of none other than that accursed assistant DA, Rachel Dawes, making him grit his teeth.

"That B…." he cursed angrily as he crumpled up the newspaper.

"I am afraid our little assistant DA was successful in her attempts to oust you from your office. The Police are on the lookout for you, and you are now a fugitive of the law," the man began, and he finally looked around to try and make a sense of where he was.

"Then why have you brought me here? And where even are we?" he questioned as he looked around. The man. Ducard beckoned him and replied.

"Join me," he said as he led him out of the room, and he followed cautiously, knowing that he had just lost his utility to the man and his group and could be in a pickle.

"As you know me, and my organization have a vision of cleansing this world of evil, of trying to eradicate the rot that plagues mankind to give it a new beginning, a better beginning," the man began as he led him out of the room and his eyes widened as he saw the scene in front.

For they were in a hanger, an airplane hanger filled with at least two dozen small planes.

"And now we have set our eyes on Gotham," the man's voice cut in, making him turn to face him.

"What do you intend to do?" he questioned, and the man turned to face him, his eyes resolute and determined as he replied.

"A cleansing!" his words echoed through the hanger.

"And your marvelous little mind toxin shall be the instrument of Gotham's rebirth," the man answered, and he realized just why he had been brought here.

"But how?" he questioned, from his words it was visible that the man wished to spread it throughout the city, and he knew of no way in which that would be possible.

"Through them," he said pointing towards the plan and he frowned as he saw just what kind of planes they were.

"Seeders," he murmured, and the man nodded.

"Indeed, seeders. These planes shall seed the clouds over Gotham with your toxin, and then as it pours over the city, Gotham shall erupt, ending its long-lasting decadence," the man's voice rose with each sentence.

"And then, with the dawn of the next day, it shall be revived, a new beginning, and new hope, rid of all the rot that once plagued it." The man finished, and Jonathan was both scared and excited as well.

The effects of such large-scale disruption of his toxin excited him, yet he also feared what it would cause.

Though he knew that it would cement his name into history.

"Rejoice, Dr. Crane, for few in this world have the opportunity to reshape history," the man said as he placed his hand on his shoulder.

And his fists balled up as his excitement overtook his earlier worries. As he turned towards the man and asked.

"I will help you in all this. But in return, I wish to ask one thing of you," he asked, recalling the humiliation and how one damned person had destroyed his whole life's work.

And the man's eyes narrowed as he questioned.

"And what may that be, Jonathan?"

"Revenge!"

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BRUCE WAYNE

The two Wayne brothers found themselves sitting opposite one another once more, and it was time to continue their discussion from two nights ago, and it was he who asked the first question.

"So, how do you know of the League?" he questioned Thomas, and his brother took a diary out of his suit and handed it to him.

"You are not the first Wayne to come into contact with this organization," he said, and Bruce frowned as he opened it up and scampered through the diary before stopping on the marked page, noting how it belonged to their grandfather.

"Grandfather wrote of being approached by some men on behalf of an organization, one which sought to change the world, the League of Shadows, though he was skeptical of their behavior and decided not to engage them, yet that got me looking into them, more out of intrigue and the more I tried, the more curious I got. That was until I found their trace once more," continued Thomas, this time his lips thinned as his fists balled up.

Bruce put down the diary, planning to go through it later as he faced his brother, a small pit of dread pooling in his gut as he questioned.

"When?" he questioned, and the air was thick with tension. Thomas's words startled him.

"Around the same time of my own birth," he replied, looking at him, and those words stilled him as Thomas continued.

"…around the time of our parents…"

"…murder." He finished in a daze, his mind spinning as he began to breathe heavily, his own fists balling up in rage as the implication became clearer.

"I have little proof of this, but I have reason to suspect that it was the League behind our parents' death," Thomas continued, and Bruce shook his head.

"But what of Chill. It was him who shot our parents," he nearly shouted, and even recalling the name of that bastard still roused his anger.

"I believe Chill was simply an instrument, a tool used by them. For why a junkie would shoot over two people over a simple damned necklace when he could have made away with thousands of dollars," Thomas replied, and he stilled as he recalled that fated night.

Recalled how his father had handed him his wallet. And indeed, that wallet in it had enough money to last any junkie for months. Yet the man had shot them regardless.

"But why?" he questioned as he looked at Thomas, who shrugged.

"I cannot say, but I believe it was because they were like a symbol of hope for this city. During that time of crisis, it was our father's charities and welfare programs that helped this city cling to life; without them, this city would have eaten itself," he reasoned before passing him his phone.

Bruce frowned as he took it and saw that on the screen was a blurry picture of a man. And not just any man, a man who had no place being here at all.

A man whose life he had saved once. A man whom he had once called a mentor. A friend.

"Ducard!" he whispered, too silently, too startled that maybe Thomas didn't hear it.

"This is the man who ordered the capture of Selina's sister and the man whom I believe now leads this so-called League of Shadows," Thomas replied, and it took all his control to not just erupt in rage as he looked up at Thomas.

"Are you one hundred percent certain that this is that man?" he questioned.

And Thomas nodded.

"I am. That picture was taken by cameras on Selina's goggles. He is the man who confronted her and ordered the hit on Helena," he confirmed, and then Bruce returned him his phone as he asked the most important question.

"Can you find him?"

"I can try."

0000

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