Military Camp – Command Room
Mayor Armand Krol sat frozen in his chair, sweat dripping from his eyebrows in fear.
"Scarecrow—?"
The Joker look at Scarecrow with surprise and glee, "What a pleasant surprise!"
From the open window, a figure dropped soundlessly onto the floor. Tall, angular, and draped in a worn, dark-stained coat. Twin canisters of glowing orange fear toxin pulsed softly at his sides. The burlap mask fused to his face shifted with every breath—tight, sinister, and inhuman. Beneath the hood, his eyes gleamed with clinical malice.
"You disappoint me, clown," Scarecrow rasped, his voice like rust scraping across glass.
"You invade my kingdom of fear and sow chaos in my absence—as if the architect were irrelevant."
Joker tilted his head like a curious animal, smiling with wide-eyed innocence.
"Oof. Harsh. I thought we were friends, Doctor."
He clapped his hands and offered a slow, mocking round of applause.
"But yes, yes, you're right. The stage is yours, of course."
He spread his arms in theatrical surrender, his voice giddy.
"I just borrow it. Every now and.... then."
"You don't borrow," Scarecrow said coldly. "You vandalize."
"Well, what can i say?" Joker grinned wider. His voice dripping with amusement "Terror's fun and all. But madness? Madness is timeless."
Scarecrow didn't blink.
"Gotham doesn't need madness. It needs a mirror—one that shows people what they truly are. And when they see it… they'll scream and cry as they confront their true fear."
Joker giggled. "That's what I love about you, Scarecrow. Always fun at parties. Ahahahahahaha....."
His laughter echoed through the command room, Then, as if remembering something delightful, Joker leaned in, conspiratorially.
"Oh, speaking of fun... you'll love this."
"Guess who's found himself a new playmate? Cornelius. My sweet, sensitive Ogre. After I cracked open his head with a lullaby, he's been so loyal. I sent him to fetch me the captain of this military show."
(Note: the supervillain Ogre, first appeared in Detective Comics #592)
He licked his lips with glee.
"Says he's the Master of Fear now, too! Isn't that just adorable? I told him he could wear the title for a day—like a little birthday crown!"
Scarecrow froze.
"Master of Fear?"
He took a slow, dangerous step forward.
"That mind-eating street ghoul? That deluded parasite?"
"You put my name — my legacy — on him?"
Joker shrugged, feigning innocence.
"He was so enthusiastic. Full of… heart. I mean you weren't there. So why not give my poor boy a title? A bit of validation."
Scarecrow's head tilted, the stuck mask twitching with restrained fury.
"Fear is not a party favor you hand out to cannibals."
"It's a science. A philosophy. An instrument of revelation."
"And you dare give it to a junkie of hallucinations?"
He leaned in, voice a surgical scalpel across flesh.
"You've made me very angry."
"Tell me, clown… do you want to know what fear is?"
Joker paused—then slowly, smiled like a child about to open a present.
"Ooooh… now we're getting somewhere."
He opened his arms wide.
"Then go ahead, Doctor. Show me. I'm dying to see what your little fumes do to me— I am sure it will be fun."
He cackled.
"Ahahahahahahaha....!"
The two stared at each other. Ten seconds passed, but to Mayor Krol—each heartbeat felt like thunder.
Then Scarecrow said quietly, "I'll be replacing Stirk. But this time, it must be an equal partnership... No one controls the other."
The door creaked open.
Cornelius Stirk—The "Ogre"—entered, bulky and blood-spattered.
"Damn it, Scarecrow!" he said. "What are you doing here?"
"Stirk!" the Joker sang, hands clapping. "Where's Captain Steve, the gift i wanted to receive?"
"Here." Ogre grunted, pulling out a dripping, red chunk of something from behind his back. "Tried to keep him fresh. His adrenaline's top-grade. Goes great in a fear stew—adds a spicy kick."
"No, you idiot!" Joker screamed, grabbing his hair in anger.
"You were supposed to kidnap him, not kill him!"
He slapped both ears, then laughed.
"Goddamn it. I should've known better. You're a lunatic!Ahahahaha! But hey—so am I! That's why we get along!"
He leaned forward, teeth clenched.
"Tell me, no one saw you do it?"
"Nah," Ogre replied between chews. "I hypnotized the soldiers before i went in. No witnesses. Even if he's dead, the plan's still solid."
Joker groaned, rubbing his face helplessly.
"Alright, alright… What's done is done."
He reached behind his head, sighing.
"Ugh, I'm dying of thirst. Stirk, hand me that glass of water on the table behind you."
Ogre handed over the glass.
Joker took the glass from ogre's hand and took a swig.
Then smashed the glass on the table.
In a snap, he drove a shard straight into the ogre's throat.
"Ho! You—!" Stirk gasped.
Joker moved fast. He leapt onto the ogre's writhing body, pulled his dagger from his coat, and began stabbing—again and again.
"FUCK -YOU, YOU USELESS! WASTE! FLESH-EATING IDIOT! USELESS! FUCKING! GARBAGE!"
Blood soaked the table, mixing with the chewed remains of Captain Steve.
Only when the Ogre's twitching ceased did Joker wipe the blood from his face and toss the dagger aside with exaggerated elegance.
He turned to Scarecrow and performed a sickening knight's salute,
"Your stage, maestro. Its time to show your true skills."
Scarecrow looked at the joker then stepped over the ogre's lifeless body with the elegance of a spider stalking prey, his silhouette framed by hissed vapors and the dim orange glow of his gear.
He raised his gauntlet, and with a mechanical snap, the fear-toxin nozzle unfolded.
PSSHHK—
The blast of concentrated fear toxin struck Mayor Krol right in the face.
The mayor screamed. Loud and inhuman.
"No! Impossible! This...this isn't real!"
His eyes went bloodshot, pupils slitting, heart hammering in panic.
"It's all in my head—! I'm hallucinating!"
From the shadows, Joker leaned casually against the wall, watching like a theater critic enjoying the performance.
"Ah, but we're real, Mr. Mayor. Super real."
He chuckled.
"If the guards at the door could still speak for you, they'd vouch for us."
"No! No! It's poison!"
Scarecrow's voice came slow, clinical.
"It's not poison. It's clarity."
"A chemical mirror. And what you're seeing... is the truth."
Joker grinned, arms wide.
"What's the horror, Mr. Mayor? Snakes? Approval ratings? That vote you rigged last year?"
"Spoiled sushi? Harley's underwear?"
"Snakes… snakes are venomous!" Under the influence of the fear toxin, the Mayor wailed, shaking uncontrollably like a helpless baby.
The Scarecrow leaned in front of Mayor krol. Mayor krol was horrified to see Two venomous snakes emerge from his eye sockets, while the Scarecrow
Scarecrow stood close, utterly unmoved.
"Snakes," he whispered. "Pythons. Vipers."
"Their tongues flicker..... Tasting your skin.....Finding the pulse beneath."
"And then— those fangs. Hooked. Hollow. Injecting my gift in your veins."
The Mayor convulsed.
"Please… I beg you. What do you want?"
Scarecrow didn't answer but Joker did.
He spun gracefully like a magician preparing the finale.
"What we want, dear Mr. Mayor… is for you to do what mayors do best...."
"Push buttons. Sign papers. Send men to die."
He leaned down, grinning wide.
"It's time to use that influence, Mayor. Dance under the fiber-optic lights… and drag this city into nightmares of horror and chaos."
He twirled, laughing like a mad child who had solved a riddle only he understood.
"Oh, and as a final treat— fourty five thousand soldiers to the front lines."
"And small gift for Bane... a tank full of my special laughing gas. Call it revenge—for hogging our Batman's attention!"
---
Meanwhile…
Burnt. Battered. Bruised. His body scorched by explosives and shrapnel. Maybe a few ribs broken.
But he wasn't dead.
Bane rose. Slowly. Painfully.
"I underestimated them. Those modern weapons." he growled. "Won't happen again."
Bane lowered his head, looking at the increasing number of enemies coming towards him.
"Venom input: maximum dose."
"Activate."
( Note : Scarecrow — real name Dr. Jonathan Crane — is a former psychologist and a master of fear. As a child, he endured a horrific upbringing. His father, obsessed with fear-based experiments, locked young Jonathan in a basement filled with terrifying stimuli — dead animals, insects, and darkness. This planted the seed of obsession in his fragile mind.
In adolescence, his tall, skeletal frame and awkward demeanor made him a target of constant bullying. But instead of breaking, Crane turned to books — particularly on psychology, phobias, and the philosophy of fear. His fascination evolved into a doctrine: Fear is the only truth.
Eventually, his fear of everything — of pain, rejection, powerlessness — culminated in his ultimate act of transformation. In an attempt to conquer fear entirely, he mutilated his own face and stitched it into a burlap mask, creating the grotesque figure of the Scarecrow.
Now, he is no longer a man but a living symbol of fear. His understanding of terror is said to rival even that of Sinestro, the wielder of the Yellow Lantern ring. Yet, despite everything he has done to embrace fear, one thing still haunts him — Batman.
The Dark Knight is the one fear Crane cannot shake. And so, with every experiment, every gas, every mind broken, Jonathan Crane chases not just the perfection of terror — but the hope that one day, he might finally extinguish his own.)