An old-school alarm clock blared, reverberating off the claustrophobic walls of a tiny, but tidy bedroom. Though it may sound like a contradiction, the room was indeed clean but cramped. Boxes were neatly stacked throughout the room, filled to the brim with reports, research papers, and proposals, all ordered alphabetically. Neatly.
The alarm was silenced by a lanky, pasty hand. That same hand slid down the clock's curvature and rubbed across the wooden nightstand until it found a pair of circular-framed glasses.
Those glasses were then worn by a man with a hollow face — though its hollowness didn't subtract from the handsomeness. Some might say it was the face of a lady killer.
His morning routine was as ordinary as ordinary gets. A shower, a quick brush of the teeth, and if he felt up to it, he'd put a bit of gel in his messy, brown hair and apply a few sprays of cologne. Rarely did he eat breakfast, but he would have a glass of milk on most days — today was one of those days.
He let out a sigh of relief as he placed the now-empty glass stained with milk on the counter. As he approached the front door, he took one last look at himself in the hallway mirror. He fixed his collar and his tie, then stepped out beneath the gloomy, morning clouds of Gotham.
A taxi ride later, and he was in front of Gotham University — the most prestigious school in the city. As the professor walked to his first class, students, some of whom were his own, while others simply knew of him, greeted him with smiles and waves. Most of these students were women, but there was the occasional young man who revered the doctor for his remarkable mind.
The doctor walked into his class, immediately greeted by a dozen voices saying, "Good morning, Dr. Crane!"
"Good morning, class! My apologies for being late; my cab driver couldn't tell East from West. Anywho, let's go ahead and get started on Module four, shall we?"
The ordinary man gave an ordinary lecture, one sprinkled with a few morbid jokes to keep the class awake. An hour and a half later, the lecture was over, and the class began exiting the lecture hall one by one, save for one.
"Good morning, Dr. Crane."
Crane lifted his eyes from his computer and saw a beautiful brunette leaning forward onto his desk. She smiled at him, swaying her hips side to side like a dog wagging its tail until he replied.
"Ms... Trout. Need help with something?" he said, oblivious. Or perhaps he was only pretending not to notice the way she looked at him.
"No need to be so formal, doctor. You can call me Tracy."
Dr. Crane corrected his glasses, looking nowhere else but the girl's eyes as he said, "I see..."
He cleared his throat, then continued. "Well, Tracy. Is there something you need help with?"
"Yes, definitely. I think I might need a little bit of extra tutoring... I feel a bit lost."
"That's strange. You have the third highest grade in the class. You seem to be doing just fine."
"And I'd like to keep it that way. I was just thinking..." Tracy ran her finger along the desk and stroked the professor's hand. "Maybe you can, I could meet up at your place and..."
"Ms. Trout. That's not a very good idea. For one, it's inappropriate for a professor and a student to rendezvous at the professor's home, even if it was just to 'study'. There's a power dynamic here, Ms. Trout."
"It's not like anyone will find out. I didn't tell a soul about the last time-"
"That... Ms. Trout. That was a lapse in judgment on my end."
"One that was quite enjoyable. Especially the part when you lifted me on your desk and you-"
"Can you not say these things so loudly!" Dr. Crane said with a hushed exclamation.
"Well, am I lying? You enjoyed it too, didn't you?" Tracy placed her hand on top of Crane's. This time, he didn't move. "You said you were lonely, Dr. Crane. You don't have to be."
"But you're my student..."
"Only until December. After that, we're strangers. Besides, we're both adults, right? We're only five years apart. We don't even have to wait until December. We can run away from his place together. Somewhere nice like Metropolis or Central City. You're an accomplished doctor; you can find work elsewhere, can't you?"
Crane had just a taste of Tracy once before — an action he would regret, but it would also replay in his mind countless times. He found beauty in not only looks, but most importantly, her mind. Had they met under different circumstances, perhaps he wouldn't have thought twice about pursuing her.
"This isn't one of those romance fantasy novels you read, Ms. Trout. There are real-life consequences to this sort of thing; we can't just up and leave on a whim. But, I will admit, I think about that afternoon in my office from time to time."
"Yeah?" Tracy said, leaning in close. "And how we were rudely interrupted right at the good part?"
"Had we gotten to the good part, maybe you'd have convinced me to run away with you."
Tracy slid around the corner of the desk and sat in front of Crane.
"Let's just forget about this place, Jonathan," she whispered, enveloping his hand with both of hers. "Just you and me, let's get out of here. Let's leave Gotham behind."
Crane removed his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge as he sighed and contemplated.
"Are you sure about this, Ms. Trout?"
"I'm sure."
Dr. Crane scribbled on a sticky note and handed it to the young woman. "I do have a connection in Metropolis, but I'll need some time. If you're serious about this, here's my address. Pack light, we'll leave tonight."
"Are you serious?" Tracy asked.
Crane nodded. "Let's do it. Let's leave this horrid city."
And so, time marched on as the two awaited their fated meeting that evening. Just before the clock struck nine, Crane heard a knock on his front door. It was Tracy, packed with a light suitcase. Crane invited her inside with a kiss, and the two of them remained connected by the lips until they reached Crane's bedroom.
Crane pushed her onto the bed and started to take off his jacket; however, he stopped in his tracks before looking over at the door down the hall.
"You know, I have a special room in this house with all sorts of special 'equipment', if you know what I mean. It'll be a shame if it doesn't get one last use."
Tracy still clung to the doctor, chuckling as she said, "I didn't think you were the dungeon type. Show me."
Crane lifted her off the bed, carrying her over his shoulder as they made their way to the door across the hall. Crane opened it, dug a key out of his pocket, and locked it from the inside.
"Ooooh, kinky..." Tracy muttered as Crane carried her down the stairs. However, her lustful smile soon began to fade as she heard animalistic screeching coming from deep within the dungeon.
"What's the noise?" she asked Crane, but he said nothing. The screams grew more intense with each step, as did Tracy's anxiety. Could this all be part of the roleplay, she wondered.
She would have her answer once Dr. Crane threw her onto the cold concrete, allowing her to see for herself what exactly the doctor's dungeon had in store for her.
About a dozen women, all locked away in three feet by three feet glass cages, were screaming in either fear or agony — it was hard to tell. Perhaps it was both. These women were all like her, early to mid twenties, and beautiful.
Some of the cells were stained in blood as their occupants slammed their fists or heads against them to break free. Others sat quietly in the fetal position, gibbering to themselves. A number of them had their backs against a corner, wailing as if they were trying to run away from an unseen monster.
One of them was a corpse. Her eyes had been gouged out, and her wrists were broken. A bone was sticking out of her right arm, sharp enough to use as a knife. She did — hence the wound on her throat.
There were black bags in the back corner with browning pools beneath them. Perhaps whatever was inside them shared the same fate as these women. Could've been another dozen corpses haphazardly chopped to bit and shoved inside like trash; it was impossilbe to tell at a glance.
"You aren't the first to try to swoon me, Ms. Trout. No, not at all. If there's one thing my father did for me, it's passing down these devilishly handsome genes of his. The pheromone that I developed only exacerbated what was passed down. Getting test subjects would've been a lot more difficult."
Tracy could barely hear the doctor past all the screams. Before she knew it, she, too, was shouting. She ran away on all fours like a cornered animal before running up the stairs on her own two feet. Crane barely moved; he followed her with a slow strut as he filled a syringe with an opaque, green liquid.
"The only way out of here is with my key, Ms. Trout."
Tracy threw herself at the door. She punched it, she kicked it, and banged on it with both hands, but it wouldn't budge. She could try to scream, but the basement was soundproof.
"You know, Ms. Trout, out of all the ladies who've visited me, you're the only one I ever truly liked. These other women? Oh, I just met them and Tinder and invited them over. Most would decline and accuse me of only wanting them for sex — which is most inaccurate; I would never. No, I just wanted to use them for my experiment. To not only study them, but to refine by fear toxin!"
Tracy pinned her back to the door as Crane slowly crept up the stairs with a wicked smile and a dripping needle in his hand.
"You're him?! You're the Scarecrow!"
"Ding! Ding! Ding! That's why I liked you, Ms. Trout. Quite the head on your shoulders. It's a shame, I truly enjoyed those few moments we had, but I knew the closer we got, the more I'd want you... The more I'd crave you. Today, I just couldn't stop thinking about what's going on in that brain of yours. What are you running from, oh so desperately? What is it that you fear...?"
Dr. Crane snatched Tracy by the wrist and inched the tip of his needle toward her forearm. However, Dr. Crane stopped upon hearing a noise coming from the other side of the door. It was a loud bang; it sounded as if something had blown the front door down. Crane threw Tracy down the stairs, her body helplessly banging on wood until she came to a sliding stop on the concrete floor.
Meanwhile, Crane unlocked the door and peeked into the hallway. It was pitch black, just as he'd left it, but he could hear the rain from outside as if the front door was wide open. He crept the door open just an inch more before the door was forced open by another force.
Dr. Crane fell forward, only to find himself face to face with none other than Spider-Man.
___________________________________________
Twelve hours earlier...
Peter, bridging the gap between billionaire and superhero, waltzed onto Gotham University's campus with his face covered in a medical mask and a hood over his head. As his eyes scanned between the gothic, castle-like architecture in search of the Behavioral Sciences building.
It wasn't long before he wound up inside, his back hunched as he held onto the single backpack strap on his shoulder. He approached the woman working the front desk; she acknowledged him with a nod as she spoke on the office phone.
After half a minute, she swiveled her chair toward him and said, "How can I help you?"
"Hi, my name is Bruce Parker. Do you happen to know if Dr. Crane will be having office hours today?"
"Dr. Crane..." she muttered, her keyboard clacking.
Peter heard a mouse click before the woman said, "It says here that he holds office hours from 3:00 to 5:30 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Looks like you're in luck."
"Great, I appreciate it. I'll come back later then."
"No problem. Have a good rest of your day."
"You too," Peter nodded, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and stepped out of the building. He disappeared in between the Behavioral Sciences building and the library, quietly reemerging clad in his Spider-Man costume on the rooftop.
He lay in wait until three o'clock arrived, as did his target. Jonathan Crane strutted from the south side of campus and stepped toward the building without noticing his arachnid stalker. Peter compared Crane's walk with the footage he had of 'Dr. Gruidae' — they walked as if they were the same man. Still, this wasn't incriminating enough.
Before Crane was out of Peter's line of sight, the arachnid attached a Spider-Tracker to his coat.
Peter tracked Crane through the building, crawling through the building's interworkings until they both reached the doctor's office.
Peter watched as Crane graded papers, occasionally meeting with a student or two to answer any questions about the upcoming exam. From the outside in, Crane seemed normal — perhaps too normal. Peter couldn't help but think of himself, playing the role of a philanthropist billionaire. Just as no one would imagine that he was Spider-Man, no one would suspect Dr. Crane.
As night approached, Peter tailed Dr. Crane, who'd hailed a taxi. Peter jumped from building to building, concealed in shadow.
Dr. Crane made it home, nonethewiser, that he was being followed. Spider-Man waited patiently, hoping that Dr. Crane would make a move that night; to his shock, the professor had a visitor. A young woman — a beautiful one, at that — approached the front door with a suitcase. Dr. Crane playfully yanked her inside with a kiss and shut the door behind him.
Peter, on the other hand, listened carefully through the bug he'd placed on Crane earlier that day. At first, Peter felt like a pervert for listening in on Crane and his presumed girlfriend's intimate moment; however, once the two went into the basement, Peter knew he'd made the right choice.
He heard the screams, the sound of Ms. Trout hitting the concrete, and Crane's entire confession. Having everything he needed to put the Scarecrow himself behind bars, Spider-Man sprang into action, kicking down the front door as if it were made of paper.
As Dr. Crane opened the basement door, Spider-Man crawled on the ceiling until he was close enough to put a hand on it. When he yanked it open, he dropped from the ceiling and grabbed Dr. Crane by the collar.
Crane then stabbed Spider-Man in the arm with his Fear Toxin, and a crazed laugh then danced from between his lips. "Tell me, Spider-Man! What is it that you fear?!"
Peter grinned beneath his mask as he reeled back his right fist. "Guess we'll never find out. I already reverse-engineered a vaccine for your little toxin. I'm immune."
Spider-Man punched Crane with enough force to send him flying into the overhanging wall above the staircase. If the punch didn't knock him out, the impact of the wall certainly did.
He hit the ground in front of Tracy, compelling her to look at the top of the stairs. Her vision was blurred, but she was able to make out the white, spider insignia on the hero's chest.
"You're real..." she whimpered.
Spider-Man hurried down the stairs and checked her arms for any marks. Hearing the screams of the other girls, he glanced over at the cages with wide eyes hidden beneath his goggles.
"Did he make you take anything?" he asked her.
"I don't think so..."
"Good. What's your name?"
"It's Tracy."
"Can you do something for me, Tracy? I need you to call the police."
"Okay..."
As she called the police, Spider-Man approached the women in the class cages, breaking them free one by one. Just in case, he'd brought extra antidotes for the Fear Toxin, but the women were under the influence of it for so long, the antidote wasn't going to cure them instantly.
Some time passed, and the police arrived. They found Dr. Crane webbed up with a note attached to him.
'Dear Police,
My name is Spider-Man. The man you're looking at is Dr. Jonathan Crane, otherwise known as the Scarecrow. He is the man involved in the Scarecrow's candy incident and the Psychology Convention incident. Attached is a flash drive containing his confession to those crimes and the crime of kidnapping at least thirteen women. I didn't have the stomach to check what was in those bags in the back, but I'm afraid that they may be the remains of more victims. The living women have been drugged up for days. I'd created an antidote for Crane's Fear Toxin for personal use, but I had enough to give to his victims. However, they're going to need professional medical help as soon as possilbe. As for why I'm not there in person, well, it's no secret that the GCPD doesn't like what I do. If I were there, you'd likely try to arrest me as well. Regardless, I still wanted to help. Perhaps in the future, once I've proven myself, we can formally meet.
Good luck,
Spider-Man'
At the bottom of the note was a flash drive with a spider symbol on it.
"Well, I'll be..." said one of the detectives, wearing the name Gordon on his chest.
As the police arrested Crane, shoving him in the back of a squad car, Spider-Man watched from the shadows.
My first catch.
Jonathan Crane.
The Scarecrow.
I thought I would feel something during this moment.
Triumph.
Maybe pride.
But I feel nothing. So much blood was spilt. Many lives were irreparably damaged because of one man's actions. Had I acted sooner, maybe I could've prevented some of them.
Still, I like to believe that tonight, I made a difference.
Spider-Man glanced at the symbol on his chest, rubbing it with his fingers.
I made this symbol so that criminals would recognize it. So they would fear me. But when that woman saw it... Her eyes lit up. She knew she was safe. Perhaps fear isn't the only thing Spider-Man can put into the world — there's hope too.
Hope for the future.
Our future.
Our kids' future.
___________________________________________
Later that night...
Jonathan Crane found himself locked away at Arkham Asylum, a prison for the worst of the worst, the most demented of criminals. Despite being caught, Crane had a smile etched across his face. One of the prison guards noticed his smile.
"What're you grinning about, you loon?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just that... There are so many interesting minds in this place, don't you think?"
"Whatever you say, crazy."
The officer threw Crane into his cell, slamming the door shut behind the crazed doctor. Crane rose to his feet and stumbled over to the sink in the corner of the room. He noticed a plastic cup holding a toothbrush. He grabbed the toothbrush and set it aside, grinning as he looked down into the cup.
He bit his own hand, drawing blood, before collecting it inside the cup, chuckling to himself.
"So many test subjects all in one place! Once I escape this place and perfect my Fear Toxin, I'll have to thank you personally, Spider-Man! To think someone out there was talented enough to create an Anti-Fear Toxin! I can't wait to peer into that mind of yours!"
The Scarecrow's laugh reverberated through the metal halls of the Arkham Asylum, compelling the other crazed criminals to cackle alongside him.
The guards glanced at each other, laughing to themselves as if to make fun of the prisoners; however, little did they know, this laughter marked the first chapter in the Arkham Asylum's descent into madness.