Poor Scarecrow.
The last time he'd deployed fear toxin on the Joker, it backfired. The chemical had failed, and the Clown Prince of Crime had beaten him senseless in front of half the underworld. The humiliation alone had left scars deeper than the bruises.
Now history had repeated itself.
The toxin hadn't worked on Lex either.
And once again, Jonathan Crane had been thoroughly dismantled.
He lay sprawled across the polished lobby floor of Wayne Tower, costume torn, breathing shallow, unable to move more than a twitch of his fingers.
Lex glanced around the vast space.
"Anyone else?" he asked calmly.
Silence.
Criminals who minutes ago had strutted with rifles now stood stiff as statues, eyes lowered.
First the Joker had been taken alive.
Now Scarecrow was flattened.
Only a suicidal man would volunteer to be next.
Lex raised his voice slightly.
"I said—anyone else?"
The reaction was immediate.
Clatter.
Clank.
Weapons hit marble in a cascading rhythm. Even the two men who had bolted earlier crept back inside, hands raised high, faces pale.
Lex almost sighed.
He moved efficiently after that—disarming, zip-tying, securing the perimeter. Then he unlocked the holding area where Wayne security personnel had been restrained.
"You're clear," he told them. "Regroup and contain."
They nodded, stunned but grateful.
Only after the situation was stabilized did he leave the tower to retrieve Barbara and Gordon.
—
"You beat him?" Barbara asked the moment he entered the storefront.
Lex nodded. "Easier than expected."
Her brows knit together. "And the others? The criminals? They didn't fight?"
He gave a short huff of amusement. "They mostly watched."
She blinked. "Watched?"
"They were pressed into this. Scarecrow's leverage was chemical." He paused. "They surrendered without much persuasion."
Barbara stared at him.
"So… that's it?"
"That's it."
She looked like she was trying to reconcile the scale of the threat with the simplicity of the outcome.
"There's nothing you can't handle, is there?" she murmured.
Lex's gaze shifted toward Gordon.
The Commissioner was still curled in the corner, whispering the same word under his breath.
"Scarecrow… scarecrow…"
Lex's tone grew more serious.
"Barbara, I can't take you back to the Manor right now."
She straightened. "Why?"
"Wayne Tower needs leadership."
She stared at him like he'd just suggested she run for president.
"You mean me?"
"Yes."
She hesitated.
Even with everything she'd accomplished—the sniper missions, the tactical operations—many still saw her as a kid. Talented, yes. Brave, yes.
But a leader?
Lex crossed his arms.
"Your father's not operational. The men inside Tower are shaken. Someone stable has to anchor them."
"And that's supposed to be me?"
"You're the only one in the building who isn't compromised."
She glanced at Gordon, then back at Lex.
He didn't waver.
"There's another problem," he continued. "I need to retrieve the compound that counters fear toxin exposure. Alfred's been buried in research on the infected. He didn't remind me to prep before I left."
A flicker of something almost amused passed behind the cowl.
"That's on me."
Barbara inhaled slowly.
"Okay," she said at last. "I'll hold the Tower."
He gave a single nod.
That was enough.
—
Lex transported the unconscious Scarecrow to the Batcave.
Crane's outfit, despite its theatrics, had reinforced lining. The magnetic detonation had shredded the weapon but spared vital organs. The rest of the damage? Bruises. Cracked pride. Nothing fatal.
He'd recover.
Unfortunately for him.
When Crane came to, the first thing he saw was stone.
Then steel.
Then monitors glowing in the cavern darkness.
His eyes widened.
"This is…" he breathed. "The Batcave?"
There was something disturbingly delighted in his voice.
Lex didn't answer. He simply gripped Crane by the arm and steered him down the walkway.
"Come on," he said. "Someone's been waiting."
They stopped in front of a reinforced holding cell.
Inside, strapped to a metal platform, pale and thinner than before, lay the Joker.
Lex opened the gate and shoved Crane inside.
"Stay," he said dryly.
The cuffs remained on.
Crane, wobbling but upright, turned—and froze.
"You?" he blurted.
The Joker's head tilted lazily.
"Well, well," he said in a conversational tone. "If it isn't the scarecrow who can't scare."
Crane's face darkened instantly.
"You're still alive?"
The Joker's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Why wouldn't I be? You're the one who should've stayed buried."
Crane shot Lex an accusing look.
"Why didn't you kill him?"
Lex shrugged slightly. "You should ask yourself the same question."
Crane sneered.
"Still clinging to that no-kill rule?"
Before Lex could respond, the Joker laughed softly.
"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" he said to Crane.
"Figured what out?" Crane snapped.
The Joker's eyes slid toward Lex.
"That he's not Batman."
Crane stared.
Then he barked out a humorless laugh.
"You've finally lost it. I fought him. I know what Batman feels like."
He gestured weakly.
"If he's not Batman, then who is he?"
The Joker simply turned his head away.
"Hopeless," he muttered.
Lex stepped back toward the door.
"I'll let you two catch up."
He paused deliberately.
"Oh. One more thing."
He reached down outside the bars and set a single piece of stale bread on the floor inside the cell.
"I only brought enough for one."
Crane frowned.
The Joker's eyes snapped to the bread instantly.
Lex left without another word.
—
Silence settled inside the cell.
Crane flexed his fingers experimentally.
"You," the Joker said without looking at him. "Bring me the bread."
Crane blinked.
"In return," the Joker continued lazily, "I'll allow you to keep breathing."
Crane stared at him in disbelief.
"Are you speaking to me?"
The Joker finally looked over.
"Unless there's another incompetent haystack in here."
Crane's lip twitched.
"You really don't understand your situation."
He leaned down casually, plucked a thin strand of straw from his own costume, and slid it into the keyhole of his cuffs.
A few deft movements.
Click.
The cuffs dropped free.
The Joker's expression sharpened.
Crane rolled his wrists, grinning.
"You see," he said softly, "I've been waiting for this."
He stepped closer.
The Joker remained strapped to the platform, wrists and ankles secured.
"No gas," Crane continued. "No theatrics. Just you and me."
His grin widened, feverish and ugly.
"You humiliated me."
The Joker's eyes glittered—not with fear.
With interest.
Crane bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and then both hands slid to his throat.
"Call me a bug now," Crane hissed.
His fingers tightened.
The Joker's breathing hitched—but the faintest smile curved his lips.
And somewhere beyond the reinforced door, deep within the Batcave, Lex Williams watched through a silent monitor feed.
He didn't intervene.
Not yet.
....
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