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All it took to control a person was pushing the right button.
Some people had their ambitions, their obsessions, desires; some had their beliefs – the principles that drove them. Everyone had their fears they wished to escape from. And Scarecrow, thanks to his extensive knowledge in the field of psychology and psychiatry, could work with that, pushing the right buttons, pulling the strings, just to get people to do what he wanted.
If only some of those buttons didn’t require repeated pushing...
Halloween was coming, the revenge was within his grasp – that was why Scarecrow needed to be sure that all of his alleys were doing their parts of the plan. Unfortunately, not every one of them was equally reliable.
He had expected the Riddler to be fussing over a set of Blueprints, fine-tuning some battle robot programming or maybe even hauling around cart loads of green paint. What he hadn’t expected was finding Riddler sitting on the floor of his hideout in the orphanage, guiding a toy car over a racetrack for kiddies.
"Faster, Batman. Faster," he could hear the man mumbling to himself as the mini-batmobile made another circle. "The higher your speed, the bigger the force with which you crash on my mobile walls hahaha. And when you do, you will know that I – the Riddler – am so much better, more skillful and more intelligent than you!"
Scarecrow observed that scene for a moment, much like a scientist observes a test subject before engaging an experiment. The amount of absurd of this particular display of delusion was truly fascinating, however, it was better not to address the obvious.
"Car racing?" He inquired, immediately drawing Riddler's attention to himself. The little car hit the guardrail and fell off the track as the man on the floor abruptly turned around to him. "What does that have to do with the intelligence?"
„Of course you wouldn’t understand the finer points of my plans, Crane.” Nigma huffed. “And just for the protocol,” he added as he reached for the derailed Batmobile to check it over for damage, “I only crashed the car because you distracted me…. Hmm, that would be an idea, I need to make sure I can talk to Batman while he is driving.”
"Oh, I'm sure you are more than capable with that..." If non-stop talking in the most obnoxious manner possible, and not just talking but also bragging, insulting the interlocutor, throwing a tantrum once in a while, if all that was any good to stop the Bat then Batman would have been dead for years already.
Edward graced him with his over-confident smile, apparently taking that as a well-deserved compliment. “I have so many tricks up my sleeves for this track: moveable walls, bottomless pits and the ‘stompers’ that will turn that overblown macho-vehicle into a piece of tinfoil.”
Apparently, Riddler was really putting a suspicious amount of thought on destroying the Batmobile.
“Say, how is the work on that ‘Riddler Mobile’ progressing? You couldn’t stop talking about it a while ago?” Scarecrow asked with faked interest.
The way the Batmobile toy was suddenly crushed in Nigma’s fist was very telling.
“I’m doing some fine tuning on the design, so I can’t show you yet.” Edward finally grumbled.
"Of course," he agreed flatly. "You will show me next time."
"Yes, don't think I won't. It will have... I mean, it already has... It has a more aerodynamic design than his bulky tank-like can. After all, why would I need backseat space for prisoners – as he does," Riddler went on about his apparently most urgent topic of all. That car really got under his skin and the fact he didn't or couldn't build an equally fast and heavy-armored vehicle was driving him even more crazy than he already was. "How many times did Batman pack you inside that stupid trunk of his like a mere bag of potatoes? Did he ever let you in the cockpit? Joker said he has been to the front seat. Can you believe it? Joker? How could the Bat let HIM in there and not me? I am his one true nemesis. Me – the Riddler!"
Oh, there is was – the crux of the case. Jealousy. Joker had been dead for almost a year now but it looked like it wasn't enough for Riddler to stop feeling inferior. The clown had pulled Batman through hell and back, becoming a dark reflection of Bat's hidden desires, the yin to Bat's yang. Edward's competitive nature couldn’t cope with that fact. His obsessive need to outsmart and humiliate the Caped Crusader was, in fact, a desperate cry for attention, and it was growing stronger with every passing year.
On the other hand, who was Scarecrow to judge when the last year hadn't been particularly pleasant for him either. Months of recovery, pain, planning his revenge... But it would all come to its conclusion soon. And when Gotham would finally be free of the man behind the bat-mask, and the other rogues would be no longer useful, Scarecrow could pay Riddler another visit just to see his reaction.
Even without a fear toxin, he saw the man's greatest fears as clear as day, being obvious in every action, every word, concealed by the prideful demeanor. Cracking that ego-driven shell of his open, having his insecure true-self laying bare before him, well, that was a tempting thought.
Scarecrow moved from where he stood to take a better look at the place. As usual, every wall was stained with question marks, riddles, equations, and even some doodles, Riddler tended to do that every time a simple piece of paper was no longer big enough for his racing imagination during his psychotic episodes.
"Well... I hope car racing is not all that you have planned for the Dark Knight, Edward?"
“Of course not! Batman will completely dance to my tune till his inevitable demise. Observe!” Nigma proclaimed dramatically and pushed a few buttons on the remote…but nothing happened. “Why doesn’t it…? Oh, wrong remote!” The Riddler tossed the useless toy remote away and fished out another one from his pocket.
This time a row of pedestals rose from the floor, each with a single key under a glass cube.
“Only if Bats is successful he earns one of these, which he will need to free the…” Nigma made a dramatic pause here, “…hostage.”
That actually sounded much better. While Batman tended to fight double as hard when innocent life was at stake, he also became easier to manipulate…
“And guess who will play that fine role?” The man continued, excitement rising in his voice. “No random, underplayed and uninspired public workers anymore. No! This time it will be someone special: Chasing mice, climbing trees, always doing as I please. In the dark, I can see. Batman has a crush on me. Who am I?”
“Catwoman?” Scarecrow echoed disbelievingly. “You know, Edward, getting your face clawed off is overrated. You really should rethink that.”
Riddler wagged his index finger with a grin. “No no no, she is absolutely the right one – look I made this explosive little collar just for her. And she can only ever take it off if she gets the keys in the right order.”
Did Nigma actually realize what he was saying? A collar ‘just’ for Catwoman? That made it indeed more unlikely she would claw Riddler’s face, but only because, knowing her, Catwoman would aim for lower placed body parts. Scarecrow couldn't care less but the problem was that with no hostage, Batman wouldn't come playing Riddler's childish games and so his own plan would be more endangered.
“And how are you going to put that collar on her? As far as I know, you didn't even bother to hire enough manpower. And contrary to the random hostages, which you so despise, Catwoman can fight back.”
"You are underestimating my intellect, Crane." The man rose to his feet and pointed at his head with a finger. The 'lecture' was coming. "You can't force a cat to come to you, but you can lure them with catnip. And I know exactly the right bait to trick that particular kitty into trusting me." He chuckled. “One call and I'll have the Cat eating out of my hand.”
“If you plan to invite Catwoman to a candlelight dinner I have to sadly inform you that you are woefully under-dressed for the occasion.” Scarecrow cast Nigma’s appearance a judgmental look. The green Riddler-style Hawaii-shirt over a sweat and oil stained undershirt, the wide cargo pants, and the safety goggles were the most casual gear he had ever seen that self-proclaimed genius in, and that actually included his Arkham-inmate uniform.
Edward crossed his arms, the corners of his lips dropping in a displeased grimace. "In case you didn't notice yet, I'm working here. Constructing technological wonders and giving life to mechanical masterpieces. Do you expect me to do that in my best suit?” He asked theatrically pointing at himself. Scarecrow knew all too well that an answer wasn't really expected. “Do you know how hard it is to get grease off your clothes? I certainly do. Besides...” He paused to take a breath, it was clear he wasn’t finished just yet. “If I intended to ask Miss Kyle out, which I don't – and not because of the thing between her and the Bat but simply because I am not interested – but if I, for some reason, intended to do so, she would fall for my intellect and natural charm, so it wouldn't matter what I'm wearing.”
He was completely serious. Scarecrow stared at him but it was easier to just agree with the madman and play into his delusions than argue: “Yes, Edward, you are known to be charming."
“Well, thank you! You, on the other hand, are unexpectedly overdressed those days, especially comparing to the asylum incident." Riddler pointed at Scarecrow's chest. "Was the lack of a shirt really necessary back then? And who with two functioning brain cells is running around in the asylum sewers without shoes? Do you know how many rusty iron parts and germs are in a place like that?"
Scarecrow didn’t really feel like explaining his old costume choices to Nigma, not to say that the memories of that particular night were any way pleasant. Also, Poison Ivy used to wear even less clothing regularly and no one was asking her about that. He kept silent hoping for a change of the topic, but no... Nigma continued, now smirking knowingly. That was an expression Scarecrow didn’t like at all.
"I'm just glad you didn't reject the other parts of your outfit, you know I have a photographic memory and that'd be hard to get out of my head."
“What are you implying?”
“I am the tree at the winter time, I am the truth when it comes to light. You won't see me if I am ashamed and original sin is all to blame. What am I?”
There was no way that Scarecrow was saying the answer to that one aloud... And had Riddler just said that he had imagined him, the Scarecrow, running through Arkham naked? On a second thought, he really didn’t want a confirmation.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Nigma hadn’t ignited all his gunpowder yet.
“And last but not least, we come to your poor choice of a tie, which you are sporting even right now.” Riddler reached over and gave the rope a short tug. “Are you planning to invite Batman to give that hangman loop a good pull? Do you have a death-wish or something?”
The rope around his neck got a little tighter, Scarecrow caught Riddler's hand to prevent him from pulling it further. Edward didn't let go of the rope but the close proximity of the needle-claws ready to inject the fear toxin, clearly made him reconsider his actions. It would be so easy to prick him right now. Scarecrow held Nigma's wrist in his clutch, wondering which one of them rather had said death-wish, after a moment he pushed the other man away.
“You made a valid point, Edward. Now, are you done with your questions?”
“Actually…no.”
Of course, that had been a stupid inquiry – he was talking with a lunatic calling himself the Riddler. So instead of wisely shutting the hell up, Nigma was grinning at him.
“Tick Tock, I’m the one who ate the clock. Always hungry, running free. Shouldn’t Scarecrow search for me?”
Crane instinctively touched the mask over his destroyed face. “I don’t need to look for him, I know where he currently is. And if what I heard about that place is true, he is already living the nightmare. I will get him once he believes he has escaped it. The Bat comes first!”
“Just… will you be the first to come and get the Bat? Now, that's a riddle,” Riddler cocked his head, still smiling. “Since it was your idea to synchronize our plans, I assume you don't mind when I kill him before you get your chance? Oh, and don't worry, we will find some proper way for you to thank me later. And... as a consolation prize, you will still have your revenge on our crocodile colleague.” He made a nonchalant gesture showing how little he cared about Jones' fate. “By the way, are you sure your fear-gas will work on the Croc? Ain’t his unique mutation proving a problem? You should know best how long he can hold his breath. On top of that, his skin is tough as crocodile scales, so he’ll likely not absorb your gas that way either, and if you try to inject it, the needle will likely break right off. Of course, you could always lace some tasty morsel for him to munch on – but then I got the idea you’d rather not take the role of his favorite chew toy again. So that leaves what? Croc absorbing the stuff over his eyes? That would be an awfully low dose for a medium human already – for a guy who is easily weighing a ton? He’ll simply walk it off.”
So much talking... Edward, in his selfishness, didn't even know how lucky he was – not every villain would have taken being preached about their own shtick so lightly but Scarecrow was patient tonight. If he wasn't... Well, one day Riddler would run out of usefulness and then he'd find out about words having consequences.
“How kind of you to worry about me and my toxin,” he made it sound almost mockingly. It would never cross Riddler's mind to care about someone other than himself, the man just felt a compulsive need to show how smart he was on every occurring occasion. “But you can stop now. I assure you, when I come for the Crock I come prepared. And I have something special up my sleeve, something new, something stronger.” Scarecrow allowed himself to almost smile, it was difficult to do with a 'face' like his. “Once my cloudbursts set off, the entire city... no, the entire East Coast will get a front row seat to witness the potency of my new formula. It will be hell on Earth – and that is only the diluted version. You better remember that too, Edward, gas-masks will be useless, so stay somewhere high up or airtight underground.”
“Diluted, huh?” The other shrugged it off. “Then there is absolutely no reason to worry about me, my fearsome friend. Someone as perfect as my humble person, could never be controlled by ‘diluted’ fears. I am simply too intellectually advance for such a primitive thing!”
“Really?” Scarecrow watched the man closely. Riddler's body-language was oozing self-assurance, any signs of common sense long lost. For a self-proclaimed genius and a man with such a high IQ, Nigma was incredibly stupid sometimes. “You want to tell me, you are not afraid to face your darkest fears?”
“Ha! I have no fears!”
Scarecrow took a step closer.
“Oh? Let's put that theory to the test, shall we?” He extended his right hand, presenting his gauntlet; small vials with his dreadful concoction glimmered orange in a led light. “It is very brave of you to volunteer for a test-run, Edward. Not that the toxin hasn’t gone through an extensive human-subject testing stage already, but admittedly never with such a fine specimen as yourself.”
Riddler's smug expression shifted a bit, his eyes traveled to the vials and back as he began to understand.
“I... I am flattered,” the man stuttered – his typical reaction to stressful situations as Scarecrow had already noted – not fear quite yet but it was definitely coming. “But there is no need for that since there will be no one besides me in the entire East Coast who could withstand it anyway. On normal mortals it will surely work just fine.”
At this point Scarecrow was feeling something that came close to unholy glee, becoming the hunter who was cornering his prey.
“Yes but what about the Bat? He is no normal man either. His mind might not compare to your genius but his will-power is impressive. However, if the toxin works on you surely it will work on him. So on to the test! Do it for science, Edward.”
Scarecrow closed the distance between them with another step, reaching out towards the Riddler.
Nigma swallowed hard and then lightly guided the glove away with his index finger so the toxin nozzle was no longer pointing directly at his face. “You can always test it directly on Batman – nothing better than a field test under real conditions after all.” He chuckled nervously.
“And if it doesn't work? It will spoil my Halloween trick. Now, we can't have that, can we?” Scarecrow replied with his own, low chuckle. The hand was there again and this time Riddler took a step back, intimidated. Where did that cockiness of his go? “It's a diluted version, remember?” He teased. “Come on, Edward, just a tiny little dose...”
The way Riddler's pupils dilated was precious, Scarecrow took a moment to appreciate the sight. The man had paled considerably too and was staggering another step back when...
A sudden ‘crunch’ under his foot caused Riddler to desperately throw his arms to the side for balance. Instinctively, Scarecrow tried to grab for him – unfortunately for Nigma, with his right hand, armed with the fear-toxin gauntlet. No less instinctively, Edward shied away from the needles and crashed into a pile of empty green spray cans with the grace of a shot duck.
Instead of helping him up, Scarecrow looked down – it had not been one of the cans Riddler had tripped over. The item in question still lying on the floor.
“I can’t express how much I hate that stupid car,” Edward groaned from where he laid sprawled among the cans, glaring at the broken Batmobile with pure venom.
Surprisingly enough, Scarecrow could relate to that – all in all the useless toy had spoiled such a good time he was having with Riddler cowering before him. He wouldn't mind for it to last a bit longer but now it was lost, that creeping fear no longer there in Edward's eyes. Too bad.
“I'll leave you to work on your deathtrap race-tracks then.” He turned to the exit, slinking away into the shadows. “I trust you to get them ready before Halloween.”
All it took to control a person was usually pushing the right button but manipulating Nigma had a lot more in common with steering that toy car, Scarecrow mused. It did not always go in the direction you wanted it to, a single moment of carelessness and you lost control, and if you got impatient and went too fast, a crash was inevitable.
A vehement “I will so crush you, Batman! Behold the vast power of my superior brain!” drifted back to him from the depths of the abandoned orphanage.
At least this car was still on the track.