NOTE: This story is a follow-on from my previous Bat-fic "Shiver". It is NOT a sequel, nor is it necessary to read "Shiver" first and its events do not affect this plot, although there may be references to it throughout. All that is required to know about the previous story is that it introduced Victor Fries (Mr. Freeze), Jervis Tetch (Mad Hatter) and Detective Lt. Harvey Bullock to the Nolanverse.

THE TERROR THAT CAME TO GOTHAM

Act I – "Dramatis Personae"

–Welcome back to Gotham Tonight. I'm your host, Mike Engel. Recapping our top story: Police are still on the search for escaped homicidal schizophrenic Jervis Tetch who escaped from Arkham Asylum earlier this week. Tetch was sent to Arkham just over a month ago for murdering and kidnapping several of his Wayne Enterprises co-workers. The details surrounding this case are limited, but some reports have indicated that Tetch may have used sophisticated Wayne Tech equipment to aid in his crimes. Tetch is currently suspected to be involved in the recent series of kidnappings involving young girls and is believed to be operating with accomplices. We'll have more on this story later, as well as the ongoing manhunt for the vigilante Batman, but now over to Lydia Filangeri with the entertainment news. Lydia?

–Thanks, Mike. Gotham's film buffs were recently overjoyed with the news that the remake of the 1950s cult horror classic The Terror was being filmed right here in our fair city. But getting the camera rolling has proven difficult. I've got the film's writer, director and star, Preston Payne, here to tell us why. Hi, Preston, and thanks for joining us.

–Pleasure to be here, Lydia.

–First off, tell us a little about the plot of the original movie.

–Well the original is very special to me. When I first saw it on home video in the 80s I decided right then that I wanted to get into filmmaking.

–Wow, so this is kind of a personal project for you?

–Very much so, Lydia. But the basic plot is that there's these scientists – two guys and a girl – and there's a love triangle situation. But then one of them gets exposed to this radioactive protoplasm that turns him into a shape-shifting monster…

–This would be the creature the fans have dubbed "Clayface"?

–Yeah, yeah. He's never referred to as such in the script, but that's what the fans – myself included – have come to call him. Anyway, Clayface, driven by his love for the female scientist, goes on a bit of a killing spree…

–But it's not just a simple, dumb monster movie, right?

–Oh no, no. There's a really deep, emotional story there. Clayface is acting out of love and jealousy; he sees himself being replaced, plus his deformity… It's very deep. I think my script captures the essence of the first.

–I understand you have the star of the original film too? Basil Karlo?

–Yes, and that was a real blessing, let me tell you. I'm such a huge fan of his, and I'm playing his role – Clayface – in our version. I just contacted him, asked if he wanted to be involved in the remake and he was happy to come on board. He's helped me and Ethan a lot with the script and he has a small cameo too…

–"Ethan" being Ethan Bennett, with whom you've worked before?

–Yes, yes. Ethan and I write the screenplays for all my movies. He's a good friend.

–Tell us about some of the difficulties you've had in getting the film off the ground. I understand you've been pitching it for some years now?

–[Sighs.] Yeah. Like I said; it's a very personal thing… No studio would ever finance it, even in this remake-heavy culture, so I'm producing it independently. With my own money and some help of course.

–You were lucky enough that rising starlet Julie Madison joined the cast and, as those of us who read the gossip magazines know, she's not shy of a penny, and not afraid to show it off either.

–[Laughs.] Yeah, well, despite what the papers say, Julie is actually a fantastic actress; she wasn't just hired because of the money she brought to it. We're also being financed by a local businessman here in Gotham: Roland Daggett.

–CEO of pharmaceutical company Daggett Industries.

–Right. He's a little…presumptuous when it comes to his role in the making of the film…

–What do you mean?

–Well I don't want to… Let's just say we have a lot of creative differences and leave it at that.

–Fair enough. Tell us about the rest of the cast. I understand you also have action movie star Matt Hagen as well as Oscar nominee Sondra Fuller?

The interview continued but a guard switched off the rec-room television set, much to Crane's annoyance.

"I was watching that," he informed the guard.

"Tough," was the reply. "Time for your appointment, Crane."

Crane sighed as his thin frame, contained in a straightjacket, was hauled to his feet. "I used to be the one who gave the appointments out around here," he said, almost to himself.

"Don't remind me," said the guard. He marched Crane into the office of Dr. Edward Burton, the head psychiatrist, a position formerly held by Crane himself.

Dr. Burton smiled warmly as the guard fastened Crane into the bolted-down steel chair across the desk. When the guard left, the two men simply stared at one another for a moment.

"So," said Burton. "Tell me about your mother."

Crane could not help laughing. "Good one, Edward. You learn that at Brown?"

"Psychiatry for Dummies," said Burton. Both men smiled and for a moment it was easy to think of themselves as colleagues rather than as doctor and patient.

"We didn't know each other very long," said Burton, "but I was already familiar with your work when I was assigned here. Your ideas on the criminal mind were fascinating, Jonathan…"

"Are you here to analyse me, Edward, or are you just going to praise me?" said Crane. He somehow made the question sound threatening with his quiet, needling voice. "Either suits me." He shrugged with some difficulty in his restraints.

Burton leaned back in his chair and discarded his patronising tone and demeanour. "Your ideas were fascinating… but limited. You seemed to think fear was the overriding emotion behind all psychological behaviours."

"You disagree, yet even now, Doctor, you're using fear to try and provoke me into discussion."

Burton grinned smugly. "Actually, Doctor, I'm using professional pride to try and provoke you."

Crane's grin was much colder. "Pride is just the fear of becoming less than perfect in your own eyes. Everything comes back to fear."

"What makes you think that, Jonathan?"

Crane was well aware of the technique Burton was using – making Crane think he was leading the conversation – but he played along.

"Alright, Edward… You asked about my mother… I'll tell you about her… But first, my father…

"He was a security guard for a shopping mall. Was full of himself; thought he was John Wayne in some brightly-lit Wild West frontier. He always used to say: 'An honest man has nothing to fear.' So arrogant, so deluded…

"Once, he was walking me home from school – I was about nine or ten – when a dog leapt out the bushes. It wasn't wild or anything, just a big, dumb animal. I screamed like a girl and fell to the ground, only to look up and see my father petting the beast and laughing at me. He made me feel ashamed to feel fear. He never showed the slightest trace of it, and I wanted to change that…

"My mother suffered from osteoporosis – a weakness in bone mineral density – I'm sure you know of it. She was very frail and my father cared for her very much. I sometimes think about the romanticism of their relationship: Someone so strong loving someone so weak. She was his only weakness…

"One afternoon, just before my father got back from work, I pushed my mother down the stairs. My father came home and found her lying dead in the hallway. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. It was the first time I had ever seen him afraid.

"I knew then that the only way to be truly fearless was to become more terrifying than that which haunts you." Crane's piercing grey eyes were aimed right at Burton. "Now do you see, Edward?"

Burton leaned forward slowly and tried not to tremble at this chilling revelation. "Jonathan, are you honestly saying that you killed your own mother? As a child? That's quite a confession."

"I killed that dog too, but I guess that's kind of an anti-climax now," said Crane flippantly.

Burton made a note to check for information on Crane's mother later and rubbed his forehead in exasperation at this new and radical knowledge.

"Uh, Jonathan, I hate to sound like a first-year psych student, but your feelings for your father have clearly clouded your judgement. In a very extreme manner…"

"But I'm right, Edward," said Crane, his voice steady with earnest confidence. "Fear can be used as a wonderful tool, and it is so very, very complex and captivating. For example: You were so enthralled in the chilling tale I told that you failed to notice me free myself from my straightjacket and chair restraints – something I learned from an old patient."

Burton suddenly became aware that Crane was sitting with his hands free and steepled in front of himself. His mind started to race: How long had Crane been free? Could he alert the guards in time? Could he talk Crane down?

"See, Edward?" said Crane, rising slowly from the chair. "Now you're experiencing dread and panic, and you are paralysed with the fear…" He approached Burton with deliberate pace.

"Jonathan… Please, just sit back down and we can–"

"I'm sorry, Edward," said Crane. "Your time is up…"

"Preston! Get yourself in here, my boy," Roland Daggett waved the young filmmaker into his office and closed the door behind him. "Have a seat. Cigar?" Daggett offered as he puffed on one himself.

"Uh, no thank you," said Preston. Both men sat across from one another.

"How did that TV thing go?" asked Daggett.

"What? Oh that. Yeah, pretty good…" Preston scratched at his hair, which had been neatly combed for the interview. He was not usually so well-groomed on a hectic film set.

"You mention me?" Daggett wiggled the cigar between his chubby fingers. "Name-drop the company?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so," said Preston.

"Good! Good! Publicity, Preston my boy, that's what it's all about! Getting your name out there."

"I presume you didn't just ask me here to discuss the interview?" said Preston. He was clearly impatient.

"Cut to the chase, eh? It's publicity I wanted to talk to you about, Preston." Daggett swivelled to gesture emphatically towards the window. "We've got to get people talking about the movie."

"People are talking about the movie, Mr. Daggett," said Preston defensively.

Daggett snorted. "Yeah; film weirdoes and Internet losers. We wanna reach a wider audience, Preston! Some normal, decent folks who like a bit of sex and violence in their movies."

Preston cringed. "The Terror isn't about sex and violence…"

"Sure it is. Or it will be after we've made a few changes…"

"We?"

Daggett ignored this interrogative. "More publicity means more audience which means more money. You wanna make a bit of cash, don't ya?"

Preston simply held his head, exasperated. "It's not about the money either…"

"Oh grow up, Preston," said Daggett. He rose from his chair and paced to the window. "Film isn't an art, despite what you and your stoner college pals say. Film is a business. And I understand business."

"We're not changing the film," said Preston firmly.

"You're gonna have to. 'Cause it's my money that's going into this and there's nothing you can do about that." With that, Daggett turned to stare triumphantly out the window.

He didn't see Preston remove a small, sharp object from within his sleeve.

"You're right, Mr. Daggett," said Preston. "I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"I knew you'd see it my way, Payne," Daggett said over his shoulder.

Preston got up and approached Daggett. "I suppose we could work in a few more violent scenes."

"Now you're talking!" said Daggett, turning to face Preston. "What d'you have in mind?"

"Something like this." Preston's hand lashed out towards Daggett's large body. Daggett's eyes widened at the sudden shock and he looked down to see a blade, clutched in Preston's hand, sticking out of him.

"B-Blood…" he whispered before finally going silent.

Preston sneered. "Just giving the people what they want."

An abandoned amusement park. Batman could scarcely believe the audacity. He had seen criminals go to ground in warehouses, the homes of family members, factories, cheap hotels and various derelict buildings, but to hide somewhere so garish, so colourful, seemed perverse and oddly disrespectful.

But it fitted Jervis Tetch perfectly. His childish and delusional mind would think it the ideal place to lie low. It almost reflected his mental state: something once bright and cheery now corrupted and twisted. It could almost be humorous were it not for Tetch's purposes.

Batman pulled up in the Bat-pod and left the noisy vehicle outside the perimeter fence. He would approach with caution; Tetch was not to be underestimated, even without his mind-controlling neural amplifier. Batman started to head straight for the revolving tea cups ride. Given Tetch's obsession with Lewis Carroll stories, it seemed the obvious choice.

Tetch had escaped from Arkham earlier this week with the assistance of his cellmate Edgar Humphries. Humphries had been convicted for murder shortly before Tetch a month ago and had been found to be a mildly autistic savant. With his technical genius and Tetch's neurological expertise, they constructed some kind of sleep-inducing device out of television parts and other broken machines and used it to subdue the guards.

Before their escape, Batman had been pleased to hear that Tetch and Humphries were getting along so well; it had perhaps indicated a return to normality for both men. Indeed, their collaboration in their breakout spoke well of their ability to work with others. Yet they were still committing terrible wrongs.

Several young, blonde girls from the area had been abducted from their homes. From descriptions, it sounded like Tetch, aided by twin brothers Donny and Denny Terwilliger, who had also escaped from Arkham along with Tetch and Humphries.

Denny and Donny were small-time crooks, but had grown psychologically dependant on each other. They became physically distressed when separated. They were also highly susceptible to negative influence; no doubt how Tetch had so easily recruited them.

Batman was approaching the tea cup ride and could see several figures standing around it, when he was distracted by the faint sound of sobbing. In the faint glow given off by the distant city, he could make out a large, hulking figure sitting on a broken down wall.

"Edgar?" Batman whispered. The rotund man looked up and smiled at seeing Batman.

"I… I couldn't fix it," Edgar burbled. "I couldn't fix his magic hat…" In his hands he held up broken bits of metal. It was the remains of Tetch's neural amplifier that Batman himself had destroyed. This explained a recent break-in at police headquarters where nothing had apparently been stolen.

Batman reminded himself that Humphries needed a soft approach. He was not an evil man. Batman took the broken amplifier from Humphries and made a note to collect it later and make sure it was properly destroyed. "That's alright, Edgar," he said. "He's a bad man."

"Mm-hmm," Edgar moaned in agreement. "He made those girls sad. They don't want to play… They just want to go home… So do I…"

"It's okay, Edgar. The police are on their way. Just sit tight." With that, he continued towards Tetch.

As Batman neared the carnival ride, he could hear Tetch's insane ramblings.

"Take some tea," he was saying. "You can't take any less, but you can always have more!"

Batman could now see Tetch, dressed as the traditional John Tenniel illustration of Carroll's Mad Hatter, sitting in the centre. All four of the missing girls were sat around him, looking terrified and all clothed in identical blue dresses. The Terwilliger brothers stood on either side, facing inward, and were apparently dressed as Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, in accordance with Tetch's delusions.

"One of you must be Alice," said Tetch. "But, contrariwise, not all of you are Alice. So I need to see which is what and what is which and dispense with the rest, like yesterday's jam. Or today's jam tomorrow."

"This ends now!" Batman shouted, diving from the shadows. He needed to lure Tetch away from the girls; he couldn't risk hurting them and had no time to wait for Gordon's backup. He used smoke-bombs to distract and momentarily subdue the brothers as he went for Tetch.

But Tetch had picked up one of the girls and held a revolver to her head. Batman stopped in his tracks.

"Put the gun down, Jervis," he warned Tetch. "You don't want to hurt her."

"I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently?" Tetch babbled, his eyes wild and manic. He was slowly backing away as the girl wept.

Batman could see no way to incapacitate Tetch without risking the girl's safety. Even his inaction was no guarantee that Tetch wouldn't simply pull the trigger on a whim.

"You know," said Tetch, gravely, "it's one of the most serious things that can possibly happen to one in a battle – to get one's head cut off… Tweedle-dee! Tweedle-dum! Attack the Jabberwock!"

Denny and Donny had recovered enough to come at him with machetes. Batman defended himself with his wrist-fins on his armour, which were designed specifically for blocking bladed weaponry.

Tetch ran off carrying the little girl and shouting "Off with his head!"

Batman had no time to be light on the well-built but slow-moving brothers. He kicked Donny in the solar plexus, sending him backwards onto his back. Batman then wheeled round and grabbed Denny's arm as he made to strike. Twisting the wrist, he disarmed the thug and knocked him unconscious with a controlled punch.

Turning, Batman expected to fend off an attack from Donny. Instead, the other Terwilliger was kneeling and looking towards his brother.

"Denny?" he said, his face blank and voice expressionless. "What now? What do we do know?"

Like their psychiatric evaluations had stated; neither brother was capable of action without the other. Nevertheless, Batman could not take the risk, and he also knocked out Donny.

At the sound of whimpering, he turned to see the other three girls cowering from him. For a split-second, he felt a great sadness at seeing fear in the eyes of children. But the life of the other girl depended on him; he had no time to waste. He ran towards the Hall of Mirrors; where Tetch had headed.

Once inside the series of darkened corridors, Batman could hear Tetch rambling on again.

"'Twas brillig and the slithy tothes did gyre and gimble in the wabe… All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe…"

Batman silently crept through the reflective surfaces, trying to discern the source of Tetch's voice. Suddenly, he saw the back of Tetch's head and he lunged for him.

Only to fiercely crack a mirror. Stupid mistake. His mind was clouded; adrenaline still running high from the fight with the twins. He calmed his breathing.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son," Tetch continued. "The jaws that bite…" his voice was nearer now. "The claws that snatch…"

Batman entered a larger chamber and the fourth little girl sat, alone, crying. Obviously a trap.

Tetch leaned out from behind a mirror, unseen by his prey, and aimed his gun. "Beware the Jubjub bird," he quietly recited. "And shun the frumious…" he pulled back the hammer, "Bandersnatch!" He fired.

He hit only glass. Before Tetch could reflect on this outcome, Batman struck him unconscious from behind. He had used Tetch's own trick against him; made him attack a mirror.

"Back to Wonderland with you," said Batman.

"Found Tetch and the Terwilliger brothers all tied up for us, Lieutenant," reported a patrolman. "Humphries and the girls were just sitting there."

Bullock was lighting himself a cigarette. He had lost count of how many packs he went through in a day since he had come to Gotham. "Poor kids… Get a'hold of their parents as soon as you get back. Go on without me; I gotta, ah… take a walk."

The patrolman nodded and left. Bullock sighed and pushed his hat back to rub his forehead.

"You never get used to it," said Batman from the shadows.

Bullock nearly jumped. "Shoulda figured you'd be the carnival type: ghost trains, spook houses, freak shows…"

"Where's Gordon?" the Dark Knight simply asked.

"Back at H.Q.," replied Bullock. "Your old pal Doctor Crane escaped earlier tonight…"

"I know. He took Arkham's chief psychiatrist Dr. Edward Burton hostage. Used Burton's car to escape. The car was found an hour ago, abandoned near the city limits. The only trace of Crane was an old straightjacket and Dr. Burton's strangled corpse."

Bullock shook his head. "Well, you're one up on me. I've just been chasing a crazy paedophile…"

"There's no evidence Tetch sexual molested the girls," said Batman, almost in defence. "He's delusional and schizophrenic, but essentially childish and immature. Although he is prone to violent tendencies…"

"Alright, alright…" Bullock waved his hand. "Show-off."

"I'd recommend keeping Tetch and Humphries in separate cells," said Batman.

"Oh, ya think?" Bullock sarcastically quipped. "They should both be kept in solitary, ya ask me."

"Humphries has no desire to escape. He was goaded into it by Tetch. His intelligence and skill was taken advantage of. His mind should be nurtured, not corrupted. The Terwilliger brothers are also easily influenced, although more prone to criminal activities…"

"Yeah, well, I don't care what's wrong with any of 'em, so long as they're off the streets and those little girls are safe… Gonna be having nightmares for years…"

"That's why we need to bring Crane in," said Batman. "He's dangerous; there's no telling what he'll do now he's out."

"I read the file on him. Dresses like a scarecrow, likes scaring people… Doesn't seem so tough…"

"You didn't think Fries or Tetch were tough."

"Yeah, and one of them's dead and the other's locked up, so I can't have been that wrong. Well, Tetch did escape, but still…"

"Crane's obsessed with fear; its effects, its uses…" said Batman. "He employs a powerful and toxic hallucinogen on people as part of his experiments, to induce fear. Luckily the blue flower used in its composition is… rare."

"They still haven't accounted for all his supply of the stuff from when he was running that drug ring a few months back," said Bullock. "Or the money he made from it."

"Precisely why he needs to be brought in, and fast," said Batman. "He'll most likely start up his experiments again, only on civilians this time instead of patients and drug addicts."

"I hear it's strong stuff," said Bullock. "That kid on the news… Tried to claw his own eyes out…"

"You have no idea," said Batman.

"The Commish is working this case pretty hard. Barely left his office since. I hear he brought Crane in when they discovered his little scheme at Arkham. With a little help from yourself, of course."

"What's your point?" asked Batman.

Bullock shrugged. "Maybe it's nothing. But I've seen cops take some cases a little too personally. Destroys their careers and their home lives. Gordon seems like a good man; I'd hate to see it happen to him, y'know?"

Bullock squirmed uncomfortably before continuing. "I, uh, don't mean to be a gossip, but the Commish seems to be having some troubles at home already."

This was news to Batman. He and Gordon rarely spoke about their personal lives. For Batman the reasons were obvious, and he had allowed the Commissioner respectful privacy in turn. Batman found himself oddly troubled by this new information. Could it be genuine concern for a friend, or merely a professional apprehension over a partner's state of mind?

As if reading Batman's emotionless features, Bullock said "Not that he talks about it though. But I can tell. It's the little things… I'm good at picking up on stuff like that. It's why I'm a detective, I suppose."

This brought to mind another subject Batman felt a need to discuss. "Is that why you trust me, Lieutenant?" he asked. "Despite what's said about me?"

Bullock nodded with understanding. It was a topic he knew would be raised eventually. "I'll be honest with ya, Bats: I was originally gonna arrest you after you helped us bring in Fries. I mean, right from the start it seemed a little nuts to me; charging an urban legend with murder. But a warrant's a warrant, right?

"After I met ya, I could see it though: The way Gordon trusted ya, your attitude, your eyes… Hell, ya just seemed to have this… purpose, I suppose. I could see you weren't a killer. Then everything fell into place: What use is a vigilante if everybody knows he won't kill? Pretty smart of you and Gordon."

Batman gave a single nod of respect. He knew he could trust Bullock with this knowledge, just as he trusted Jim Gordon.

"Besides," added Bullock, "after I seen you in action, I wasn't too keen to try and slap on the cuffs, y'know what I'm saying?"

Bullock's radio started crackling for his attention.

"This is Bullock," he acknowledged into it.

"Dispatch. We got a one-eighty-seven over at Daggett Industries, Lieutenant. Commissioner wants you to check it out."

"On it," said Bullock. He switched off the radio and turned back to Batman. "Homicide over at–" He was talking to empty space. "'Course…"

"Mr. Daggett stays late lotsa nights," the old security guard related to Bullock. "So I didn't see anything odd about it. Today he had some meeting with that Payne fella…

"Preston Payne? The movie director?" Bullock was noting everything down as the forensics team passed in and out the office formerly belonging to Roland Daggett.

"Yeah," said the guard. "Mr. Daggett is… or, was… helping finance the movie."

"Yeah, I know," said Bullock, noting down to contact Payne later. "Go on."

"Well, I still thought he'd be long gone by this time, so I was just doing my rounds when I found… that."

The guard indicated Daggett's corpse, lying on the floor, covered in blood. All the skin over the face had been completely removed.

Bullock took a moment to let the chills finish running down his spine. "Alright, sir, thank you for your cooperation. We'll be in touch if we have further questions." He led the guard out the room and he followed soon after.

He entered the building's stairwell and looked up. "You see that in there?"

Batman was poised on a rail on the floor above Bullock. The detective had seen shadows moving in the ventilation shaft and immediately suspected the Dark Knight.

"The victim was stabbed in the carotid artery first, before the face was removed," said Batman, matter-of-factly. "He would've bled out fast, but not so quick that the killer removed the face before he died."

"Jesus," cursed Bullock.

"It was done quickly and carefully, with very little arterial spray. We're dealing with a professional."

"Yeah," scoffed Bullock, "a professional freakin' nut job… We already got a lead anyway: this Preston Payne. Been in town lately to make some big flick…"

"The Terror," said Batman.

"No idea you were such a movie buff," said Bullock.

"I know everything that happens in Gotham."

"Yeah? Then who did this, Sherlock?"

"Something tells me it wasn't Payne…" said Batman.

"Lieutenant?" A young officer poked her head through the stairwell door.

"What is it?" said Bullock.

"You know how you told us to find Preston Payne?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we found him. He's, uh, in the lobby."

Bullock stormed out into the lobby to find Payne and another man.

"What's going on?" Preston was asking.

"You Preston Payne?" Bullock asked.

"Yes."

"I'm Lieutenant Bullock, Major Crimes Unit. Sir, I'm afraid Roland Daggett has been murdered."

"M-Murdered?" said the other man, in shock. "What do you mean?"

"Sorry, sir, you are?" asked Bullock.

"Uh, Bennett. Ethan Bennett. I'm the screenwriter for the film we're working on…"

"Well, Mr. Bennett, your financer was found dead earlier tonight – some sick bastard cut his face clean off – and I'm afraid Mr. Payne here is chief suspect."

"W-What?" said Preston. He had been pale since Bullock mentioned murder.

"You were the last person to see him alive, and–"

"But I didn't see him," said Preston. "I, uh… I haven't seen him since yesterday. I was meant to meet with him now, but I had that T.V. interview and I just got caught up in it…"

Bullock held up his hand. "I'm afraid we'll still need to get you downtown to verify all this."

"Clayface…" whispered Bennett.

"Beg your pardon, sir?" asked Bullock.

"You said his face had been cut off?" said Bennett, somehow a balance between calm and nervous.

"That's right," said Bullock, cautiously.

"Exactly like the film…" said Preston, still somewhat in shock.

Off Bullock's look, Preston started to explain. "The, uh, movie we're making; The Terror; its villain, Clayface, cuts off people's faces…"

All three men looked back at the open office door and felt a shiver.

"You don't… think it's something to do with the film…" said Bennett. "Do you?"

Bullock shook his head dismissively. "Let's just get you back to H.Q. for now, alright?" As he led them out, Bullock took one last look at the office door.

"Wonder who'll pay for your movie now, Payne?" he muttered to himself.

Batman, still hidden in the ventilation duct, had heard this and pondered on it himself.

As Alfred descended the stairs to the Batcave, he read an interesting article in The Gotham Times. It was titled 'BRUCE WAYNE TO FUND FILM' and sub-titled 'Billionaire steps in to replace the late Roland Daggett.'

"Fancy yourself a movie mogul now, sir?" Alfred asked as he approached Bruce with the morning paper and brunch.

"Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Alfred," Bruce replied. "Besides, I would have thought you'd be happy that I was involved with remaking your favourite film."

"Oh I am, Master Wayne, I am. I'm quite the fan of Basil Karlo films, as you know. I'm just a little intrigued as to your motivations."

"The M.O. behind Daggett's murder mirrors that of The Terror's villain…" said Bruce.

"You mean Clayface?"

Bruce nodded. He was, as usual, going over various documents at once on his large computer screen. "I think we've got a copycat. There's going to be more murders like this: someone's trying to send a message of some kind. I just don't know what yet.

"Until I gather more information, the entire cast and crew are both at risk and suspects," continued Bruce. "Funding the film gives me an excuse to keep a close eye on them."

"I gather Preston Payne himself is chief suspect," said Alfred. "According to the paper anyway."

Bruce shook his head and played a video clip on the computer. It was from the news program Gotham Tonight.

"Impossible," said Bruce. "Payne was being interviewed live on television when it happened. He's already been released from custody. Although, when I met with him this morning to discuss funding, he mentioned that he and Daggett had been having disagreements…"

"Did you find anything at the crime scene?"

"Just this, before forensics arrived." Bruce held up a vial containing a tiny fragment of something. "Looks like a skin flake. Could just be from the victim, but I'm gonna have Lucius look over it just in case."

Alfred nodded. "There is also the possibility that the murderer is the currently fugitive Dr. Crane."

"Unlikely. It's not his style. Finding Crane is a priority though. Gordon and Bullock are working on it and I'm running a search of all Crane's past associates – former patients, people involved in his drug ring, old colleagues – as well as cross-referencing recent police files for any relevant activity.

"We'll get him, but hopefully before he makes his move…"

Professor Avery Brahms awoke to find himself surrounded by a thick grey fog. He instinctively tried to move, but was tied onto what looked like an old-fashioned psychiatrist's couch.

"Hello?" he called out, to no reply. He tried to remember how he'd got here.

He had been returning home, only to find the power out. Before he could reset the fuses, he had been struck from behind. He also recalled hearing a hollow, haunting laugh before he passed out.

"Well, Professor," said a familiar voice in the fog, "I wonder what Freud would have to say about a pupil tying up his former teacher."

Brahms gazed into the fog in the direction of the voice. "Who is that? Who's there?"

"You know me, Professor," said the voice. "You used to fear me – how much smarter I was than you. So you corrupted your fear; twisted it into hate and cruelty. Always deriding me, putting me down in front of everyone. You were just the latest in a long line of father-figures who let me down, Professor. All because you wouldn't embrace your fear; use it like the beautiful instrument it is…"

"My God," gasped Brahms, suddenly realising the voice's source. "Jonathan? Jonathan Crane?"

"Yes, but for the moment you can call me… Scarecrow…" A vision of terror emerged from the fog. Crane was dressed in the tattered rags of a scarecrow, with a burlap sack over his head and a hangman's noose hung eerily around his neck.

"J-Jonathan, is that you?" asked Brahms. "I… I heard about you on the news… You were involved in that terrorist attack… and that gas in the Narrows?"

"I was a mere puppet," said Crane, making his spindly way over to Brahms. "But now I'm on my own. Free at last to pursue my research without hindrance."

"You mean without authority," said Brahms. "Without morals."

Crane sighed wearily. "Did you learn nothing from me in all those years, Professor? Morals are the product of a fearful society. With my knowledge, we could be free of our fears… Or learn to manage them efficiently…"

"You're sick, Jonathan. I should've realised it years ago," said Brahms.

"You're just afraid, Avery," whispered Crane. "Let me help you embrace your fear. This gas in the air is a modified version of the hallucinogen I used previously.

"It was effective but crude. I need something much more… precise for my work. You always did discourage my interest in psychopharmacology… So foolish…

"You see, I mixed the toxin with some more powerful psychedelics, dissociatives and deliriants in perfect balance to create more realistic and vibrant hallucinations. Then I modified it to directly stimulate the creative and sensory aspects of the brain as well as the memory centres…"

"My God, Jonathan! You can't be serious! Something like that would cause severe neurological damage…"

"I disagree, Professor." Crane cocked his head. "But then, that's why you're here: Wouldn't be very responsible of me to prescribe a new drug without first testing it, would it?

"My mask protects me from the gas, but you should be starting to feel the effects about now."

Brahms was indeed beginning to feel light-headed and somewhat nauseous. His perception and hearing were becoming warped.

"If this doesn't kill you, it should drag your innermost fears straight out of your sub-conscious and manifest them before you." Crane's voice was becoming distorted from the hallucinogen. "Like I said; it stimulates your memory and creative brain centres. In other words, Professor; you're gonna see some serious shit."

Brahms screamed.

"Well if it isn't Gotham's very own Orson Welles himself," said Lucius as Bruce exited the elevator onto the Applied Sciences floor.

Bruce smirked. "You heard about the movie then?"

Fox looked up from his work. "I assume you're more interested in Roland Daggett's murder than getting your name in lights?"

"Right. I found this at the crime scene." Bruce held up the vial with the skin fragment in it and handed it to Fox.

"I'll run a D.N.A. test, but there's no guarantee I'll find a match," said Fox, studying the fragment closely.

"I'd appreciate anything you can tell me," said Bruce. "Oh, and with Crane on the loose, I was wondering if you could synthesise more of the antidote you developed for his toxin. I know I'm still immune from the first time, but you can never be too careful."

Fox nodded. "I'll have it sent over as soon as it's ready." He suddenly remembered something. "Oh, I got something you might be interested in…" He put down the vial and picked up two small objects from the desk. "I figured with you having to be so close to the film crew all the time you might be ill-equipped should you encounter the killer."

Bruce nodded. "The thought had occurred to be too; I might not have time to change…"

"So I looked out these." Lucius held out his hand.

"Cufflinks?" said Bruce. The small objects looked like simple jewellery.

"I've modified them of course, Mr. Wayne," said Fox proudly. "They contain miniature flash grenades. Sound activated, but with a limited range, so you'd actually have to be wearing them to set them off."

"How do you set them off?" asked Bruce as he took the cufflinks.

"Just click your fingers. And close your eyes first; they emit a flash that should blind anyone who sees it for about five seconds."

Bruce nodded in appreciation. "Thanks." He started fastening the cufflinks to his sleeves. "Click my fingers? Not my heels?"

Lucius shrugged. "You can if you like. Won't help though."

Bruce chuckled at the joke. "I'd better go; got an important meeting about the film. I just came by to drop off the evidence."

Lucius grinned. "Nice of you to remember us little people once in a while."

"Thanks again for letting us use your home, Mr. Wayne," said Preston. He and The Terror's main cast were sat in Wayne Manor's spacious study.

"Not at all. And please, call me Bruce." He smiled warmly over everyone in the room. "If you'll all just excuse me a moment; I need to check my messages with my butler."

Once out in the hall, he and Alfred spoke more freely.

"Master Wayne," said Alfred, "I hope you won't think me above my station to ask this, but have you gone completely mad?"

"What do you mean?" asked Bruce.

"Well, keeping a close eye on the cast and crew is one thing," said Alfred, "but letting them film here at the mansion? What if they discover your… private quarters?"

Bruce gave his old friend a sceptical look. "I doubt that's a risk, Alfred. Besides, delaying this movie is what the murderer wants, and they were in need of a location for most of their scenes. What was I supposed to do?"

Alfred sighed. "I hope you know what you're doing, Master Wayne."

"Me too. What can you tell me about them?" He nodded towards the study.

"Mr. Payne and Mr. Bennett seem to be having a mild dispute with one another – creative differences, I gather."

"Bennett's the scriptwriter?" asked Bruce.

"Yes, sir."

"What about the others? The actors."

"They only arrived a half hour before you got back, sir," said Alfred. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to deduce any potential motives, but then I'm hardly Auguste Dupin."

"Anything will help, Alfred."

"Well, the loutish Mr. Matthew Hagen seems to be quite, how shall I put it… enamoured with Miss Fuller, but she appears more emotional towards Miss Madison – in the form of womanly contempt."

"Madison's the lead actress?" asked Bruce.

"Quite so, sir," said Alfred. "Rumour has it Miss Fuller was set to play the main female role, only to be reduced to another, lesser, part due to Miss Madison's financial involvement. You really should read the entertainment section every so often, Master Wayne."

Bruce gave him a sly glance. "Not very helpful to me on most cases, Alfred. Have you spoken to your hero yet?"

Alfred looked away bashfully. "I, uh… have been busy with the other guests, Master Wayne…"

Bruce laughed. "Star-struck, Alfred?"

"We all have our hobbies. Mine's is old movies, and yours is much less eccentric of course." Bruce's smirk noted the sarcasm. "Now," continued Alfred, "you best get in there and see to your guests, like a good host."

Bruce went back into the study and found Payne and Bennett talking animatedly by the fireplace. Hagen, Fuller and Madison were chatting on the couch and Karlo was sat in an armchair and looked half asleep. Bruce approached the fireplace first.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged. He got the impression he had interrupted something.

"Bruce, this is Ethan Bennett," Payne gestured towards the other man. "The co-screenwriter of our little film."

"You and Preston have worked together before, I gather?" Bruce said.

Bennett was still giving Payne a dirty look. ""Um, yes," he answered Bruce. "We co-wrote Amnesia and Sleepless together, and a few others…"

"I, uh, must have missed those," said Bruce. "When I was… travelling… So, you think the mansion will be good for the film?"

"Definitely," said Preston with enthusiasm. "I can see this room being used for the big dramatic reveal at the end – where the other characters discover Clayface's true identity."

Bennett smiled thinly. "If you'll excuse me…" He exited the study.

Bruce frowned. "Something wrong?" he asked Payne.

"Ah, no, no," said Preston dismissively. "He always gets this way at the beginning of big pictures. He'll calm down eventually."

"What do you mean?" asked Bruce. "Gets what way?"

"He just… wants more of a creative input. I mean, we both collaborate on the story, so he feels he should be involved in the direction."

Bruce shrugged. "Sounds fair to me."

"You don't understand the film business, Bruce. Ethan's got a lot of talent, but he just doesn't have that gift for direction. It's a complex task – an art. Don't get me wrong though; he's a master of plot and dialogue, that's why I work with him all the time."

"Huh. Well I hope it's not too much of a problem," said Bruce.

"Oh don't worry," said Preston with a winning smile. "It's not a problem. Not a problem at all…"

As his master conversed by the fireside, Alfred made his way over to Basil Karlo. Alfred had been through a lot in his lifetime: Military service, world travel, Bruce's 'mission'… But being in the same room as one of the true legends of the silver screen… That gave him pause.

Standing over Karlo's armchair, Alfred cleared his throat. "Uh, Mr. Karlo, sir?"

The near-eighty-year-old look up and strained his wrinkled features. He clearly had trouble hearing, which was no surprise. "Yes?" he said.

"I'm uh…" Alfred fumbled for words. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth, sir, and might I say, I am quite the fan of yours."

Basil smiled, and Alfred could almost see those famously classical good looks as they were fifty years ago.

"A fan?" said Basil. "How delightful. Sit down, man, sit down." He waved his cane at the free armchair next to him.

"Oh, I'm, ah, afraid my strict training would never allow me to…"

"Nonsense," said Basil. "Now, sit ye down and flatter an old man." He chuckled warmly.

Alfred smiled and said "Why not?" He sat, although still felt oddly uncomfortable sitting before company.

"Tell me, which of my old films did you like best?" Basil asked.

"Well, there's The Terror of course, sir," said Alfred.

"Ah, yes. Truly one of my more favoured film roles," Basil nodded to himself. "I always felt that Clayface was a most terribly misunderstood villain…"

Alfred found himself suddenly caught up in talking about his favourite film with one its actual stars. "My feelings exactly, sir. Perhaps, that is where some of the horror comes from; that we identify with this tragic, yet misunderstood, monster."

Basil waved his finger poignantly. "Precisely! I really feel that young Preston has wonderfully captured this aspect in his version. Truth be told, I would not be here unless I though so."

"I, ah, also enjoyed some of your more classical work," said Alfred, eager to keep the conversation going. "Your parts in those Shakespearean adaptations… Marvellous job, and tricky to pull of right."

Basil smiled in pure joy. "Ahhh, a man of the classics, how wonderful. It is rare to find men of our taste these days, Alfred."

"Actually, sir, I myself have treaded the boards in my youth," said Alfred, feeling quite confident now.

"A theatre man!" said Basil. "Grand! You've done some Shakespeare yourself?"

Alfred nodded. "On occasion. As You Like It, The Merchant of Venice, Henry V…"

"I do love the Henry's myself," said Basil. "Especially the Sixth." He looked off wistfully into the distance. "There's a brilliant line about the fleeting nature of fame in Henry VI but I can't quite recall…"

"Glory is like a circle in the water," said Alfred, "which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till by broad spreading it disperses to naught."

Basil was greatly humbled by this recital. "Bravo, sir," he said quietly. "I have always liked that line. I cannot help but feel it gets more and more significant with each year…"

"Oh, not at all, sir," protested Alfred. "Surely this remake has shown that your legacy will live on?"

"Forgive my ghoulish outlook," said Basil with a thin smile. "I'm just getting old. But you're right; this new film has reinvigorated me somewhat. You might say I have rediscovered myself."

"Good to hear it, sir. It's never too late, and all that."

"Exactly, Alfred. Exactly."

There was a beeping sound. It was Alfred's pager, which connected to the Batcave. "Pardon me a moment, sir," he excused himself. The Cave's super-computer had found something in one of its search programs. Alfred left to consult his miniature gadget.

Meanwhile, Preston had gone to check on Bennett, so Bruce had been talking to the film's stars.

"Hell of a pad you got here, Wayne," said the square-jawed Hagen, despite looking generally unimpressed.

"It's so cool," said Madison, knocking back another glass of wine. "Kinda reminds me of my dad's house in L.A… Or is it the one in Florida…?"

"Must be nice to have inherited so much," said Fuller with a sting in her voice.

Madison was oblivious to the tone. "Oh yeah. That's how come I wanna be an actress. I already have most of the lifestyle, I figured 'why not?'"

Fuller put on a false smile. "Well, that's all there is to it, right?"

"It's all I need," said Hagen. He leered at Madison lecherously. "You certainly got the looks for a movie star, kid."

"Thanks," Madison giggled. "What about you, Bruce?" she asked. "What makes you so interested in movies?"

Bruce was taken aback slightly by the question. "Oh, uh, well, I'm always looking for new sources of income." He laughed and the others joined him; Hagen guffawed knowingly, Fuller chuckled politely and Madison tittered vacuously.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred had returned. "I'm afraid there's a situation that requires your immediate attention."

"Could you repeat that, Lieutenant?"

"Sure thing, Commish." Bullock flipped open his notepad. "Avery Brahms, 68, retired psychology professor… Scared to death."

"That's the best forensics could come up with?" asked Gordon in disbelief. Standing in Brahms' front room staring down at the awkward chalk outline on the floor, Gordon recalled the look of total horror frozen on the corpse's face and suddenly found the cause of death quite believable.

"Massive cardiac arrhythmia," said Bullock. "The guy was old, but in relatively good shape, according to the docs. They reckon something spooked him bad."

"Jonathan Crane was one of Brahms' students." The two cops turned at this gravely voice to see Batman standing in the dark.

"We know. That's why we're here," said Gordon, completely unfazed by the Dark Knight's sudden appearance. "Crane's up to his old tricks."

"When the coroner examines Brahms' blood, some of Crane's psychotropic hallucinogen will no doubt be present," said Batman.

"What's his deal this time, then?" asked Bullock. "He can't just be after his old teachers. 'Less he really hated detention or something."

"He's studying," said Batman. "Experimenting. That's what he does. To him it's part revenge, part science, and part sheer morbid curiosity."

Gordon shook his head. "Something's different this time… Something about the way the body looked… Scared to death…" He whispered the last part to himself.

There was a heavy silence in the dim light, until Bullock's radio once again squawked to life. "Goddam piece a crap…" the burly detective muttered as he walked outside to answer the machine.

"You've been working hard on this case," Batman said to Gordon. It was probably meant to sound sympathetic, but his voice remained the same as it always did.

"That's my job, isn't it?" said Gordon defensively. "I don't just sit back in that office and wait for you to save the day, you know. I am a cop!" He turned from Batman and pretended to survey the scene.

Batman stepped into the light with measured risk and said a word he had been practicing for over two years.

"Jim… you were Crane's original arresting officer, only to have him escape on you. But that wasn't your fault. You're not responsible for his actions…"

Gordon hung his head in the gloom. "I know, I know… I've had perps escape on me before. I've even seen men get off scot-free from crimes far worse than this… But with Crane, it's different… It's like it's more personal… Like he's mocking me with every body we find."

"That's what he wants," said Batman. "He does it to try and intimidate us. It's all part of his game. Men like Crane or the Joker think they're clever because of tactics like this, but we have to show them we're above it. Don't let it become personal, Jim. Just do the job."

Gordon turned to face him. "I will. But you can't tell me you don't sometimes feel responsible for them. Crane…? Joker…? Dent?" The last one hit the room like a blunt weight.

Oblivious to the atmosphere, Lt. Bullock came back in. "Commish? You're gonna want to hear this. There's been a murder – at Wayne Manor."