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Description
BATMAN: SOUTHERN KNIGHT:
FEAR FOR THE CHILDREN
PART ONE
"THE MAN IN THE MOONLIGHT"
Based on the DC Comics Characters created by Bob Kane

Another award-winning night at the Pirk home.  That was running across sixteen-year old Jeffrey Pirk's mind as he sat at the kitchen table and watched his drunken stepfather scream at his mother and smash any inanimate object within arm's reach.  The whole thing began over something as minor as Tammy Pirk not cooking what her abusive monster of a husband, Dwayne Pirk, wanted for dinner.
"You know, I work hard all freakin' day!" yelled Dwayne.  "And I come home and get meatloaf?  Can't you work up the energy to cook a steak or at least fry some damn chicken?"
"It's all we had, Dwayne," whispered Tammy nervously.  "I didn't have time to run to the grocery store today."
"Just what I thought!  You had to go and visit that old hag of a mama of yours, didn't you?  You had to make sure she doesn't fall over and die.  She's eighty-one years old, Tammy! She's already got two feet and an arm in the grave!  Do something better with your time!"
"Like cater to you!"  Dwayne was taken back by this sudden outburst from his usually timid wife, but then retaliated by slapping her to the floor.
"Don't you talk back to me, you loser!  That's right, you're a loser, just like your brat kid over there."  Jeffrey rose at this and gave his dad the same intimidating look he gave to the kids at North Gotham High School who he considered weaker than him.  Dwayne turned to him and laughed at the stare.  "You heard me, you're a loser too.  Your grades suck, you're always getting suspended for fighting, and when you're here, you can't even clean up that junkyard you call your room!"
"Why should I do anything to please you?" bellowed Jeffrey.  "You're not my real dad!  You're just a sorry sack of crap that lives off everything my dad tried to accomplish!"
"Shut your mouth, Jeff, or you'll wind up on the floor just like your mom!"
"Go for it!"  Jeffrey charged at him, but Dwayne gave him a cheap kick to the stomach as he drew near.  The next thing Jeffrey knew, he was crouched over and gasping for air.
"Now get the hell out of here!" said his stepfather.  "Your mom needs to 'make things up to me'."

Jeffrey walked about, looking in grave depression at Rock Brook, a Hell of a neighborhood that people who choose to throw away their lives with alcohol, drugs, and other bad decisions were condemned to go.  He wondered if he would ever get out, and if so… how.  The young man that was called "The Terror of North Gotham High" was inside nothing more than a frightened, insecure child who had lost almost all hope of a better existence.  At least he was optimistic in the assumption that things could not get any worse.  But even in that, he was wrong.
"Jeffrey," hissed a blood-curdling voice in the distance.  "Can you hear me, Jeffrey?"
"What the hell?" growled Jeffrey.  "Who said that?  Come on out, punk."
"I know what you're afraid of, Jeffrey."
"I ain't afraid of anything, pal, especially of you when I get done with ya."
"But you are afraid.  You think you inspire fear, but you are nothing more than a coward.  Would you like to see what true fear looks like?"
"Just get lost, punk!"  Jeffrey's voice indeed began to sound more and more nervous.
"I can help you use your fear to your advantage… to get everything you've ever wanted.  Would you like that?"
"Yeah, right.  And how are you gonna…"  Suddenly, he saw who the voice belonged to… a man in the moonlight; one who appeared to be bone-thin in tattered old clothes, a brown sack-like mask with a stitched grin and glowing red eyes, a tall torn red hat, and a long reaping sickle in his right hand.
"What are you?" gasped Jeffrey.  The creature then pointed his left hand at Jeffrey, and from a strange device under his wrist he sprayed a brown, stale-scented mist.  When the boy inhaled it, his mind felt like the world was spinning, and yet frozen at the same time.  He couldn't move and he couldn't speak.  All he could do was watch as the man in the moonlight became something far more horrific than he already was.
"Look into the true face of fear, Jeffrey!" shouted the man.  "Look into the face of… The Scarecrow!"

Dwayne Pirk walked back into the kitchen, acting as if nothing had occurred as usual.  He grabbed himself another bottle of beer from the refrigerator, then closed to door and saw his stepson.  Jeffrey had a look of madness in his eyes.  He now saw Dwayne for the monster he truly was, and had no qualms about using the baseball bat in his right hand to rid himself of this monster.
"What the hell's wrong with you, boy?" chuckled Dwayne.  "Where you out doin' smack again?"  Those were the last words that he would utter for quite sometime as what Jeffrey did next put the pathetic fellow into a coma.

Richard Grayson had been walking for miles and wondered if he would ever see civilization again.  The young man tried to take the easy path, to run away from the tragedy he endured back home.  Now, he began to regret it.  He was tired, hungry, and almost broke.  He wondered if it was his destiny to soon join his beloved mother and father in the hereafter.  Finally, half a smile reached his lips as he spotted a small carnival in operation just outside the limits of Gotham Hill.  With a little more speed in his step, he made his way towards it.
"Hey," he said once he reached the man at the ticket booth.  "You guys looking for an extra hand?"
"Not really?" said the man as he lit up a cigarette.  "Our show's pretty small.  We're already strugglin'."  He then turned and pointed to one of the tents.  "Still, if you wanna try to make some money, our man in the ring over there is challengin' all comers.  You beat him, you get four hundred bucks."
"Why not?" shrugged Richard.  "Gotta eat sometime."
"Good luck to ya."  The man gave him a sarcastic snicker.  Richard didn't think much of it until shortly after he walked into the tent.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" said the shabbily-dressed ring announcer.  "Friends and patrons of the J. Cooper Carnival… tonight, you all have a chance at earning four hundred dollars!"  The crowd of yokels cheered at the very mention of money.  "All you have to do is conquer the beast that is about to make his way to the ring!"
"Beast?" laughed Richard to himself.
"You may call him a freak of nature, a monster from another world, an example of evolution gone wrong!  But we call him… Killer Croc!"  Richard and everyone else then stared in amazement as a seven-foot tall oddity appeared from another entrance of the tent.  He was bald, gray, had sharp teeth, and most noticeably, skin and scales that appeared to be reptilian.  Once Killer Croc was inside the ring, he grabbed the announcer's microphone.
"For the last two years, I've been squashin' every little parasite that dared to step in here and even look me in the eyes!" he growled.  "So tonight, I'm gonna make it easy for some of ya!  You don't have to pin me.  Heck, you don't have to even go the distance!  All you gotta do is knock me over the top rope and outta the ring!  So who's got the guts to take on the Croc?"  One drunken obese gentleman stumbled his way into the ring.
"C'mon, big boy!" shouted the local.  "C'mon and get a piece of Ray!"  In seconds, Ray was the one tossed out.  Two others took the challenge, but met the same fate.
"Anybody got a real challenge for me?" roared Killer Croc.  "Cuz I'm getting' real bored with these sacks of manure!"  Richard gulped a little, but then decided to make his move.  He figured if worse came to worse, they would feed him in the hospital.
"A kid?" laughed Croc as Richard entered.  He wasn't the only one laughing.  Grayson could hear the entire audience mocking him.  What Croc didn't realize was that the glee only fueled his new opponent's fire.  "Sorry, little fella.  I don't fight toddlers."
"Yeah, but you look awfully tough beating up anyone who matches your I.Q.," joked Richard.
"You sayin' I'm dumb, you little creep?"  Croc was not laughing now.
"No, just saying the day the brain train came around, you were visiting your dead grandmother in a purse shop."  Croc roared again and ran at him, but Richard dropped and tripped him up.  Croc then rose and tried to charge him, but he dodged the beast with an impressive somersault.  Croc then swung his fists, but Richard ducked those too and dazed him with a swift spin kick.  The woozy Croc then found himself lifted up and tossed out of the ring!  There was no more taunting and name-calling from the audience now, only cheers for the boy who conquered the Croc.  However, Richard wasn't going to stick around and wait for the enraged freak to return.  He grabbed his money and made his exit.
Outside, Richard found himself in more trouble.  Apparently, a gang of hoodlums watched the performance, and now wanted to introduce themselves to the victor.
"Great job takin' down the big dufus," said the gang's mo-hawked leader.  "Think you could give all of us a chance at that money now?"
"No thanks," smiled Grayson.  "I don't need another workout tonight."
"C'mon, guys," said the gang leader.  "Drinks are on the big mouth."  Richard took out one thug quickly with a swift kick, and then back-dropped another into a trash can.  A third pulled a knife, but Richard caught him with a Hammerlock and rammed his head into a tent pole.  Finally, it came down to him and the leader.  The leader swung a pipe at him, but Grayson ducked and gave him a right and left jab in the stomach.  He then grabbed the back of his jacket and tossed him into the popcorn machine ran by a nearby vendor.  Soon, Richard found himself once again surrounded by spectators, which included two police officers.  The gang ran for it, leaving their would-be meal ticket to deal with the authorities.
"Wanna explain this, buddy?" asked one of the officers.  Richard could only respond with a huff of frustration.

The next day, Bruce Wayne made one of his usual calls on the Gotham Youth Correctional Department, often called a holding place for the murderers and thieves of tomorrow.  Bruce sought to change that, however, and had been working hard with many of the inmates, showing them a better way and brighter path.  Once he stepped into the building, he was greeted by his long time friend, District Attorney Harvey Dent.
"I tell ya, Bruce, this 'Right Path Program' of yours might be doing wonders," smiled Dent as the two of them walked down the hallway leading to the confinement area.  "But this place is filling up everyday.  You won't believe how many minors show up in my courtroom.  I hate having to put'em away.  I used to be a bad seed myself, you know?"
"You Harvey, Mr. Nice Guy?" chuckled Bruce.
"Hey, it took some time, and a hell of a lot of counseling, but I got over my dark side."
"And with time and help, these kids will too.  We all have dark sides, Harvey.  It just takes some longer to 'get over them' than others."
"Well, Commissioner Gordon told me he had a real winner show up last night, this boy named Richard Grayson"  Bruce stopped and stared at Harvey.
"Of the Flying Graysons?"
"Oh," sighed Harvey.  "I guess you heard about his parents too.  Poor messed up kid.  The last thing he needs to be is sent here… or worse."
"I might pay the Commissioner a visit," said Bruce.  "Maybe I can…"  Bruce and Harvey then looked over to see a tall, skinny man in a brown suit and thick glasses staring at them.
"Oh, Bruce," said Harvey after a few seconds.  "Have you met the department's new psychiatrist, Dr. Jonathan Crane?"
"Bruce Wayne, please to meet you Dr. Crane."  Bruce extended his hand, and Crane slowly shook it.
"Mr. Wayne," he said in an emotionless voice.  "So sorry to hear about your mother and father."  Bruce was taken back by this a bit, but then cracked a small smile.
"Thank you, Dr. Crane.  It's been quite some time since their passing, but I appreciate the condolence."
"The death of loved ones is such a cruel fear to endure sometimes."  He then made his way past them.  "Pardon me, gentlemen.  I must attend to a patient."
"Speaking of fear, he gives me a nice case of the creeps," whispered Harvey once Crane was gone.
"I just hope he doesn't act that way around his patients," said Bruce.

The nights had been pretty quiet for Batman, but he was a creature of habit.  He walked about the buildings of downtown Gotham Hill, watching empty streets and closed stores.  He figured his rounds were about over for the night, and alerted Alfred on his wrist communicator.
"Coming in," he said.  "Got some dinner ready?"
"It's in the refrigerator, sir," yawned Alfred.  "You do know how to use the microwave, don't you?"
"Yes, Alfred," smirked Batman.  "See you in a few…"  He then heard glass break and an alarm go off.  He looked over toward the end of the block to see a lone vandal breaking into the Chilly King Ice Cream Shop.  With a leap and a spread of his cape, he landed on the sidewalk below and raced over.  The fellow inside the shop didn't even notice him as he tried to destroy the milkshake blender with a broom handle.  Batman grabbed and turned him around, then let him go at the sight of his face.  It was a young man, probably still in high school… and his eyes were filled with terror.  At first, Batman thought it might have been his reaction to him, but there was something deeper in those eyes.
"You…you can't stop me!" screamed the kid.  "I've gotta destroy this place!  The Chilly King is going to ruin my dad, put him out of business!  We'll be on the streets!  You can't stop me... ahhhh!"  The kid then collapsed to the floor, as if he could no longer handle whatever was going on inside him.  Batman then heard another sound behind him… like that of hideous laughter.  He turned and saw the man in the moonlight, the Scarecrow, watching the scene with sickening pleasure.
"What in the name of Heaven are you?" asked Batman.
"So you are this famous Batman, the one they call a symbol of fear for all criminals," heckled the Scarecrow.  "I, sir, am the Master of Fear.  I know what horrifies all humanity, both benevolent and wicked."
"What did you do to this boy?"
"There will be another time to talk, my acquaintance of the night."
"Maybe I want answers now!"  Batman approached him, but with caution.
"You will meet me in the wheat fields on the night when evil reigns.  I will give you the answers you seek… and the ones you do not wish to be revealed."  The Scarecrow suddenly seemed to vanish, leaving a flock of crows in his place.  Batman batted away the birds, and then turned back to the boy.
"You might have already given me some answers, straw man," he said as he examined the poor kid.  "And you can be certain that we will meet again."

"Hey Grayson!" said an officer as he opened Richard's jail cell.  "You're out.  Let's go!"
"What?" asked the young man, who was still in the process of waking up that morning.
"Someone made your bail.  Like I said, let's move.  We gotta use your cell for some other lost soul."
Richard Grayson walked into Commissioner Gordon's officer to see the Commissioner standing beside Bruce Wayne.  Richard recognized Bruce from a charity circus a few years ago.  Richard's parents introduced him, but the boy didn't say much.  He was pre-occupied with the pretty ladies in the crowd.
"Mr.Grayson, this is…" began Gordon.
"Bruce Wayne, I know," said Richard.  "Hi."  He then looked back at Gordon.  "Can I go now?"
"Well, we were hoping you would stay… in Gotham Hill I mean," said Gordon.
"Richard, I'm offering to let you live with me, as my ward," said Bruce.  "I know of the tragedy you suffered not too long ago, and I like to help you with a new start in life."
"Okay," chuckled Richard.  "Is this a joke?"
"I'm not forcing this upon you, Richard," said Bruce.  "Tell you what?  Why don't I treat you to a meal?  We can talk about it."
"Fine, okay," sighed Richard.  "But only because I'm starving."  Bruce stepped over to shake his hand, but Grayson simply turned and walked away.
"You sure about this?" asked Gordon.
"Remember, Commissioner, I was much the same way after my parents were killed."
"Yeah, I know." Gordon then patted Bruce on the shoulder.  "Good luck… and be careful."

"Alright Croc," said one of the more cocky carnival workers as he threw a bucket of raw meat into Killer Croc's cage.  "Breakfast time!  Eat hardy!"
"I ain't wrestlin' now," growled Croc.  "So my name's Waylon Jones."
"Sorry… Waylon," laughed the worker.  "And you may not be wrestling for long if you cost the boss another wad of cash like the other night.  I mean, a kid?"
"You better shut it, pal.  You think I'm in a good mood after that?"
"I could care less what kind of mood you're in, you big scaly goof."  The worker closed and locked the cage.  "You're in there, and I'm out here."  However, as soon as he turned around, Killer Croc's arm went through the bars, actually bending them in the process.  He choked out his annoyance, and then grabbed his key.  Once he was out of the cage, he tossed away two other workers that spotted him.  The owner J. Cooper happened to walk out of his office at the time and quickly went for his tranquilizer gun.
"Someone grab him!" ordered Cooper.  He then took aim, but Croc lifted up an entire snow cone machine.
"Time to put you on ice, hothead!" said Croc, who threw the machine at and onto Cooper.  He walked over to his now half dead employer and grabbed Cooper's fat wallet.  "In case you haven't figured it out, I quit!"
Minutes later, Waylon Jones a.k.a. Killer Croc was slowly making his way toward Gotham Hill, his eyes hungrily looking at the town like the ravenous reptile he was.
"Time for old Waylon to finally have some real fun," he said.  "And if I run into that brat who embarrassed me, I'm gonna tear him into pieces."

…To Be Continued
© 2009 LJImaginations
Shane Ramey

Description
BATMAN: SOUTHERN KNIGHT:
FEAR FOR THE CHILDREN
PART ONE
"THE MAN IN THE MOONLIGHT"
Based on the DC Comics Characters created by Bob Kane

Another award-winning night at the Pirk home.  That was running across sixteen-year old Jeffrey Pirk's mind as he sat at the kitchen table and watched his drunken stepfather scream at his mother and smash any inanimate object within arm's reach.  The whole thing began over something as minor as Tammy Pirk not cooking what her abusive monster of a husband, Dwayne Pirk, wanted for dinner.
"You know, I work hard all freakin' day!" yelled Dwayne.  "And I come home and get meatloaf?  Can't you work up the energy to cook a steak or at least fry some damn chicken?"
"It's all we had, Dwayne," whispered Tammy nervously.  "I didn't have time to run to the grocery store today."
"Just what I thought!  You had to go and visit that old hag of a mama of yours, didn't you?  You had to make sure she doesn't fall over and die.  She's eighty-one years old, Tammy! She's already got two feet and an arm in the grave!  Do something better with your time!"
"Like cater to you!"  Dwayne was taken back by this sudden outburst from his usually timid wife, but then retaliated by slapping her to the floor.
"Don't you talk back to me, you loser!  That's right, you're a loser, just like your brat kid over there."  Jeffrey rose at this and gave his dad the same intimidating look he gave to the kids at North Gotham High School who he considered weaker than him.  Dwayne turned to him and laughed at the stare.  "You heard me, you're a loser too.  Your grades suck, you're always getting suspended for fighting, and when you're here, you can't even clean up that junkyard you call your room!"
"Why should I do anything to please you?" bellowed Jeffrey.  "You're not my real dad!  You're just a sorry sack of crap that lives off everything my dad tried to accomplish!"
"Shut your mouth, Jeff, or you'll wind up on the floor just like your mom!"
"Go for it!"  Jeffrey charged at him, but Dwayne gave him a cheap kick to the stomach as he drew near.  The next thing Jeffrey knew, he was crouched over and gasping for air.
"Now get the hell out of here!" said his stepfather.  "Your mom needs to 'make things up to me'."

Jeffrey walked about, looking in grave depression at Rock Brook, a Hell of a neighborhood that people who choose to throw away their lives with alcohol, drugs, and other bad decisions were condemned to go.  He wondered if he would ever get out, and if so… how.  The young man that was called "The Terror of North Gotham High" was inside nothing more than a frightened, insecure child who had lost almost all hope of a better existence.  At least he was optimistic in the assumption that things could not get any worse.  But even in that, he was wrong.
"Jeffrey," hissed a blood-curdling voice in the distance.  "Can you hear me, Jeffrey?"
"What the hell?" growled Jeffrey.  "Who said that?  Come on out, punk."
"I know what you're afraid of, Jeffrey."
"I ain't afraid of anything, pal, especially of you when I get done with ya."
"But you are afraid.  You think you inspire fear, but you are nothing more than a coward.  Would you like to see what true fear looks like?"
"Just get lost, punk!"  Jeffrey's voice indeed began to sound more and more nervous.
"I can help you use your fear to your advantage… to get everything you've ever wanted.  Would you like that?"
"Yeah, right.  And how are you gonna…"  Suddenly, he saw who the voice belonged to… a man in the moonlight; one who appeared to be bone-thin in tattered old clothes, a brown sack-like mask with a stitched grin and glowing red eyes, a tall torn red hat, and a long reaping sickle in his right hand.
"What are you?" gasped Jeffrey.  The creature then pointed his left hand at Jeffrey, and from a strange device under his wrist he sprayed a brown, stale-scented mist.  When the boy inhaled it, his mind felt like the world was spinning, and yet frozen at the same time.  He couldn't move and he couldn't speak.  All he could do was watch as the man in the moonlight became something far more horrific than he already was.
"Look into the true face of fear, Jeffrey!" shouted the man.  "Look into the face of… The Scarecrow!"

Dwayne Pirk walked back into the kitchen, acting as if nothing had occurred as usual.  He grabbed himself another bottle of beer from the refrigerator, then closed to door and saw his stepson.  Jeffrey had a look of madness in his eyes.  He now saw Dwayne for the monster he truly was, and had no qualms about using the baseball bat in his right hand to rid himself of this monster.
"What the hell's wrong with you, boy?" chuckled Dwayne.  "Where you out doin' smack again?"  Those were the last words that he would utter for quite sometime as what Jeffrey did next put the pathetic fellow into a coma.

Richard Grayson had been walking for miles and wondered if he would ever see civilization again.  The young man tried to take the easy path, to run away from the tragedy he endured back home.  Now, he began to regret it.  He was tired, hungry, and almost broke.  He wondered if it was his destiny to soon join his beloved mother and father in the hereafter.  Finally, half a smile reached his lips as he spotted a small carnival in operation just outside the limits of Gotham Hill.  With a little more speed in his step, he made his way towards it.
"Hey," he said once he reached the man at the ticket booth.  "You guys looking for an extra hand?"
"Not really?" said the man as he lit up a cigarette.  "Our show's pretty small.  We're already strugglin'."  He then turned and pointed to one of the tents.  "Still, if you wanna try to make some money, our man in the ring over there is challengin' all comers.  You beat him, you get four hundred bucks."
"Why not?" shrugged Richard.  "Gotta eat sometime."
"Good luck to ya."  The man gave him a sarcastic snicker.  Richard didn't think much of it until shortly after he walked into the tent.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" said the shabbily-dressed ring announcer.  "Friends and patrons of the J. Cooper Carnival… tonight, you all have a chance at earning four hundred dollars!"  The crowd of yokels cheered at the very mention of money.  "All you have to do is conquer the beast that is about to make his way to the ring!"
"Beast?" laughed Richard to himself.
"You may call him a freak of nature, a monster from another world, an example of evolution gone wrong!  But we call him… Killer Croc!"  Richard and everyone else then stared in amazement as a seven-foot tall oddity appeared from another entrance of the tent.  He was bald, gray, had sharp teeth, and most noticeably, skin and scales that appeared to be reptilian.  Once Killer Croc was inside the ring, he grabbed the announcer's microphone.
"For the last two years, I've been squashin' every little parasite that dared to step in here and even look me in the eyes!" he growled.  "So tonight, I'm gonna make it easy for some of ya!  You don't have to pin me.  Heck, you don't have to even go the distance!  All you gotta do is knock me over the top rope and outta the ring!  So who's got the guts to take on the Croc?"  One drunken obese gentleman stumbled his way into the ring.
"C'mon, big boy!" shouted the local.  "C'mon and get a piece of Ray!"  In seconds, Ray was the one tossed out.  Two others took the challenge, but met the same fate.
"Anybody got a real challenge for me?" roared Killer Croc.  "Cuz I'm getting' real bored with these sacks of manure!"  Richard gulped a little, but then decided to make his move.  He figured if worse came to worse, they would feed him in the hospital.
"A kid?" laughed Croc as Richard entered.  He wasn't the only one laughing.  Grayson could hear the entire audience mocking him.  What Croc didn't realize was that the glee only fueled his new opponent's fire.  "Sorry, little fella.  I don't fight toddlers."
"Yeah, but you look awfully tough beating up anyone who matches your I.Q.," joked Richard.
"You sayin' I'm dumb, you little creep?"  Croc was not laughing now.
"No, just saying the day the brain train came around, you were visiting your dead grandmother in a purse shop."  Croc roared again and ran at him, but Richard dropped and tripped him up.  Croc then rose and tried to charge him, but he dodged the beast with an impressive somersault.  Croc then swung his fists, but Richard ducked those too and dazed him with a swift spin kick.  The woozy Croc then found himself lifted up and tossed out of the ring!  There was no more taunting and name-calling from the audience now, only cheers for the boy who conquered the Croc.  However, Richard wasn't going to stick around and wait for the enraged freak to return.  He grabbed his money and made his exit.
Outside, Richard found himself in more trouble.  Apparently, a gang of hoodlums watched the performance, and now wanted to introduce themselves to the victor.
"Great job takin' down the big dufus," said the gang's mo-hawked leader.  "Think you could give all of us a chance at that money now?"
"No thanks," smiled Grayson.  "I don't need another workout tonight."
"C'mon, guys," said the gang leader.  "Drinks are on the big mouth."  Richard took out one thug quickly with a swift kick, and then back-dropped another into a trash can.  A third pulled a knife, but Richard caught him with a Hammerlock and rammed his head into a tent pole.  Finally, it came down to him and the leader.  The leader swung a pipe at him, but Grayson ducked and gave him a right and left jab in the stomach.  He then grabbed the back of his jacket and tossed him into the popcorn machine ran by a nearby vendor.  Soon, Richard found himself once again surrounded by spectators, which included two police officers.  The gang ran for it, leaving their would-be meal ticket to deal with the authorities.
"Wanna explain this, buddy?" asked one of the officers.  Richard could only respond with a huff of frustration.

The next day, Bruce Wayne made one of his usual calls on the Gotham Youth Correctional Department, often called a holding place for the murderers and thieves of tomorrow.  Bruce sought to change that, however, and had been working hard with many of the inmates, showing them a better way and brighter path.  Once he stepped into the building, he was greeted by his long time friend, District Attorney Harvey Dent.
"I tell ya, Bruce, this 'Right Path Program' of yours might be doing wonders," smiled Dent as the two of them walked down the hallway leading to the confinement area.  "But this place is filling up everyday.  You won't believe how many minors show up in my courtroom.  I hate having to put'em away.  I used to be a bad seed myself, you know?"
"You Harvey, Mr. Nice Guy?" chuckled Bruce.
"Hey, it took some time, and a hell of a lot of counseling, but I got over my dark side."
"And with time and help, these kids will too.  We all have dark sides, Harvey.  It just takes some longer to 'get over them' than others."
"Well, Commissioner Gordon told me he had a real winner show up last night, this boy named Richard Grayson"  Bruce stopped and stared at Harvey.
"Of the Flying Graysons?"
"Oh," sighed Harvey.  "I guess you heard about his parents too.  Poor messed up kid.  The last thing he needs to be is sent here… or worse."
"I might pay the Commissioner a visit," said Bruce.  "Maybe I can…"  Bruce and Harvey then looked over to see a tall, skinny man in a brown suit and thick glasses staring at them.
"Oh, Bruce," said Harvey after a few seconds.  "Have you met the department's new psychiatrist, Dr. Jonathan Crane?"
"Bruce Wayne, please to meet you Dr. Crane."  Bruce extended his hand, and Crane slowly shook it.
"Mr. Wayne," he said in an emotionless voice.  "So sorry to hear about your mother and father."  Bruce was taken back by this a bit, but then cracked a small smile.
"Thank you, Dr. Crane.  It's been quite some time since their passing, but I appreciate the condolence."
"The death of loved ones is such a cruel fear to endure sometimes."  He then made his way past them.  "Pardon me, gentlemen.  I must attend to a patient."
"Speaking of fear, he gives me a nice case of the creeps," whispered Harvey once Crane was gone.
"I just hope he doesn't act that way around his patients," said Bruce.

The nights had been pretty quiet for Batman, but he was a creature of habit.  He walked about the buildings of downtown Gotham Hill, watching empty streets and closed stores.  He figured his rounds were about over for the night, and alerted Alfred on his wrist communicator.
"Coming in," he said.  "Got some dinner ready?"
"It's in the refrigerator, sir," yawned Alfred.  "You do know how to use the microwave, don't you?"
"Yes, Alfred," smirked Batman.  "See you in a few…"  He then heard glass break and an alarm go off.  He looked over toward the end of the block to see a lone vandal breaking into the Chilly King Ice Cream Shop.  With a leap and a spread of his cape, he landed on the sidewalk below and raced over.  The fellow inside the shop didn't even notice him as he tried to destroy the milkshake blender with a broom handle.  Batman grabbed and turned him around, then let him go at the sight of his face.  It was a young man, probably still in high school… and his eyes were filled with terror.  At first, Batman thought it might have been his reaction to him, but there was something deeper in those eyes.
"You…you can't stop me!" screamed the kid.  "I've gotta destroy this place!  The Chilly King is going to ruin my dad, put him out of business!  We'll be on the streets!  You can't stop me... ahhhh!"  The kid then collapsed to the floor, as if he could no longer handle whatever was going on inside him.  Batman then heard another sound behind him… like that of hideous laughter.  He turned and saw the man in the moonlight, the Scarecrow, watching the scene with sickening pleasure.
"What in the name of Heaven are you?" asked Batman.
"So you are this famous Batman, the one they call a symbol of fear for all criminals," heckled the Scarecrow.  "I, sir, am the Master of Fear.  I know what horrifies all humanity, both benevolent and wicked."
"What did you do to this boy?"
"There will be another time to talk, my acquaintance of the night."
"Maybe I want answers now!"  Batman approached him, but with caution.
"You will meet me in the wheat fields on the night when evil reigns.  I will give you the answers you seek… and the ones you do not wish to be revealed."  The Scarecrow suddenly seemed to vanish, leaving a flock of crows in his place.  Batman batted away the birds, and then turned back to the boy.
"You might have already given me some answers, straw man," he said as he examined the poor kid.  "And you can be certain that we will meet again."

"Hey Grayson!" said an officer as he opened Richard's jail cell.  "You're out.  Let's go!"
"What?" asked the young man, who was still in the process of waking up that morning.
"Someone made your bail.  Like I said, let's move.  We gotta use your cell for some other lost soul."
Richard Grayson walked into Commissioner Gordon's officer to see the Commissioner standing beside Bruce Wayne.  Richard recognized Bruce from a charity circus a few years ago.  Richard's parents introduced him, but the boy didn't say much.  He was pre-occupied with the pretty ladies in the crowd.
"Mr.Grayson, this is…" began Gordon.
"Bruce Wayne, I know," said Richard.  "Hi."  He then looked back at Gordon.  "Can I go now?"
"Well, we were hoping you would stay… in Gotham Hill I mean," said Gordon.
"Richard, I'm offering to let you live with me, as my ward," said Bruce.  "I know of the tragedy you suffered not too long ago, and I like to help you with a new start in life."
"Okay," chuckled Richard.  "Is this a joke?"
"I'm not forcing this upon you, Richard," said Bruce.  "Tell you what?  Why don't I treat you to a meal?  We can talk about it."
"Fine, okay," sighed Richard.  "But only because I'm starving."  Bruce stepped over to shake his hand, but Grayson simply turned and walked away.
"You sure about this?" asked Gordon.
"Remember, Commissioner, I was much the same way after my parents were killed."
"Yeah, I know." Gordon then patted Bruce on the shoulder.  "Good luck… and be careful."

"Alright Croc," said one of the more cocky carnival workers as he threw a bucket of raw meat into Killer Croc's cage.  "Breakfast time!  Eat hardy!"
"I ain't wrestlin' now," growled Croc.  "So my name's Waylon Jones."
"Sorry… Waylon," laughed the worker.  "And you may not be wrestling for long if you cost the boss another wad of cash like the other night.  I mean, a kid?"
"You better shut it, pal.  You think I'm in a good mood after that?"
"I could care less what kind of mood you're in, you big scaly goof."  The worker closed and locked the cage.  "You're in there, and I'm out here."  However, as soon as he turned around, Killer Croc's arm went through the bars, actually bending them in the process.  He choked out his annoyance, and then grabbed his key.  Once he was out of the cage, he tossed away two other workers that spotted him.  The owner J. Cooper happened to walk out of his office at the time and quickly went for his tranquilizer gun.
"Someone grab him!" ordered Cooper.  He then took aim, but Croc lifted up an entire snow cone machine.
"Time to put you on ice, hothead!" said Croc, who threw the machine at and onto Cooper.  He walked over to his now half dead employer and grabbed Cooper's fat wallet.  "In case you haven't figured it out, I quit!"
Minutes later, Waylon Jones a.k.a. Killer Croc was slowly making his way toward Gotham Hill, his eyes hungrily looking at the town like the ravenous reptile he was.
"Time for old Waylon to finally have some real fun," he said.  "And if I run into that brat who embarrassed me, I'm gonna tear him into pieces."

…To Be Continued
© 2009 LJImaginations
Shane Ramey