Scarecrow- Dilution

  Batman activated his gauntlet, punched up its computer, and recited the chemical names listed on the canisters.

  “What are these used for?”

  The holo-voice took several seconds, then responded.

  “They are neutralizing agents used in the dilution of acids and airborne chemicals. Do you require an entire list of uses?”

  “No.”

  The explosion would occur in exactly one minute, thirty-two seconds.

  He rushed to the canisters, grabbed two at a time, and carried them back to the vat. He dumped their contents inside, desperately hoping that would dilute the fear toxin before it detonated and spread across the city.

  One minute seventeen seconds.

  Five more canisters.

  He dumped two more into the vat, raced back and took the final three. They were large and awkward, but he had no alternative.

  He emptied the contents of the final canister into the vat, then pressed the button he saw Scarecrow activate before. The lid slid shut and the vat began to shake.

  He had thirty-seven seconds to get out of the room and clear of the explosion. He raced back in the direction he’d come, cleared the canister room, and sped through the warehouse. The next room was just ahead.

  He was going to make it.

  The vat exploded.

  Fear toxin shot out in all directions. In the moment before the first surge smashed into him, he hoped he had diluted the toxin enough to minimize its deadly effects. At least for those who weren’t so close.

  The wave of toxins slammed into him, carrying him across the room, smashing him into the wall. His armor cracked, and Scarecrow’s toxins began seeping into it. He tried to hold his breath and replace his breather, but a second explosion hit…

  …and everything went black.
...

  The laughing woke him up.

  It wasn’t the laughter of a comedy club, or when a friend tells a good joke, but a nasty laugh, cackling without humor. Dark. Guttural. The laugh of an animal about to devour its prey.

  Only one man laughed like that. No. Not a man. A monster. A beast. A remorseless thing. But it was impossible.

  It couldn’t be him.

  The Joker was dead.

  Yet there he was, standing no more than five feet away. Gun in hand. Laughing as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be the Joker. They had DNA tested his ashes. He was gone. Flushed into Gotham River, and there was no way—not even in hell—that Humpty Dumpty could be put back together again.

  This had to be an illusion.

  Still, Batman lunged for the mirage. He was going to disperse the ghost as one would smoke. He reached for the Joker. The clown laughed again, then fired his gun. The bullet went through Batman’s forehead, through his brain and exploded out the back of his head, taking skin, blood, and cartilage with it.

  A moment later, while the Joker was still laughing, Batman crumpled to the ground.

  Dead.

- Batman: Arkham Knight, chapter 16