DC: A Cop in Gotham

Chapter 27: Dean Vs. Scarecrow

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The scheduling plan built by Oracle, Barbara, based on the Bat Network, is responsible for locating the location of the crime and sending information to the nearby heroes, so that crime can be fought with the highest efficiency.

Prior to this, Dean had prevented several vicious crimes, most of which were drug addicts and hoodlums. They posed no threat to Dean.

Jonathan Crane, The Scarecrow, was the first super villain Dean ran into today.

Dean watched closely, noting the placement of each robber. His hand tightened on Hoshikudaki's hilt as he prepared to strike.

Scarecrow's eyes narrowed. "When did Gotham get itself a capable cop?" he muttered under his breath.

"Boss, three of us are down!" a panicked robber yelled, clutching his rifle.

Scarecrow's voice cut through the chaos. "Stop whining and find them! Shoot anything that moves!"

The remaining robbers spread out, their weapons raised, scanning for any sign of the unseen threat. Dean smirked from his hidden position.

With silent precision, Dean moved. Hoshikudaki gleamed as he disarmed one robber with a quick strike, then incapacitated another with a sharp blow to the leg.

"Two down," Dean muttered to himself, his movements fluid and practiced.

Scarecrow leaned forward, his masked face tilting in amusement. "You're good," he said, his voice echoing in the tense silence. "But do you know what makes fear so delicious, Officer? It's that moment when confidence crumbles."

The robbers, now reduced to four, were growing increasingly desperate. Bullets ricocheted off walls and counters as they fired wildly, their aim unsteady.

Dean used the chaos to his advantage, darting between cover and waiting for the perfect opening. Each move was calculated, each step measured.

"Manaphy," Dean whispered into his communicator. "Keep the hostages safe. Don't let them get too close to the line of fire."

From her concealed position, the Pokémon responded with another soft chirp. Streams of water coiled defensively around the hostages, forming a protective dome.

Inside the lobby, Scarecrow stood, brushing stray bits of straw from his coat. "Detective," he called, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and menace. "Are you hiding? Or have you finally realized the futility of resistance?"

Dean stepped into the open, his blade at the ready. "I'm right here."

Scarecrow chuckled darkly, the sound hollow and mocking. "Ah, there's that bravery. I've been waiting for this."

The remaining robbers hesitated, their fear overtaking their loyalty. Scarecrow noticed and scoffed. "Do your jobs!" he barked, his tone cutting.

Dean's eyes darted toward the hostages, ensuring their safety before shifting his focus back to Scarecrow.

Dean moved methodically through the chaos, his blade flashing as he reduced their numbers. Two of the robbers fell quickly, stunned by precise strikes. He pivoted smoothly, firing his pistol and incapacitating two more at a distance.

Now only four robbers remained, their confidence shattered.

"Focus!" barked Scarecrow, his voice sharp and commanding. "This isn't over!"

The robbers tried to regroup, raising their weapons shakily. One of them fired a volley of bullets, forcing Dean to dive behind an overturned desk for cover. The gunfire tore through the bank, shattering glass and splintering furniture.

Dean exhaled, his mind calculating. The odds were better now, but Scarecrow still loomed, his twisted presence a dark force in the room.

Suddenly, a faint mist began to spread, emanating from the sprayer attached to Scarecrow's glove. The familiar hiss of fear toxin filled the air, its acrid stench reaching every corner of the lobby.

"I wonder," Scarecrow mused, stepping forward as the gas thickened. "Will your resolve crumble as easily as theirs?"

Dean didn't respond. Instead, he slipped on a specialized mask designed to filter toxins. "Manaphy," he whispered into his communicator, "get the hostages out. Now."

From the shadows, Manaphy responded with a soft chirp. The Pokémon emerged briefly, her translucent form glowing faintly as she directed streams of water to shield the hostages. The bank manager and a cluster of terrified civilians were gently moved toward the exit, encased in protective barriers.

Scarecrow noticed the movement and sneered. "A clever trick," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "But even clever tricks have their limits."

Dean darted forward, his blade aimed at Scarecrow. The remaining robbers opened fire, but their shots went wide as Dean closed the gap with startling speed.

One of the robbers tried to intercept him, but Dean parried the man's swing and delivered a swift kick to his chest, sending him sprawling. Another robber raised his gun, but Dean disarmed him with a calculated strike, following up with a punch that rendered the man unconscious.

"Two left," Dean muttered, his focus shifting to Scarecrow.

The villain didn't flinch. Instead, he activated another burst of fear toxin, the thick green gas obscuring his movements.

Dean coughed, the mask struggling to filter the sudden concentration of toxins. His vision blurred momentarily, distorted shapes and shadows dancing at the edges of his sight.

"What do you see?" Scarecrow's voice echoed through the haze, taunting. "What lies beneath that calm façade, Officer? Fear? Regret? Failure?"

Dean gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on Hoshikudaki. He couldn't allow himself to falter—not now.

"Manaphy," he called again, his voice strained.

The Pokémon responded with another powerful surge of water, dispersing the gas and clearing the air. Scarecrow staggered, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected counter.

Dean seized the moment, advancing quickly. But before he could reach his target, one of the remaining robbers lunged at him from the side. The man tackled Dean, the two of them crashing into a row of desks.

Pinned briefly, Dean struggled to free himself. The robber raised a knife, his intent clear.

In a flash, Dean twisted, disarming the man and using the momentum to flip him onto his back. A swift elbow to the face ensured he wouldn't get up again.

"One left," Dean said, rising to his feet.

Scarecrow stood at the far end of the room, his posture composed despite the carnage. "Impressive," he admitted, his tone begrudging. "But you've only delayed the inevitable."

Dean's eyes locked on Scarecrow, his expression unreadable.

"We'll see about that."

Scarecrow remained still, his twisted mask hiding whatever emotions lay beneath. He slowly raised his needle-tipped glove, the faint hiss of fear toxin leaking into the air once more. The room seemed to darken, the green mist swirling and wrapping itself around the remaining robber, who froze in place, paralyzed by its effect.

Dean steadied himself, tightening his grip on Hoshikudaki as the toxin thickened. His mask filtered most of it, but the concentration was overwhelming, clawing at his senses. His vision wavered, and Scarecrow's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

"This is where fear truly begins," Scarecrow intoned, his voice rising above the chaos. He stepped forward confidently, the gas now forming a suffocating barrier between him and Dean.

Dean clenched his jaw, his mind racing for a counter as the hallucinations began to creep in.

The fear gas clouded the air, its ominous green haze swirling around Dean. Scarecrow stood at the far end of the bank, his posture composed and confident. He watched as Dean fell to one knee, seemingly succumbing to the toxin's effects.

"What's the matter, Officer?" Scarecrow taunted, his voice cutting through the haze. "Not so brave now, are we?"

Dean's hand trembled as it reached for the Omnitrix. The gas was thick, almost choking, but it served an unexpected purpose. The green mist effectively obscured the flash of light from the Omnitrix as he activated it.

In the span of seconds, Dean's form shifted. The toxin no longer gripped him as tightly. Wildvine stood in his place, his plant-like body immune to the chemical attack.

Scarecrow, unaware of the transformation, smirked as Dean began to rise.

"Still standing?" Scarecrow said mockingly, his voice dripping with condescension. "Let's see how long you last."

Wildvine moved forward, his steps deliberate and silent. His extended vines crept along the floor, undetected by Scarecrow's distracted gaze.

Scarecrow narrowed his eyes, his needle-tipped glove gleaming in the dim light. "Do you think I'm defenseless without the gas?" he sneered, taking a measured stance.

Without hesitation, Scarecrow charged. Despite his reliance on fear and manipulation, Jonathan Crane had honed his combat skills to a dangerous level. His "Dance of Violence," a blend of Crane Fist and Drunken Fist, was both unpredictable and deadly.

Scarecrow's movements were fluid, his strikes precise and erratic as he lashed out with the needle on his glove. Wildvine dodged effortlessly, his plant-like form twisting and contorting to avoid the attacks.

"You think fear is your only weapon," Wildvine said, his deep, resonant voice filled with disdain. "But it's all you have because you're too weak to face the world without it."

Scarecrow's expression darkened as he pressed the attack, his strikes growing more frantic. "I don't need your approval!" he shouted, his voice cracking with anger. "I've broken minds stronger than yours!"

Wildvine ducked under a wild swing, his vines wrapping around Scarecrow's limbs in one swift motion. Scarecrow struggled, his movements becoming more erratic as he tried to free himself.

"You take the name of Jonathan, but all you do is hide behind fear," Wildvine continued, his voice cold and unwavering. "You break others to make yourself feel powerful, yet you don't even have the courage to face the world without a mask. You're worse than your followers—crows who are too scared to stand on their own."

Wildvine's vines tightened, lifting Scarecrow off the ground and pinning his arms to his sides. The thin tendrils wriggled into the gaps of his gas mask, prying it loose.

"Stop!" Scarecrow shrieked, his voice rising in desperation. "You don't know what you're doing!"

But Wildvine didn't hesitate. With a sharp tug, the mask came free, revealing Jonathan Crane's face beneath.

"Ah!!!" Scarecrow's scream was immediate and visceral.

It wasn't the exposure to his own toxin that broke him—it was the light. His pale, sunken features contorted as he recoiled from the brightness. The mask had been his shield, not just from the gas but from the world itself.

"You can't even face yourself," Wildvine said, his voice filled with contempt. "You're the embodiment of fear—a hollow shell that collapses the moment it's exposed."

Scarecrow writhed in the grip of the vines, his screams echoing through the bank. The crows who had once followed him lay unconscious, leaving him alone and vulnerable.

Wildvine released him, letting him collapse onto the floor. The mask clattered beside him, useless and broken.

As Scarecrow curled into himself, Wildvine stood tall, the fight drained from the room. Dean's voice, calm and steady, broke the silence.

"This is where fear ends," he said.

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