“Fear Is Power”

His eyes burn as he slowly opens them, his vision a complete blur of colors and objects altogether. He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes watering as he blinked a few more times. His head was down, each move he made to raise it made the pain worse.

His vision managed to clear up, bit by bit, he was picking up what was closest to him rather than what was far from him. The once-blurred image of pale white, a blotch of purple, and streaks of brown came into focus. He could tell that he was sitting down but his wrists and ankles were bound tightly against the chair he was on, restraining him from making any other movement.

He hissed again, his sensitive nerves picking up the rope that dug into his pale, damaged skin. He finally managed to notice that he was completely stripped of his clothing, only sporting his purple plaid boxers to cover what dignity he had left.

William quickly took in a breath, making a move to scream; he then discovered something damp and dry stuffed in his mouth.

“Mmph?!”

He's been gagged.

He let out a muffled cry as his dried throat cried out in agony, his tongue uselessly moving beneath the cloth in an attempt to be able to speak.

“Oh my, look who finally woke up!”

Small rocks and dirt were pushed away in a hurry as heavy boots crushed against the uneven floor. When William turned to face the perpetrator, the back of his head pulsed as he did so, only to suddenly burst with pain as his head was thrown back. His hair was seized by a burly hand, pulling at his roots with a vice grip, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Forgive me,” the voice said, “I just need to check your eyes.”

A bright light then flashed at William’s eyes, he could feel them water at the brightness. After a few moments, the light is turned off, a harsh afterimage lingers in William’s vision. It constantly overlaps itself over everything else before eventually disappearing altogether.

“Ah, forgive me, Mr. Afton, I gave you quite a hit.” The voice laughed. “I just don't know how to control my strength anymore, it's quite embarrassing, honestly.”

William blinked a few more times, focusing his vision on the perpetrator. A blob of black and bits of red met his eyes, and he blinked a few more times before he finally got a clearer picture. A plague doctor had stared back at the older man, the beak of their mask nearly obscuring his vision as the red lenses of their mask stared down at him.

Leather and black robes alike encapsulated the entire figure, fully comprehending the look of a plague doctor.

William gave a puzzled look, unsure what to make out of the situation before the tight grip on his hair was let go. He hissed as the pain coursed at the back of his scalp, blinking a few more times as his vision finally came through. Bit by bit, what was in front of William cleared up and he started to recognize what was all around him.

William looked at the plague doctor, dark eyes following their figure as they walked over to his work desk.

He could recognize his tools scattered about, wires haphazardly connected, or even various metallic parts similar to limbs. He saw his paperwork, his pens and pencils, and even binders filled to the brim with his most important work. And all of it was being read by a man he did not recognize nor permitted to do such a thing.

Heaps of burlap were stitched together like glue to paper, having been stuffed with hay that poked through various openings, and supported various tubes in and out of his body. They seemed to carry a familiar substance, it glowed as it traveled across, emitting a red color as it did so. Next to the man stood a weapon, possibly taller than him, a scythe decorated with rope, the bones of many, and speckles of red on top.

The plague doctor calmly placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, slightly nudging him a bit.

“He’s awake now, Doctor.”

The man gave a slight ‘hum’ before he calmly turned himself around, carrying the binder in his gloved hands. The chair creaked under pressure, turning slightly to reveal the man in his estranged attire, nimble fingers playing with the pages before him.

“Rory Jackson,” the man started, “Age Ten, thin build, cautious demeanor.”

He paused, huffing out a chuckle.

“Fear Level: Ten.”

The burlap man closed the binder that he held, patting the plastic cover softly as his blue eyes trailed up to the man tied before him. Although wearing a mask, William could see clear emotion displayed just by the sneer of his nose and the turn of his upper lip.

“Fear Level: Ten…”

The burlap man then gave the binder over to the plague doctor, the bird-like being taking the binder in their hands before placing it down on the desk.

“Corvus, what do you make out of those documents,” He asked, turning his head over to their compliance.

The plague doctor, Corvus, shook their head softly as they took a peek from within.

“You know me, Doctor, I hate to be so negative but this–” they overread a document different to the man Crane had read before closing it, “—is child’s play.”

“Child’s play, Corvus?”

“Yes, Doctor, child’s play,” Corvus responded, “Amateur at best.”

Corvus shook their head again much as Crane did, both in agreement over the poor quality that was the documents they'd read.

William kept his cool, eyes on one figure to the next, his mind hit one possibility to the next. Yet, before he could reach a proper conclusion, he was stopped by the quick movement of Corvus. He watched as the plague doctor calmly came over to him, his height towering him that a shadow fell over him.

And without a second thought, they ripped the duct tape out of his mouth, letting the cloth stuffed into his mouth fall off.

He started to cough, heaving as fresh air finally entered his system, his once-burning lungs having their fill. His chest expanded and decompressed quickly before slowing down, his throat now starchy and dry as he finally spoke.

“You—” William coughed violently, “—who are you people?!”

Corvus huffed, turning over towards the burlap man.

“Do you hear that, Doctor, this man doesn't know who we are! Such a pity, and here I thought that Vicky Vale would get her money’s worth when she started to travel the world!”

They shook their head once again, laughing slightly.

The ‘Doctor’ laughed as well although not as profoundly as Corvus’s was. He just kept his eyes on William, trained to catch even the slightest movement, incontinence, or a simple twinge of fear that could entice this conversation even further.

“We haven't met before, face to face, I mean, Mr. Afton.”

He leaned forward, his hay-like hair to shadow his eyes. His elbows were placed on the chair’s armrests, his black-coated nails scrapped against the fabric on it. They were buried deep, obviously entailing hidden anger, but it didn't show right away.

“But, through unconventional means, we have made many business deals in the past. Not with me in there, of course, I have a very busy life, as you would like to know. I, unfortunately, cannot be in two places at once as I lack the power to do such a thing.

“But I've had many of my associates, such as Corvus here,” he pointed towards the plague doctor who gave a simple nod, “to entrust on deals as important as the ones we’ve made.”

He sighed.

“Because, as you know, Mr. Afton, creating the product I have isn't cheap; chemicals, lab equipment, and all. A man has to make a living, even in the worst of circumstances, he has to do what he can to survive. That much I know comes from you, no?”

William didn't speak a word, licking his chapped lips as he tried to speak more thoroughly.

“What are you talking about?”

Jonathan Crane looked at Corvus.

Corvus looked at Jonathan Crane.

“Mr. Afton,” Dr. Crane started, “Am I wrong to presume that you have an alias such as Dave Miller? Steven Raglan, even?”

William paused, his body stiffened slightly, prompting a smirk to appear beneath the Doctor’s burlap mask.

“I have no idea who those people are.”

Scarecrow tilted his head to the side.

“Oh, is that so?”

He turned over to Corvus.

“Corvus, I believe we’ve got the wrong man!”

“The wrong man,” Corvus gasped, comically holding their gloved hands to their chest, “How could that be?! We’ve talked with Mr. Harris long enough to get answers out of him! Am I to suspect that he had lied about the man in Hurricane, Utah? Single father of three? One-story home with that hideous purple car?”

“Yes,” Scarecrow answered, “Or maybe we’re not asking the right questions, Corvus. We haven't exactly told this ‘man’ why we are here! He must be so confused, no?”

Corvus nodded.

“Oh, yes, the poor thing! Look at him, Doctor—” Corvus pointed their staff toward William which garnered a flinch,”—he is like a stray dog thrown into the pound! To either rot away in haste or to be put down for his despicable nature!”

Corvus then turned to William, striking their staff into the ground.

“Go ahead and speak, whoever you are, defend yourself right now! I’d hate to have been wasting the good Doctor and my time like this! Go ahead! Speak!”

William clicked his tongue.

They were messing with him, and they relished in it.

“Listen to me,” he begged, “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. I have money hidden in my room that I can get. My guns. My personal belongings. Anything! Just, please, whatever you want, please, don't do anything drastic!”

“Drastic,” the burlap man asked, as he slowly rose from his seat, “Who said anything about being drastic?”

He started to step towards William, right over left, arms raised slightly, as if ready to grab at him at any moment.

“We aren't being drastic here, Mr. Afton, Corvus and I were just doing what needed to be done. Because, unfortunately, it seems as though through the process of selling my fear toxin, the market has become out of order. Through no plans of my own, others have started to take the toxin with or without pay and use it for their selfish needs and wants.”

He got closer, fingers splayed out like claws.

“Corvus and I figured that enough was enough, we couldn't just let anyone use our toxin in favor to do our work. Oh no, Mr. Afton, we couldn't let that happen, what would that make of us?”

He paused, turning his head unnaturally towards Corvus.

“What would that make us out, Corvus?”

“Like fools, Dr. Crane,” they answered with a heavy heart, “complete and utter fools.”

They each turned their heads over toward the man, watching as he tried to fight the restraints that kept him still. It seemed as though the more Crane got himself closer the more agitated Mr. Afton had become, his breathing becoming shaker the more the distance started to close in on him.

“We can't have that happen, Mr. Afton, we just can't.”

He then sprang forward, hands clamping on the sweaty shoulders of the older man, him hissing as the nails dug into his skin. William leaned his head back as Crane leaned his head forward, closing the distance between them, likely wanting him to be as uncomfortable as possible.

“Mr. Afton, I would like for you to know that your ambition of understanding true fear is admirable.”

The Scarecrow whispered.

“I do the same thing, ever since I was a young boy, I held in the desire, the need, the hunger to know how much fear could influence people of various backgrounds. It didn't matter their age, what occupation they took in, or even if they committed the worst atrocities known to man. What mattered most was that even the slightest prick or inhale of my toxin would make them crumble and cry as though they were born into the world, all over again.”

William breathed through his nostrils, flaring as the burlap as well as the hay scratched his skin.

“And, I have to admit, I did experiments often on those who I saw were close to my heart. A crush on high school, my great-grandmother, a worthy student, or even those who have stayed loyal to me, even in my darkest times.”

From the background, Corvus stayed silent, although they seemed to be getting something that William couldn't see.

“So, to read about your willingness to experiment on your own family—your children—is quite a feat, if I do say so myself. The oldest is in the conflicting age of teenage angst, the middle frightened by your booking voice and the youngest scared of even the thinnest of shadows on the walls of his room.”

Scarecrow scoffed.

“How scared they must have been to go back into their worst nightmares. The very memories they wished to push down on them forced upon them to satisfy your sadistic need for control. Like any other father, I presume, you rule with an iron fist.”

Dark eyes met blue eyes.

“But, Mr. Afton, let me be honest with you, right now.

The product I’ve been selling all these years wasn't even my strongest toxin to date. At best, it was the toxin I’d made back when I was but a professor at Gotham University. It was the start of my extraordinary career, and to many, they wouldn't have known the difference.

What they bought is what they get, simple, it does its job well and there were no complaints as of its durability.”

Blue eyes met dark eyes.

“But, Mr. Afton, I cannot let you go on like this.

My career is starting to crumble the more I continue to speak to you. You and your experiments on the missing children of Hurricane, Utah, or elsewhere have started to turn some heads. Of course, you’re careful, but every once in a while, someone will look at you and think: What has he been doing all this time?

What has William Afton done to the innocent children of Hurricane, Utah?”

William kept his mouth shut, giving the burlap man the nastiest look he could muster. He would have given his shouts, his complaints, or even curses to have to make a scene but he kept himself closed off.

“Oh, but me being here wouldn't be enough to convince you to stop, no?

I doubt so. You, clearly being a man of psychology with your engineering degree and your business of singing anthropomorphic animals, must know a lot more than I do!

All those years of studying, beaten by a man who dresses in a consume of a golden rabbit that was lost to time.”

It was then that William’s head was stuffed into a dark place.

Being stuck in confusion, he looked around before he recognized the interior, immediately, he froze, trying to keep himself as still as possible. He held his breath as his hair was tangled within the Springlocks, his mind struck by the painful memories of the past.

From which, both The Scarecrow and Corvus laughed at his fear as they stepped back to look at him.

“Be mindful, Mr. Afton, I’ve had such difficulty working with your craft. By all means, be as still as possible, I think even a blink could set it off!” Corvus explained, laughing to themselves as they watched Scarecrow reach one hand over to their other.

Beneath the cloth of fabric and burlap alike, Dr. Crane produced a claw-like device consisting of our needles strapped to the brim. The same red liquid from before glowing from the tubes connected within it, a single flex would bring it forth to be administered.

“Mr. Afton, forgive me for not showing you this earlier, but this is my new and improved fear toxin!” The Scarecrow cheered, watching with delight as the man looked upon him with fear.

“However it may be, it unfortunately hasn't been tested as of late. Corvus, have we had any suitable test subjects to see how well it can stimulate the human body?”

Corvus shook their head.

“Why, no, Doctor, I don't think we have!”

They slowly turned their heads towards William, the older man struggling to keep his composure.

“Ah, well, that's a shame, Corvus, but thankfully, Mr. Afton here has agreed to be our test subject! How wonderful is that?”

“It is very wonderful, Dr. Crane, how selfless it is for this man to be the product of the future of this world!”

Dr. Crane got closer, flexing his hand that let the red liquid into the needles, the sharp ends dripping with the excess. William started to slowly shake his head, eyes wide as the needles were brought closer, the two figures coming closer than ever before. He didn't even have time to react before she felt four sharp ends of the needles dig deep into his body, the liquid draining into his very veins.

William started to shake, his grip on reality then breaking apart as he looked from one corner of the room to the next.

Creatures he had made by hand started to come out of the shadows, sharp teeth and metal tongues licking away at their saliva as they neared the man before them. Corpses of past victims dug themselves out of the ground, their decaying faces obscuring the older man’s vision as he tried to get them away from him. The Spring locks started to clamp onto his skin, digging their sharp edges into his skull as they started to break it apart piece by piece.

He heard voices from apart, deep yet understandable to his distorted reality.

“Oh, and you don't have to worry about your beloved children, Mr. Afton!” Corvus called out as William shook violently within his seat, the cold hands of the dead gripping his flesh like a vice.

Corvus scoffs, digging into the bag before they bring out some grain. Throwing it out, the grains reached farther, letting the crows from the back get their share.

“But such memories I had with my family and friends. Good and bad ones. We all thrived with one another. Even as the runt of the litter, I was treated equally, and I was given enough time to grow amongst my brothers and sisters.”

They sigh, dropping a few grains at the far left of them for the younger crows. They give a chirp for encouragement as they delve in, appreciating their fill at last.

“How blessed I was, to share such good times before my eventual end.”

A few crows perched themselves onto Corvus; on their hat, their shoulders, and even their lap. Corvus held onto them close, to calm the impending anxiety that crawled into the deep crevices of their mind. They stayed strong, though, hearing the appreciative chirps and caws around them.

“But I was reborn, brothers and sisters, I became who I am today thanks to a very important man who gave me a reason to live again. For a new purpose, a new life, and a new start to do so much more not only for his cause but for mine as well.”

Corvus threw out a few more grains for a few more crows that joined the growing group. They noticed a few pecking at the ground below, trying to see if there had been some grains left over. A few more opted to get as close to Corvus as possible, wanting to hear what else they were going to say.

“But enough of that, let me tell you all a story. A story of when The Gods answered my prayers for a feast before the journey to the South to avoid the brutal winter.”

Corvus threw a few more grains, gathering a few more crows to explain their story throughout.”

“Many years ago, I was just a regular bird, just like all of you. I was very young, naïve, and anxious to explore out of the realm of where I had lived. I knew the trees, the paths, and even the animals that roamed from the ground below to the skies up above. Yet, what I hardly saw were humans.”

A few crows had cawed at the mention of humans but Corvus calmed them with another flick of their wrist and more grains given to them to eat.

“Believe it or not, where I had lived, just far enough, there was a park just big enough where humans had gathered to roam and play. Families of various numbers, the homeless sleeping on top of benches, and even the occasional early-night jogger down by the banks of the rivers. But they are not a part of this story, oh no, brothers and sisters, what I am here to talk about are the hunters.”

Various black birds called out their disdain, disgust, and disappointment for Corvus to mention such vile creatures. Corvus raised their hand to calm their cries, sharp chirps emitting from the crows as they calmed themselves.

“I know,” Corvus answered, shaking their head slightly, “I know.”

“Forgive me for using that word so casually. Such humans who delve into the activity upset me as well. And although I keep an open mind, enough to see that they do what they do to survive, such as we do, it is those who do it for sport that upset me the most. Such vile creatures, to disobey the livelihood of our lives as well as the nature of the woods itself is a crime within itself.”

Corvus raised their hands.

“But know this, brothers and sisters, this story tells a tale of vengeance of Mother Nature towards those who chose to desecrate her lively body!”

The crows moved closer, anxious to hear the tale.

“Such a foolish man this human was, to hunt so late into the night, to think that he could evade the sights of the rangers nearby but not the eyes of the animals around.

To think he could come in, weapons in hand, anxious to act out his disgusting fantasies frightens my family to the very core. We had known this man. This hunter. This monster. A man that came in, captured a helpless animal, small or not, and desiccated them in favor of skinning them and laid them out like they were nothing!”

Corvus rose to their feet, rage starting to take them whole.

“No meat to be taken! No fur to be worn! This hunter had used his knowledge of the woods to paint Mother Nature with the very creatures she swore to protect! How cruel he was, how disgusting, how horrid it all was to see the families of those mutilated see that their loved ones were nothing but a pawn in a game that they could never win!”

Corvus shook their head, shaking so hard that a few grain seeds fell out of the bag yet no crow bothered to eat them.

“Oh, how we prayed. Pray to any God who could hear us and help us win against the hunter who frightened us to our very core! And when it seemed that they didn't listen, a miracle had happened that paved the way for our understanding that our Gods have always been listening to us.”

Corvus places a hand on their chest, breathing slightly shaky but having a sense of hope within it.

“A damn fool it was for that man to go after that bear cub! My brothers and sisters, I tell you now, his foolishness, his pride, had blinded him and let The Gods pave the way for the ultimate punishment.”

Corvus gave a small laugh.

“Oh, how pleasing it was to hear that man finally scream out in agony as the Mother Bear tore into his skin and let his insides fall to his very feet!

And I have to admit, I let myself grow confident, I needed to see it for myself! I ignored my parents’ calls as I flew over to the source, the very idea that justice was finally playing out had plagued my mind! I couldn't just wait around, so I flew as fast as I could until I had seen the brutality before me!

Oh, how I wish you all could have seen it, for it was a glorious sight!”

They could remember it now.

“Apart from The Mother Bear, there were other animals of the night, some I had never seen up close, fearing upon the hunter!

By the Gods, it was a feast upon the very hunter that dared to stain Mother Nature with innocent blood!”

Corvus laughed.

“Ah, but what a feast it was!

The Wolves ate away at the arms, the Mother Bear at the intestines, the Raccoons nibbling at the thighs, the Foxes at the legs, and even the Owls—yes, the Owls—had joined in to tear at the man’s face! Peeling his skin apart in a manner of how he had done to his past victims.

It was justice that plagued the woods that very night, and how blessed I was to have to see it before my very eyes!

Bathing under the light of the gracious Moon, I indulged in the feast and tore away at the man’s eyes, stabbing them with my claws as I pecked them until they were nothing more than the mesh of soil from within a river!”

Corvus controlled themselves, having gone off on a tangent for too long, they then took a breather. Settling down on the bench once more, they looked upon the crows, their beloved kin, and settled enough to have to keep talking.

“The Gods had answered our prayers that night, brothers and sisters, as even under those circumstances, the man still lived!

Even when his skin was torn, his bones were snapped, and his guts had splayed out and dirtier themselves onto the ground below, he still lived and breathed. Slightly. Barely. But he breathed!

One night wasn't enough, clearly, it was decided that even then he should suffer under the elements of Mother Nature herself. Let the soft touch of her lively hands grow plants and fungi from within his mangled body. Let him live long enough to see he had fed various animals who took the time to share amongst others—prey or not—in a collective agreement of the grand feast from before!”

Corvus emptied the rest of the grains onto their glove, moving the seeds around with their thumb. They seemed pleased, having told this story to their kin, who all gave their thanks to The Gods and Mother Nature herself to give the greatest punishment of all.

Oh, how blessed they all were to be under the care of such divine beings.

“Today, we shall give our thanks to The Gods!

For they have helped not only me grow from deep peril from a man who played God, but for me to grow strong and to make sure that no other hunter will ever hunt us again!

I raise this grain, grown from the garden I’ve planted with the soil of my homeland and bathed in the blood of those who have wronged me—wronged us—and I give them all to you to eat and to flourish for future generations to come!”

Corvus threw the grains out high in the air, reciting a prayer no man could ever decrypter nor mimic, and gave their thanks as their kin ate away at the bloodied grains.

Shivers had previously plundered the figure's body, beginning in the late hours of the night and continuing until the early hours of the morning. Each time their heartbeat was the same time their pain ransacked their complete body. Their backside had two bumps that grew by a few hours as the figure yelled out in pain.

Dr. Emile Dorian chose to keep a safe distance from the figure rather than administer pain medicine.

He thinks this a significant development, his gaze drawn to the figure straining to stand on their two feet. Or, as the figure continued to yell, claws, cut talons scraping the concrete ground with vigor. Their clawed hands grabbed their arms, feathers flapping in exasperation. Their breathing became more agile, as did the jerking of their body, which bowed awkwardly to the will of the pain that gripped them.

This figure, this creature, was one of, if not the, doctor's most successful experiments.

He's never tested on birds previously, preferring to focus on primates, felines, and the occasional canine. But never, ever birds. Birds had never occurred to him to test the limits of the T-99 Mutigen, but he had an inkling that it may work. Twenty years were spent researching how he could birth a new line of creatures from animals and develop an anthropomorphic creature that was not a true man but only a copy of one.

He had days to study birds beforehand, spending time on a normal park bench feeding the local crows to make an informed judgment. A few had arrived, while others had flown away, clearly unable to trust a human man.

He hadn't expected to form a relationship with any of them, especially the one in front of him, Corvus. The sweet little animal, definitely the runt of the litter, accepted whatever food was supplied to them to help them grow as large and strong as their brothers. But it's naïve to have to believe a human man solely because they've been fed something new and pleasant.

Corvus' shouts broke the doctor's stream of thinking, his gaze drawn to the bulges on their back, which were moving rapidly.

They made a motion to ask for help before snapping their body forward, claws digging at the ground, and shrieked. Their back tore away, and two slots of flesh and feathers tore away, revealing something painful and damp. Blood spilled from the unexpected breaking, bones popping out of place as two enormous appendages sprang through. Black feathers tore and flew around, falling softly as the appendages grew, overshadowing the humanoid bird as a whole.

They suddenly relaxed, finally allowing their bodies to mend as their wings reflexively spread out. They finally let go of their meaty prison, and the blood poured as they calmed themselves, the pain no more than shock coursing through their veins. They barely heard the heavy steel door open, a recognizable figure entering inside to study the mutation up close.

"Father," Corvus mumbled, in a language incomprehensible to man but known to birds

“Father, help-”

The sound of Dorian's cane hitting the concrete ground below caused the figure to abruptly shudder. Their newly developed wings wrapped themselves briefly before settling down, as though like a blanket over their trembling body.

"Speak, Corvus," Dorian said authoritatively, "speak as if you've been speaking my tongue your entire life."

The figure slowly opened its beak, its throat straining as it fought to say the right words. Their beaks closed for a minute, their dark eyes shaking as they battled to find the words to communicate. They made a move to speak, issuing a chirp before stopping, their gaze catching the doctor's hold on his cane stiffening.

“…hurts…”

They finally croaked in clear English, a whimper dying in the back of their throat.