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Chapter 7

As you scanned your surroundings, still standing at the edge of the park, your gaze landed on a familiar figure. Settled comfortably on a nearby bench, one long leg crossed over the other, sat Jonathan Crane. In his hand was a brown paper bag, presumably full of seeds if the flock of birds pecking the ground at his feet was anything to go by. Consisting mostly of pigeons, though there were a handful of crows, most of which seemed far more comfortable with the man than the other birds, the flock bobbed and fluttered around him. You watched as he leaned forward to scratch one of the crows atop their head, earning a small, playful nip in response. If you weren’t seeing it, you wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his lips twitched into a genuine smile.

Gotham’s infamous Scarecrow, the one who terrorized the city for fun, just smiled because a crow pecked his finger. He looked so different than he did at the cafe. Instead of scrutinizing you with barely contained fascination, his shoulders were loose and his expression almost soft. It was weird. Distantly, you realized that you were intruding on something you weren’t meant to see. Every other person in the park seemed fine coexisting with him. Not content, and certainly not happy, but everyone else seemed perfectly alright averting their eyes and focusing on their own lives rather than catch the attention of the last man anyone wanted to draw the notice of.

All except you.

Pursing your lips, you turned your head to find a spot on the grass you could call your own. Preferably behind Jonathan, where he couldn’t see you. As much as you told yourself it was because you didn’t want to bother him in such a vulnerable moment, you knew the truth. It was a simple fact. You found Jonathan to be a rather unpleasant man and, as such, you didn’t want to interact with him. If he was anyone else you would have approached him with a grin and a wave, but he wasn’t anyone else. He was Jonathan Crane, the man who harassed you at your favorite cafe because he had some sort of scientific interest in your psyche. Or something. You still weren’t quite sure what that was about. Besides, you had much better things to do than have your mind picked apart by a bored former psychiatrist.

Like…

You frowned, trying to think of something, anything, you could do. The only thing you could manage to conjure was to stare at the sun and see how long it took for you to go blind. That didn’t seem very fun, even if you caught yourself disturbingly curious as to what the answer would be.

An icy chill crawled up your spine, not so different from the sensation you got a few minutes earlier when you looked into the sewers. You were being hunted again, and you knew exactly who it was.

Who else could it have been?

Chapter 6

Letting out a low groan of despair, you banged the back of your head against the arm of the couch. You needed a new mask. One that wasn’t recognizable as the one you wore before, but still covered your face in its entirety.

Fine. You were sure the Riddler had taken this into account. If he was going to employ you, he would provide for your secret identity as well.

Slowly and meticulously, as you had never composed a text on a flip phone before, you sent your boss a message.

Dear Mr. Riddler, sir. I have come to the realization that being in your employment makes me an accomplice to any and all criminal activity you engage in. Due to this, I must ask for a mask in order to hide not only my identity, but my siblings’ as well. Considering that the entire purpose of me being in your pocket is due to the continued threat of my family’s loss of freedom, personally, I think it would be beneficial for you to take this request into consideration. With hatred, Zee.

His response came in mere moments.

I don’t pay you to think.

You frowned. He didn’t pay you at all. Jerk.

Not long after his previous message, the Riddler sent another.

Your request has been considered. My verdict: Fine if you insist I will provide a mask of my choosing for you. You owe me.