Faced with the question, Professor Crane managed a calm smile.
'I knew this was coming.' Outwardly, though, he appeared flustered and outraged.
"Impossible! I've never done such a thing!" he exclaid, voice tight with indignation. "Detective, please. You have to believe . This is a setup! Saliva samples are easily planted. I'm being frad! I want to speak to my lawyer imdiately. He'll prove my innocence."
Adam watched Crane's dramatic display with amusent. To be fair, the man was good... almost too good.
As expected from a psychology professor, Crane had been careful: the mask bore no fingerprints. Still, Adam gave a small nod and gestured for the officers to remove it.
"I just have a few questions for you," Adam said slowly. "Think of it more as a theory I'm working on. A rough hypothesis. I'd like your thoughts on it."
Crane's heart skipped a beat.
'A theory?'
That wasn't what he anticipated.
He'd expected to be cornered with evidence or perhaps more threats, not hypothetical gas. Still, he remained composed.
Being an academic and master of psychological manipulation, Crane had seen worse.
Gotham's police, he knew, weren't exactly scholars. And this particular officer—young, and seemingly too casual—didn't look like much of a threat.
"No problem, sir. Ask away. I'm always happy to help. After all, I am a good citizen," Crane replied smoothly, easing into the performance again.
He wouldn't be another movie villain undone by arrogance.
Adam began to circle him slowly, like a wolf sizing up its prey.
"Mr. Jonathan Crane," Adam began in a neutral tone, "Professor of Psychology at Gotham University. Widely respected in Arican academic circles."
"Of course," Crane said, lifting his chin slightly. "That reputation is well-earned."
"I happen to be interested in psychology myself," Adam continued casually. "Very useful when negotiating the price of donuts."
Crane's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
Adam stopped walking, locking eyes with him. His tone sharpened.
"Which is why I find it interesting that your research focus... is fear. A rather unusual and specific area in psychology."
Adam stiffened.
"What led you to that path?" Adam asked, "You must know Freud's 'Childhood Trauma Theory'—how early experiences shape one's psychological tendencies. Perhaps your interest in fear isn't purely academic."
Adam pointed to the box Jason had brought earlier. "I looked into your background. Quite thoroughly, in fact. In your youth, you were physically frail, thin arms, weak legs. A favorite target for bullies. They had a nickna for you, didn't they?"
Crane remained silent, but his jaw tightened.
"'Scarecrow,'" Adam said softly. "You were mocked, humiliated. And so, you beca obsessed with understanding fear. You understood it's concept and made it a weapon."
Crane's eyes flashed in shock.
'They've been watching for a while,' he realized. 'This wasn't a random investigation.'
"You delved into the psychology of fear obsessively," Adam continued. "But breakthroughs were slow. Fear is elusive, complex, too much so for academia's pace. Your funding was slashed repeatedly. I checked Columbia's grant records."
Adam's voice hardened.
"That's when you turned to... alternative thods. Not psychological, but chemical."
"That's all speculation," Crane snapped. "You have no proof."
"No? Then explain the large orders of rabbits and chickens in your departnt's procurent reports. What kind of psychological study requires livestock, Professor?"
Adam stepped closer. "And isn't it suspicious that one of the poisoned victims just happened to be a logistics manager from Gotham University? My guess is that he caught wind of your side experints and started asking questions. This led to you silencing him."
"Coincidence," Crane scoffed. "Eight people were poisoned. You can't pin this all on one connection to ."
"Or maybe," Adam said coldly, "you started with the university administrator, then poisoned seven others across Gotham to make it look like a city-wide cri spree. A cover-up."
Adam lowered his voice to a whisper. "I saw the victims in Arkham. They're broken. Terrified of shadows. Of flies. That is what you've been chasing—complete psychological control through terror."
He paused. "Scarecrow. Scare Crow. How long do you intend to keep playing innocent, Professor?"
Professor Crane stared at Adam. Slowly, he sat in a nearby chair. His voice was calm, even bored.
"Detective, if you're done with your little detective fantasy, please leave. I won't be answering any more questions without my lawyer."
Adam didn't move. "Fear gas is chemical in nature. You're smart—you avoided caras, fingerprints, witnesses. You even dissected your animal test subjects and dumped the remains in eight different districts to throw us off."
He smiled coldly. "Unfortunately, you were photographed dumping one of them."
Professor Cranee's eyes narrowed. Danger flared behind his glasses.
"And," Adam added, "if the lab analysis of those remains confirms the sa compound used on the victims... well, I hope you enjoy teaching psychology from inside Blackgate Prison."
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Professor Crane applauded slowly, his expression hardening into sothing cold and deadly.
"Impressive deduction, Officer. Almost airtight." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "But you made one mistake."
"Oh?" Adam arched an eyebrow.
Suddenly, Professor Crane raised his arm, and from his sleeve, a concealed injector sprang into his hand.
"You got too close."
With a mad gleam in his eye, he lunged, aiming the needle at Adam's face.
"Now you get to taste fear."
—
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