Part 7 is up.

Enjoy reading, and let me know what you think so far.

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Miguel was always curious why Jonathan was so secretive about his lab in Arkham's basement. He didn't let anyone go down there and often spent hours experimenting with dangerous chemicals.

Sometimes, he also worried for his neighbor because whenever he caught a glimpse of his hands, which he otherwise kept concealed in gloves, they were charred from what seemed like chemical burns. A thick, pungent smell came from the basement each time he passed close to it, and out of human nature, he was often tempted to step inside and see what Doctor Crane was so devotedly working on.

So that day, when Jonathan left Arkham in Miguel's care, he decided to explore the basement.

First, he completed all his tasks and wrapped up the construction on the third floor like Jonathan had instructed. Then, recalling that his boss had only asked him not to let anyone into the basement and left no instructions that included him abstaining from entering, he finally stepped into the lift and pressed the button marked B.

An odd anticipation gripped him as he descended the levels and the lift stopped at the dark basement floor. Shifting the grill aside, he stepped out, struck by that pungent smell instantly.

Darkness shrouded him except for a faint green light that came from the end of the corridor—the laboratory where Jonathan mostly spent his time. Cautiously putting on a mask to cover his face, Miguel proceeded toward the light, going deeper into the basement.

He was all alone yet it felt like he was being watched. His eyes darted around to check for cameras or any other hidden surveillance devices but the sense of being observed only increased the deeper he went down the constricting corridor.

A steel door barred his passage and he stopped, looking around for the handle. Something inside him warned him to keep out but curiosity got the better of him. He found the door was locked but as the manager, he had the keys for every single lock in Arkham.

Fishing out his bunch of master keys, he took out the silver key marked with a B and tried it in the lock. The door shifted aside, and a fume of green engulfed him.

Coughing, Miguel cleared the air in front of him, trying to look around the place. He was right in Jonathan's extensive laboratory, and the air was suffocating, preventing him from stepping in.

How Doctor Crane managed to stay in such an environment for long periods of time was beyond him.

But as his vision cleared and he saw the steaming boilers and other equipment, an odd feeling took hold of him.

The suffocation had increased somehow, and the green fumes penetrated through the mask. His stomach tightened, and his lungs seemed to contract as well—something that he could attribute to the effect of being in the presence of dangerous chemicals.

The room was closing in on him, the walls contracting just like the tissues in his body were folding inwards. It terrified him, and he should have run for his life, but his feet were glued to the spot.

But then, a hand gripped his shoulder, and he spun around in alarm, feeling his heart leap into his throat. His vision blurred, and all he saw was a dark silhouette. Then, something cold was placed over his face.

"Come out of here," Jonathan's voice shook him out of the nightmarish encounter, and he blinked twice to see him standing where that silhouette had been.

Miguel's body was frozen in fear, but he realized that the cold material covering his nose and mouth was a gas mask.

With his hand firmly on his shoulder, Jonathan steered him out of the lab and into the dark corridor, which now had a faint yellow bulb glimmering.

"Sit down for a while. Catch your breath," he said, guiding him to a chair. His cold blue eyes observed him closely as he guided him to take deep breaths. Soon, the haze from his vision lifted, and the tightness in his chest released.

Jonathan's gloved hand fastened on his wrist, checking his pulse, and as soon as he was convinced that the racing heartbeat was back to normal, he unstrapped the gas mask from Miguel's face.

An awkward silence prevailed between them until Miguel shakily spoke up, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."

"How do you feel?" The psychiatrist asked, not responding to his apology at the moment.

He no longer felt suffocated, and that feeling of being watched had also subsided. "I... I'm better now."

Jonathan rephrased the question, "When you were in the lab, what did you feel?"

There was an unnerving spark in his eyes and he was observing Miguel thoroughly. At that moment, it felt as if he was watching a specimen—a study in an experiment who's response he had to record.

Miguel paused, thinking about how he felt, and a wave of unease washed over him again. "It was hard to breathe, and I felt... I felt the place had gotten darker, smaller, and that I was being... watched?"

He nodded, "What else did you feel? A racing heartbeat, something weird going on in your body?"

"It felt... Like my organs were caving in and everything was shrinking... The room and myself, it was all getting smaller and more suffocating... It must have been due to the chemicals... Right?"

He looked confused as if he couldn't find a logical explanation. Thus, he could only rely on Crane to tell him what exactly happened.

"Claustrophobia, or rather, a fear of confined spaces," Jonathan deduced, nodding his head as he understood exactly why that reaction occurred in Miguel.

"Wait, what?"

"I will tell you later; we must head upstairs now," he remarked, his features shifting back to an emotionless look. "I work with toxins down here that are quite dangerous. Even I don't step inside without the proper safety equipment. So don't come into the basement by yourself again."

"Yes, I will take care not to," Miguel nodded, following him into the lift.

"What you inhaled in my lab was a hallucinogen," Jonathan explained, overcoming the uncomfortable silence that gripped them. "It is used in exposure therapy, primarily to expose someone to their worst fear in order to help them overcome it. It is still in the initial testing phase, so I have yet to control the effects. This is why I don't let anyone go down there."

Miguel hadn't expected him to tell him anything about what he worked on in the basement, but surprisingly, he could see no trace of deception on his features. What he had told him was the truth, or possibly very close to it.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Crane. I shouldn't have snooped around," he repeated, letting him know that he genuinely meant the apology, "I hope you're not angry with me."

He shook his head, dismissing the last remark. He did not look angry, but his cold blue eyes still pierced through his in a somewhat firm expression.

"Miguel, you are the manager here; I can't hide things from you. But you must know that a lot of this comes with a heavy price. So the less you involve yourself in my matters, the safer it is for you." Jonathan's voice was steady, but the warning was clear.

He only nodded his head and went back to the reception where he should have been in the first place.

It seemed as if Crane would let him be and go to his office but he paused, eyes studying him carefully as if he was briefly concerned for him. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He looked up, "Yes, why?"

"No reason," Jonathan instructed, "Just to be safe, take a bath when you reach home and rest. The toxin is still in the preliminary stages, so it's better to be careful. If anything strange happens to you, let me know."

He retreated to his office, and Miguel continued working at his desk. He was alert after Jonathan's warning to any side effects he could be going through. But he didn't feel anything out of the ordinary except for a slight headache, which he felt was probably due to exhaustion.

When it was time for him to go home, Jonathan reemerged from his office and stopped him. "Wait, I have one little task. It's urgent."

"Yes, Doctor Crane?"

Jonathan handed him an invoice on which Arkham's required construction expenses were stated and marked as paid. "A new construction agency will be coming in from tomorrow. I have settled all the bills, so you can file this."

He was slightly surprised but took the invoice nevertheless. "But... Weren't the funds rejected by the Board? I mean..."

"Yes, that's why I had to find another investor," Jonathan remarked nonchalantly, "We don't have to worry about the funding anymore. It's all taken care of."

He found it rather odd as he took in the massive financial investment that was administered for all the repairs on the invoice. But he asked no further questions, recalling the psychiatrist's earlier warning.

"I will be late tomorrow morning, so show them the third and fourth floors and get them started as soon as they get here," Jonathan added, "That will be all."

He nodded, filing the invoice with the other expenses he was recording to budget the entire revamp project.

Miguel couldn't help but think that whatever investor Jonathan had found must be very rich and also have some personal benefit, or else he wouldn't put in millions worth of investment in Arkham.

Still, the entire situation felt a bit off to him. But he knew he wasn't supposed to interfere.

As long as he was doing his job right and getting paid for it, he shouldn't worry so much about what else Doctor Jonathan Crane was up to. The less he was involved, the safer it was for him and his family.

***

Sleep was a luxury that came painstakingly to Jonathan Crane.

He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and pass out in a fitful slumber, but he couldn't as his mind was churning in turmoil.

He should have gotten used to it. But for some reason, the annoying whispers had grown louder that day and he found it impossible to shut the noise out.

"You've been out of your mind," the voice resonated in his head, "Why the hell did you tell Miguel everything?"

"I didn't tell him everything," he mumbled, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to keep himself calm.

"You've told him enough. What were you thinking? Do you have any idea what complications it can cause for us later on? You trust this man too much, Jonathan. He'll stab you in the back."

"No, he will not. He is smart enough to avoid things that put him at risk. I'd say his little expedition into the lab taught him a lesson."

"It also resulted in him knowing that you are working with hallucinogens that can cause fear. Real smart of you..." Sarcasm dropped from that scratchy voice, and the frown on Jonathan's face deepened.

"He won't interfere," he stated firmly, very sure about his own assumption regarding his neighbor.

Jonathan knew Miguel was one of those people who preferred blending into the background rather than standing out in any way. He was a common man with a family, and he already had responsibilities to shoulder. The biggest of them all was to make sure that he and his family survived in the dreary city of crime. He would never do anything himself that would put them in danger.

"Still, you trust him too much. You trust this Charlize woman as well... You're making terrible choices."

The voice tutted in disappointment, the clicking sound increasing his irritation further.

"I am not making terrible choices! I got the deal with Falcone, I'm the Head Psychiatrist of Arkham, I came up with the formula for the fear toxin, and I'm going to get into business with Ra's Al Ghul," he spoke, letting his frustration loose as he stared into the mirror in front of him. "You need me, and I need you to stop making things difficult for me."

"You and I, what a clear distinction you make between us," an unnerving cackle split through his head, making him clutch at his throbbing temples. "We aren't different. When are you going to accept it? All you have to do is accept me, and the world will be ours to take."

"Yes, but you are rushing things and making me anxious. Be quiet for a minute, will you?"

"Quiet? Very well. I'll leave you for now, but you must pay my words heed. We have a common goal, and we have our path ahead of us. And at this crucial point, we can't afford you to get distracted, Jonathan. Right now, all you're doing is getting distracted by these people you associate with. So I will be silent once I am certain you aren't wasting away our years' worth of progress."

He sighed wearily, facing a decision that he had been delaying for so long. That dreaded question fluttered in his head again. Was he really getting distracted from his purpose by the very few people he had met and started to care for?

In a sense, the voice was right. But he didn't want to think about it too soon. He was reluctant to think about the answer to that question but that voice kept reminding him, bringing him back to the thin line between reality and fascination.

The voice he could constantly hear in his head belonged to Scarecrow, a malicious alter that he had encountered the first time when his grandmother had locked him up after a harsh beating in the basement of her farm. Due to a childhood of abuse and neglect, his psyche had fractured into alters. He frequently encountered one voice that he had named Scarecrow but was briefly aware of another presence—a timid being who hardly ever came into the light.

Jonathan suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder. His psyche had long been fractured into multiple alters with the sole purpose of protecting the host from fear, trauma, anger, or any other emotion that might hurt him.

In his case, Scarecrow, the aggressor, shielded him from fear. Jon, the submissive one, personified his repressed childhood and offered solace in times of turmoil. Thus, Jonathan himself was a sum of the three, but he had kept that truth concealed from everyone.

Lately, Scarecrow had started influencing him a lot and was, in his own words, trying to help him fulfill his purpose. But the true nature of that purpose was quite horrifying, one that Jonathan would never want to disclose to Charlize or Miguel.

"You have started to care for them," the scratchy tone mocked him again. "Emotions are a weakness, Jonathan. Your certain attachment to them is making you weak."

"No... You know nothing."

"I know everything," Scarecrow sneered, his voice relentlessly cruel, "You're the one who is intentionally turning a blind eye."

The constant noise in his head and the weight of something that others would call conscience had given him a splitting headache. He clutched his head in his hands helplessly, watching his reflection in the mirror distort to take the shape of a straw creature.

A monster with a stitched burlap mask, hollow eye sockets and a wild maniacal grin.

Scarecrow.

"You like crediting yourself with everything you have achieved so far, don't you? The doctorate, the position at Arkham, the deal with Falcone, and the upcoming partnership with the Demon Head..." The taunting whispers continued, a chilling cackle serving as a background to it all. "But it wouldn't have been possible without me. None of it would be possible if I didn't give you the power to fight your fears. You're nothing without me, Jonathan, nothing but a scared little boy!"

His blue eyes were frantic, and his hands clenched his temples, on which the veins stood out, indicating that he was going through something horrible. "Stop... Stop shouting at me... Just stop!"

"If it weren't for me, you would still be stuck in that rotten old farm in Kansas, toiling away for your wretched old grandmother! I took you out of there, I gave you the power to fight back, it was me who saved you and you who will ruin everything if you don't listen to me now!"

He didn't know how long had passed since he had failed to shut out that dreadful voice in his head. Too exhausted to put up with the Scarecrow, his head slumped forward, eyes falling shut as he passed out.

***

Be ready for things to take an interesting turn.

Part 8 is very fun-filled, so you guys can relax for a short while. Fair warning: I might strike with the climax soon after hehehe.

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