In the forensics lab at the East End Precinct, three people stood crowded around a workbench that had been hastily cleared to hold the mountain of documents and samples recovered from Crane House.
Edward was already absorbed in one of Crane's notebooks. Nearby, Dr. Quinzel leaned against the counter, flipping through loose manuscript pages. Marco sat on a stool with an ice pack pressed to his face. He looked like he had gone several rounds with a cement mixer and lost.
"So..." Dr. Quinzel glanced up from the papers, and a grin spread across her face. "You got beaten up by Gordon?"
She tried to hold it in. She really did. But then she caught another look at the spectacular black eye Marco was sporting, and she lost it completely. She doubled over laughing, one hand braced on the counter for support.
"Oh my God," she gasped between fits of giggles. "I thought with your build you could take on a gorilla."
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Marco muttered, adjusting the ice pack. "In the end, he was the one who ended up in the hospital. So I win."
"That is not how winning works," Dr. Quinzel said, still grinning.
"Ed." Marco picked up one of Crane's notebooks and tossed it across the table. Edward caught it without looking up from the page he was reading. "Take a look at this and tell me if any of it is useful. I can barely even read these letters when they are strung together."
Edward adjusted his glasses and scanned the first few pages. "Research like this is the job of scientists." He glanced at Dr. Quinzel. "What exactly is a psychologist doing here? No offense, but chemistry is not exactly your field."
"The effects of this toxin are tied to emotions and fear responses," Marco said before Dr. Quinzel could answer. "That falls within Dr. Quinzel's area of research, does it not?"
Dr. Quinzel raised both hands. "Mr. Nygma, you may handle the scientific aspects. I will limit myself to observation and the study of psychological implications. There may be valuable insights here regarding fear conditioning, memory formation, and related phenomena. I promise I will not touch your beakers."
"Or breathe on them," Marco added.
"Or breathe on them," Dr. Quinzel agreed solemnly.
Edward looked between them for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But let's establish ground rules. Do not interfere with my work, do not move my samples, and do not ask me to explain what I am doing while I am doing it."
"Deal."
"Good." Edward opened the notebook fully and started flipping through pages. After a moment, he paused and looked up at Marco with an odd expression. "Although, I have to say... Gordon inhaled enough of this toxin to completely incapacitate him. He was hallucinating, violent, and completely divorced from reality. Yet you were exposed to the same gas cloud and apparently experienced no effects whatsoever?"
"What are you implying?"
"I am not implying anything. I am observing." Edward tapped the notebook. "According to these notes, the toxin works by triggering the amygdala. It should affect everyone. Yet it did not affect you."
"Maybe he is just dead inside," Dr. Quinzel offered cheerfully. "Emotional repression can do wonders for psychological resilience."
"I am not emotionally repressed," Marco said. "I am Italian. We express everything."
Edward shook his head and returned to the notebook. "Regardless, this compound is fascinating. It uses volatile organic solvents as a carrier, combined with belladonna extract, also known as deadly nightshade, for those unfamiliar with botany. There are also traces of psychoactive fungi and what appears to be a synthesized neurotoxin precursor. It acts directly on the amygdala, bypassing higher cognitive functions entirely."
"Can you make an antidote?" Marco asked.
"I will need time to analyze the exact chemical composition." Edward started pulling out sample vials and setting up a series of tests. "The challenge is that fear responses are partially psychological and partially chemical. Neutralizing the toxin is one thing. Reversing the psychological damage it causes is another."
"That is where I come in," Dr. Quinzel said. She picked up another set of notes. "Cognitive-behavioral therapy, exposure therapy, trauma processing. If Gordon is still experiencing aftereffects, we will need to address them therapeutically as well as medically."
Marco rubbed his temples. The ice pack was helping with the swelling, but the headache behind his eyes was not going away. "How long before he recovers?"
"Depends on the dosage and his individual neurochemistry," Dr. Quinzel said. "Fear toxin does not just go away. It rewires neural pathways. He will probably have PTSD symptoms even after the chemical compounds leave his system."
Marco muttered, "So Crane turned one of Gotham's best detectives into a psychological casualty, and he is still out there brewing more of this shit."
"Speaking of psychological casualties..." Dr. Quinzel set down the papers and turned to face Marco fully. "There is something I need to tell you. Raven has not been doing well lately."
Marco's head snapped up. "What happened?"
"She thinks someone in the city is using magic to search for her location." Dr. Quinzel crossed her arms. "The stronger her perception becomes, the more tense her emotions get. And the more tense she gets, the easier it is for whoever is searching to find her. It is a feedback loop."
"Emotions," Marco repeated.
"Yes, emotions. Her demonic heritage makes her sensitive to emotional states. When she is calm, her magical signature is muted. When she is stressed or frightened, it flares up. For now, I have been working with her on relaxation techniques. When she is relaxed, the tracking magic has a harder time locking onto her. But it is not a permanent solution."
Marco turned to Edward. "Can you help with this?"
Edward looked up from the microscope he had been peering into. He gave Marco an apologetic smile. "I am sorry. At the moment, I really do not have a good approach for countering magic. It is not exactly my area of expertise. There is no empirical framework to work from."
"Alright." Marco stood up. "Then we go with what we have. Dr. Quinzel, keep stabilizing her emotions. If she wants to buy anything, let her. I will reimburse it. Just keep receipts."
"You are going to expense teenage girl retail therapy to the GCPD?" Dr. Quinzel looked amused.
"I am going to expense teenage girl mental health treatment to the GCPD," Marco corrected. "There is a difference."
"Not really, but okay." Dr. Quinzel made a note on her phone. "I will take her shopping this weekend."
Edward cleared his throat. "If you two are finished discussing fashion, I would like to point out that we have a toxin to analyze and a psychotic chemist to catch. Perhaps we could focus?"
---
Wayne Manor.
The exhaustion that had soaked into Bruce's bones was finally beginning to fade.
He opened his eyes.
For several seconds, his vision was nothing but blur. Then the world slowly came into focus.
"Looks like you slept quite well."
The voice came from his left. He turned his head and saw Alfred standing beside the bed. The old butler held a silver tray with a glass of water and several small pills arranged in neat rows.
"Alfred."
"Master Bruce." Alfred set the tray down on the nightstand and helped him into a sitting position, propping pillows behind his back for support. "Have some water first."
Bruce took the glass with hands and drank. The water was cool, and it soothed his raw throat. After a moment, he set the glass aside and looked at Alfred properly.
"How long was I out?"
"Twenty-seven hours. I had to sedate you for the first twelve. The toxin kept you in a state of extreme agitation. You were not yourself, Master Bruce."
Bruce closed his eyes, and fragments of memory came flooding back. "Fear toxin... Crane succeeded."
"Indeed." Alfred picked up a small vial from the tray. "However, I preserved samples while you were unconscious. The data is waiting for you in the cave."
"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce took a deep breath and tried to stand. He made it halfway to vertical before Alfred's hand on his shoulder steadied him.
"Master Bruce, I must insist that you rest."
"I have rested for twenty-seven hours. That is more than enough."
"You were sedated for twenty-seven hours. That is not the same as rest. Had I not tracked the final transmission from your suit and arrived when I did, you would not be standing here."
Bruce met his eyes. "But you did arrive. And I am standing here. So let's not waste the opportunity. What about Crane?"
Alfred sighed.
"When I arrived, he was already gone. He appears to have fled before I could reach you. And before you ask, yes, the GCPD conducted a raid on Crane House. Detective Gordon led the operation alongside Captain Vitale. It also ended in failure. Crane escaped."
"Is Gordon alive?"
"Yes. But he inhaled the toxin during pursuit. According to reports, he experienced severe hallucinations and temporarily lost control. He attacked several officers before they could restrain him. He has been transferred to Gotham General. His condition is stable, but he will need time to recover, both physically and mentally."
A man capable of weaponizing fear had slipped into Gotham's shadows. Bruce thought of his own experience. If Crane deployed his toxin on a larger scale...
"I need to get to the lab."
"Of course you do." Alfred picked up the tray again. "But first, you will eat. I will not have you collapsing from malnutrition before you even reach the cave."
"Alfred—"
"Master Bruce. You will eat. Or I will sedate you again and you will wake up in another twenty-seven hours."
Bruce stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Fine."
---
Twenty minutes later, Bruce descended into the Batcave via the concealed elevator in his study. Alfred followed, carrying the case of blood samples.
He moved to the main workstation, pulled on sterile gloves, and removed one of the blood samples from the case.
"I must reiterate that in your current condition, working with residual toxins is extremely dangerous," Alfred said as he set up the centrifuge. "If even a trace amount becomes airborne—"
"It is precisely because I experienced it that I must do this," Bruce interrupted. He placed the sample in the centrifuge and started the machine. "Crane will not stop. Next time, his toxin might not be aimed at one person. It could be a crowded street. We have to be ready with an antidote before he strikes again."
He moved to the electron microscope and pulled up the preliminary scans Alfred had run while he was unconscious. Complex molecular structures rotated on the screen. He also pulled up a recording of his own brainwave activity during the worst of the toxin's effects. The data was disturbing. What should have been regular, rhythmic electrical patterns had devolved into chaotic spikes and valleys, like a seismograph recording an earthquake.
"We need a competitive antagonist for the neural receptors," Bruce said, more to himself than to Alfred. "Something broad-spectrum. It has to bind to the same receptor sites as the toxin, but without triggering the fear response. Then we combine it with rapid blood filtration to remove the compound before permanent damage sets in."
"And how long will that take?" Alfred asked.
"Days. Maybe weeks. It depends on how quickly I can isolate the active compounds and find something that counters them without killing the patient." Bruce pulled up another screen and started cross-referencing pharmaceutical databases. "Has there been any word from the East End precinct?"
"No." Alfred shook his head. "Captain Vitale does not discuss sensitive matters over the phone."
"Perhaps we should install a few more listening devices at the precinct," Bruce said absently, still focused on the data.
"No, Master Bruce. I would strongly advise against that."
Bruce looked up. "Why?"
"Because the last listening device you placed in their forensics lab failed without a trace." Alfred set down the sample case. "I suspect Captain Vitale has already responded to us and raised his guard. If you try again, you will not have Mr. Queen to help divert suspicion. They will know it was you."