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[A: 769 Bunker Street]

[Well. What does one do when one receives a large amount of scientific equipment but lack the means to transport it from place to place.

Use drones as slave labor. Duh.

Having shanghaied his drone daughter and two drone neighbors (he offered them both a nickel) into loading the packages into his car, Crane is merely supervising. It's all normal-looking things: Large white containers with skulls and massive warning labels on them, nondescript boxes with hypodermic needles sticking out of the cardboard, and, for some reason, a box of straw.]

Drop it, and it's your own funeral.

[The Hospital]

[Having finished converting his office into a laboratory, Crane is a bit too distracted to remind the drones to close the door behind him. It's all here... He picks up a weathered old journal and flips through it, examining the complex chemical equations. Yep, all there. He puts down the book, sits at the desk, and holds a test tube up to the dim light of the office. Time to get back to work.


[Crane is very pleased when he receives his latest package from the post office: After trading it in for his (now-powerless) Sinestro Corps ring, he had been wondering when he would get his Scarecrow costume back. He looks down at the burlap and grins; yes, he’ll have a use for this soon enough…

-- Hm. It has a tear in the shoulder, though. It must be from right after one of his many fights with the Bat. Well, no matter, such things can be easily fixed. His eyes haven’t gone that much… Though, the light inside won’t help at all. Maybe he can…

And so he does, and thus he ends up out on the front porch of his home, stitching up his Scarecrow costume. Just try to laugh at him. He ain’t ashamed.]

[Locked to Harley]

[Later on, Crane will be making a phone call. He waits for her to pick up.]

003 look to the western sky

[Zombies? Eh, ain't no big; it's not like Crane hasn't dealt with this sort of thing before. With a questionable level of success. The course of action he must take is obvious. Not being a very sentimental man, he takes his regained uniform to the Post Office and hopes for the best.

For once in his life, the best actually happens.]




[Now, there is... something flying down the street. Your street? Maybe. It is a figure greatly resembling an old scarecrow, and wouldn't look out of place on any farm... Except for the ring. There is a bright yellow light coming from it, forming into tangible objects in a way normal light definitely shouldn't be able to. At this point in time, the light has taken the form of a large, horrific-looking scythe, which the figure is using to cut any and all zombies in its path into ribbons of rotting flesh. Murders of crows, similarly made of yellow light, are swooping down on zombies and living humans alike, screeching and pecking at them mercilessly. Over the screeching, another sound can be heard.

The figure is laughing.]

002 STAGE 2

[Well, well, well, isn't this exciting. A considerable improvement over that last strange occurrence. It appears that everyone in this town, for some reason, is unable to lie-- not only that, they're compelled to tell the truth to whoever will listen. And Crane is a very good listener.

Well, he wouldn't be much a scientist if he didn't use this fantastic opportunity to his advantage, would he?]


What is it that you fear?


[It's very jarring, to wake up in a somewhat normal-styled house when you are absolutely certain you last fell asleep in an insane asylum. But, whatever, let's just roll with it. This situation could be one of many things: Jervis creating a new mind-control simulation and deciding once again that "odd semi-friendship" means "I can use you as a guinea pig without asking whenever I feel like," which was the most likely, as the majority of the Rogues had a similar difficulty making that distinction; or, he had been kidnapped or had another mental break and escaped on his own. Either way, he probably shouldn't be staying in some stranger's bed. Time to get up.

Residents of 769 Bunker Street will find an unassuming older man examining the "family" pictures and just snooping around in general.

Those in the general vicinity of Bunker Street and its surrounding streets will find the same man walking down the road, tersely shutting down any drone's attempt to converse with him. He does not like small towns. Not a bit.]


to the rhythm of the war drums
Jonathan Crane

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December 2011


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