Chapter Text
Henry Black-or, as Jonathan Crane called him, Subject 394-was a stubborn little bastard. He wouldn't scream, wouldn't cry, and wouldn't say what he was afraid of.
Scarecrow, unsurprisingly, was furious.
Sorry little son-of-a-bitch! Make him scream, Jonny, I don't care if you have to do a striptease!
I am not doing a striptease.
Subject 394 sat in his chair, still as a statue. Jonathan frowned behind his mask and reached for a needle. To hell with science-he just wanted to make this idiot scream. Although…
He released the man, who refused to move. Fine. That just made it easier for him to grip his wrist and jam the needle into it. He didn't care if he left a mark or not. If he had his way, one little track mark would be the least of 394's problems.
One…two…three minutes, and then the twitching and muttering started. Jonathan backed out of reach and picked up his notebook. It was always interesting to see the free-roamer reactions.
This one was particularly messy. Within seconds, he was scratching at his eyeballs. Within minutes, said eyeballs were rolling on the floor, fleshy bits dangling off the back. God, this was going to be a nightmare to disinfect…
Between shrieks of pain and fear, 394 sank to the cement floor, hands cupped over his eye sockets. It was a shame his shrieks were wordless, but they were loud and very entertaining. He wondered how long he would last. He'd probably bleed out soon enough, if he didn't kill himself first.
It took two hours for the screaming and crying to stop. Half an hour after that, the moans and whimpers faded and 394 stopped twitching. Well. That had been a very…involved reaction. The best kind.
He'd clean up later. Right now he wanted a nice cup of tea.
THE END