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Of course, Crane couldn't stop Morin.
Both Morin's identity and his strength meant that if he wanted to enter, no one could stop him.
Crane didn't say much. He simply followed behind Morin, one hand in his pocket, touching a small device.
A small bottle of fear gas.
He'd grabbed it on the way out after hearing Morin was coming.
If you're this stubborn, Crane thought, don't blame me for what happens next...
"The environment here isn't very good," Morin said as he walked into Arkham, calmly observing his surroundings.
The walls were gray. The lights were dim.
If not for the staff moving around, this place would've been perfect for a horror movie.
"The city government hasn't been very generous with Arkham's funding," Crane replied casually.
"Is that so?" Morin continued walking. "I heard Arkham houses quite a few inmates."
"If the funding's so poor, aren't they worried about inmates escaping?"
"Or..." Morin stopped and turned to look at Crane. "Have the inmates here already disappeared a long time ago?"
"What are you talking about?" Crane smiled.
"That's impossible. Arkham's security is even stricter than Gotham's prisons."
"Talk is cheap," Morin said, pointing at the elevator nearby. "Why don't you take me down and let me see for myself?"
"Of course," Crane nodded.
He pressed the elevator button. When the doors opened, he stepped inside, quickly took out a small key, inserted it into a hidden slot, and twisted it.
The elevator locked.
Without the key, no one could operate it.
If Morin discovered something he shouldn't, Crane had no intention of letting him leave.
"What are you doing?"
Morin's voice startled him.
Crane spun around.
Morin was already inside the elevator.
Silently.
There hadn't been a single footstep.
"There's something wrong with this elevator," Crane said quickly. "If you don't start it this way, it might malfunction and trap us."
"Oh," Morin replied.
His look clearly said: Keep lying. I'm curious how far you'll go.
"But if I remember correctly," Morin continued, "this mechanism exists to prevent people without the key from using the elevator."
"Dr. Crane... are you trying to keep me here?"
"You misunderstand," Crane said, pushing his glasses up with his left hand.
His right hand stayed in his pocket, tightly gripping the bottle.
"Everything I said is true."
If things went south, he'd throw the gas immediately.
Even skin contact would have an effect-slower, weaker than inhalation, but still effective.
Crane knew this well.
During the development of fear gas, he'd tested it on himself countless times and had built up resistance.
He wasn't worried.
Even so, he didn't move yet.
Morin's reputation was too great.
He'd walked in openly. Plenty of people knew he was at Arkham today.
If Morin suddenly became mentally unstable...
How would Crane explain that?
The police would tear Arkham apart.
Ra's al Ghul will arrive soon. The plan's about to begin.
No mistakes. No accidents.
Crane squeezed the bottle again and again, but never threw it.
If it broke accidentally, the consequences would be disastrous.
Thankfully, his grip wasn't that strong.
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened onto the ward for mentally ill inmates.
Crane led Morin forward.
The lighting was oppressive. The atmosphere heavy.
It had no effect on Morin.
He was someone who could use mind-controlling magic.
The system-provided magic didn't just give effects-it provided knowledge.
Hypnosis.
Mind reading.
Psychological observation.
Analysis techniques.
Strictly speaking, with Morin's current knowledge, the only thing separating him from a top-tier psychologist was certification.
If he took the test, he'd pass easily.
"This is the room," Crane said, stopping before a heavy iron door. "You can observe through the window."
Morin looked inside.
"Can I go in?"
"I recommend against it," Crane replied. "The inmate suffers from mental illness. Close contact could worsen his condition irreversibly."
"You don't need to worry," Morin said. "He's just an inmate."
"That's not something a police officer should say," Crane frowned.
"I'm just curious," Morin replied calmly. "This man could speak normally in court and act independently."
"Now, a few days after entering Arkham, he's restrained, babbling, and incoherent."
"That looks exactly like an acute episode."
"That is an episode," Crane said. "It proves my diagnosis was correct."
"Yes," Morin nodded. "But I checked his file."
"No mental illness history for decades."
"Yet within two days, you diagnosed him-and the symptoms manifested."
"That's... fast."
"It's likely guilt and stress from the crime triggered it," Crane explained. "In psychology, this is called-"
"I'm not interested in psychological terminology," Morin interrupted.
"Open the door."
"...Alright," Crane said.
He took out the key and unlocked it.
Inside, the criminal was strapped into a reclining chair, wrapped in a straitjacket.
He could barely move.
Drool slid down his chin.
He muttered endlessly, eyes empty.
"Scarecrow?" Morin asked, turning to Crane. "What does that mean?"
"For hallucinating patients, fear often manifests as an external tormentor," Crane explained. "It aligns with Jung's model."
"In this case, the tormentor is the Scarecrow."
"I see," Morin nodded. "So... do you have a Scarecrow here?"
"What? Of course not," Crane said quickly.
"It's probably from childhood. A scarecrow he saw back then left a deep impression."
"The trauma didn't surface until now."
"That's strange," Morin said, feigning confusion.
"Every room we passed, every inmate was muttering 'Scarecrow.'"
"All childhood scarecrow trauma?"
"And it all coincidentally manifests here?"
"...Anything's possible," Crane said. "They're from the same gang. Maybe the same hometown."
"I don't buy it," Morin said.
He slid his hand into his suit pocket and pulled out a syringe.
"Your explanation is possible."
"But the probability is too low."
Crane's smile stiffened.
"So... what's that?"
"There's another possibility," Morin continued. "A chemical drug."
"One that induces a mental state prone to hallucination."
"Pair it with a symbolic image, and fear does the rest."
"People in that state will naturally imagine something terrifying."
"They fall into it completely."
Crane's body tensed.
"I did my homework before coming," Morin said.
"Doctorate in psychology."
"And chemistry."
"I have to say, Dr. Crane... you're very knowledgeable."
Crane's smile froze.
"So... you're drawing blood?"
"Of course," Morin nodded.
"A drug capable of this level of hallucination causes severe physiological damage."
"It lingers."
"At high doses, it can cause organ failure. Even death."
"He's been like this for less than two days."
"Testing his blood should give us some very interesting results."
"I noticed your syringe doesn't look sterilized," Crane said hurriedly, stalling.
He didn't even have time to question why Morin had pulled out an uncapped syringe.
"You don't need to worry," Morin smiled.
"I didn't take safety precautions."
"But the lives of drug-dealing criminals don't really matter."
Crane: "???"
Morin turned back toward the inmate.
Crane finally made up his mind.
He couldn't stall anymore.
If Morin confirmed drug use, it would be disastrous for their master's plan.
"Morin!"
Crane yanked the bottle from his pocket and hurled it to the ground.
The gas spread instantly.
Morin turned.
Crane held his breath, pulled a mask from somewhere on his body, and put it on.
He became-
The Scarecrow.
"Are you afraid...?"
Crane's demeanor changed instantly.
He was certain Morin had inhaled the gas.
Hallucinations would've already begun.
Crane knew the drug well.
Even whispered words would sound demonic.
Morin would see a horrifying Scarecrow crawling with insects.
"Death is waiting for you..."
Crane let the madness surge.
His suppressed rage poured out.
In his mind, Morin was trembling.
The role reversal thrilled him.
But after repeating himself several times-
And seeing Morin's gaze shift from indifference to something resembling pity-
Crane froze.
No symptoms.
Nothing.
How could someone react this calmly?
Unless...
"I'll admit," Morin said, "your performance is quite comical."
"But I'm not laughing."
"This is the drug you're using?"
"The hallucinogen?"
"May I ask..."
"Is it expired?"
"Expired? Impossible!" Scarecrow roared. "Fear gas doesn't expire!"
"Really?" Morin deliberately inhaled.
Exhaled.
Shrugged.
"No effect."
"Did you bring a fake product?"
"How is that possible...?" Scarecrow muttered, baffled.
He'd seen Morin inhale it.
Then-
A thought crossed his mind.
Could it really be... expired?
So Crane did something very constructive.
He took off the mask.
And inhaled deeply.
Morin: "!!!ā(?Š?ć)ć"