"Commissioner Gordon has spoken about the incident, saying he is worried about an upcoming threat." The TV flashed pictures of a shooting across the living room in your apartment, gaining your attention. "Eleven were killed in the shooting and additional sixteen wounded. Who is behind it all is still unknown. The people of Gotham will look up in the skies for Batman tonight."

Putting your cup down you sighed. This had been going on for a whole week, people suddenly going crazy in the most of mundane places, killing each other by any means necessary. Truly terrifying. What was even stranger was how Bruce came home later and later each night, and with substantially worse wounds. It made you anxious how he wouldn't tell you what was going on. Staring at your thumbs you recalled how he finally had showed some sign of of acknowledgement to it all.

---

"[Y/N], please, don't ask more." He sighed, wiping a wound clean.

"You can't just expect me to accept something like this!" You felt desperation claim your voice, "You come home late and critically wounded several times a week."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "I can't tell you, so the more you ask the more annoying it gets!"

You bit your tongue, refusing to cry. Why would he lie about something this dangerous? Was he being blackmailed? You could help him! Why wouldn't he let you in..? 

"Bruce... I can help you." You tried.

Stopping to clean his wounds he looked up and took a gentle grip on your chin; looking into your eyes he said those cold words, "[Y/N], perhaps it's for the better you sleep in your own apartment for a while."

---

Once again you felt your cheeks go wet. What did this mean? Didn't he want to be with you anymore? This was the second night home alone, and each minute felt worse than the minute before. You stood up to get to the kitchen. He hadn't replied to any of your calls. Passing a mirror you stopped and stared at yourself. Your hair was messy and there was a few stains on your shirt. How pathetic. Wiping the tears from your face you took a deep breath. You needed answers. Even if he refused to give them to you, you'd get them yourself. Getting into your wardrobe you grab a black polo and black jeans. Somewhere in the back of your mind you laughed at the silly ninja wannabe look. With car keys in your hand you stormed out of your apartment and got into the car. 
Taking a right turn you began your way towards his mansion, only having to stop harshly. In front of you was chaos. A hoard of people were going at each other's throat, screaming and running. In your terror, you saw how the road behind you began being blocked by the same scenario. By the last second you managed to run the car sharply to the left and into a narrow road. Although you got away from the crazed people, you realised this wasn't a road for cars. The fence ahead blocked your further path for the car, yet people were starting to catch up from the way back. By sheer instincts you refused to be stuck in a cage and jumped out of the car. If they saw you in it they'd surly break the car and get you anyway. Running down the alley you cursed yourself for going out in the middle of the night. You ran to the right and managed to get out of the maze of alleys, but saw how you hit a dead end by meeting the river. Back right would lead you to the thugs... 

Just as you were to step to the left you felt how a pair of hands grabbed onto you and pulled you into a strong grip.

Something stung in your shoulder. Everything went hazy. Someone spinned you around and you felt how your heart began pounding louder and louder. A scream escaped your throat as the twisted and grotesque monstrosity grinned with it's bloody threads at you. It was as if someone had replaced their skin with moldy sandbag material, ripping holes in it for their eyes to stare out. Just as the air ran out from your lungs you realised what the creature that inflicted paralyzing fear looked like.

It was a scarecrow.