Countless nights of cramming, demanding years of study, and a myriad of nauseating tests landed you in Gotham University -- and secured you a place in Professor Crane's psychology class, your subject of interest. His dedication and expertise in the subject absolutely enthralled you, especially his research of fear and phobias. His mind worked in alluring ways.

Crane, though astonishing in his field of study, kept himself at a distance with students, even the most fervent such as yourself. Every languid instruction, tedious assignment, and absentminded lecture seemed like a well-crafted facade; a perfect identity to shield the man beneath. Often times he lounged at his desk donning a pensive expression, with sunken bags hanging from hazel eyes, and you knew University hours didn't stretch past sunset. Whatever it could be, it wasn't healthy, based on his taxed disposition.

So, when students filtered out of the lecture halls at noon, you found yourself slipping past the crowd into Crane's office. An empty room greeted you, a warm hue of auburn coating his desk as you stepped closer, flicking your gaze across it's surface. As far as you could tell, it seemed like the Professor was simply swamped with work.

A tentative hand tugged open his drawer and revealed something odd; a pile of sewn burlap fabric, that at first glance seemed like nothing much... until you straightened it out in your palm, revealing the Scarecrow's mask. A jolt of panic coursed through your veins. He couldn't be, could he? Would he?

You slammed the drawer shut within an instant, straightening like a petrified stalk, head reeling with conclusions, when...

"Hello, dear," a familiar voice cut through the tense silence in the office, and there stood Crane, hands folded neatly in front of his stature. A knowing grin cracked as he sauntered over to his desk in paced, deliberate steps.

"Was there something I could assist you with?" He seemed far too nonchalant to not know that you knew, "These aren't my typical office hours, you know."