"Shit," Tillman hissed. He wasn't supposed to be out of prison or the asylum, a bunch of lowlife, drug peddling gangsters had seen his face and could easily run his description through a database and he couldn't have that.
It was like being at war again. The people before him became obstacles. His gun became a means of overcoming them. In the chaos and panic, it wasn't hard to pick off the retreating thugs in quick, mechanical succession.
He knew that he only had seconds before the police would catch up, but he leaned in close to the unfortunate drug user who had, by then, curled himself into a ball and hidden mostly under a nearby car. "Stay off the blow, kid. And if anyone asks you about tonight, assure them that the next person that messes with the Scarecrow is going to die screaming, got it?" The Scarecrow. He felt ridiculous saying it, but there was something about Gotham that warranted a touch of drama.
"Why aren't you in the fucking van already?" He spat at Crane, and only then did he notice the blood. Stupid, goddamn oversight. And he couldn't do anything about it for the moment, not with the police closing in. "Keep pressure on that," he ordered gruffly as he picked Crane up bodily and threw him into the back of the van.
It was a good thing for them that corruption in Gotham had infiltrated the police. They weren't known for their organization or timeliness and this allowed Tillman to slip out of an unguarded back entrance.
"Don't you fucking bleed out on me," he growled distractedly, intent on watching for signs that they had been seen leaving the building. If he noticed anyone following them, they'd have to ditch the tail, ditch the van, and hijack a new car, all the while not getting spotted for being suspicious men covered in blood by some nosy housewife watching through the blinds.
"Safe house. Directions. Now." Keeping himself alive and free in this situation would be simple. With Crane, it was a little more complicated. To make it worse, he didn't know Gotham at all, which meant that he was relying on someone who could go into shock at any moment. Already, he was formulating just what to do if that happened.
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It was like being at war again. The people before him became obstacles. His gun became a means of overcoming them. In the chaos and panic, it wasn't hard to pick off the retreating thugs in quick, mechanical succession.
He knew that he only had seconds before the police would catch up, but he leaned in close to the unfortunate drug user who had, by then, curled himself into a ball and hidden mostly under a nearby car. "Stay off the blow, kid. And if anyone asks you about tonight, assure them that the next person that messes with the Scarecrow is going to die screaming, got it?" The Scarecrow. He felt ridiculous saying it, but there was something about Gotham that warranted a touch of drama.
"Why aren't you in the fucking van already?" He spat at Crane, and only then did he notice the blood. Stupid, goddamn oversight. And he couldn't do anything about it for the moment, not with the police closing in. "Keep pressure on that," he ordered gruffly as he picked Crane up bodily and threw him into the back of the van.
It was a good thing for them that corruption in Gotham had infiltrated the police. They weren't known for their organization or timeliness and this allowed Tillman to slip out of an unguarded back entrance.
"Don't you fucking bleed out on me," he growled distractedly, intent on watching for signs that they had been seen leaving the building. If he noticed anyone following them, they'd have to ditch the tail, ditch the van, and hijack a new car, all the while not getting spotted for being suspicious men covered in blood by some nosy housewife watching through the blinds.
"Safe house. Directions. Now." Keeping himself alive and free in this situation would be simple. With Crane, it was a little more complicated. To make it worse, he didn't know Gotham at all, which meant that he was relying on someone who could go into shock at any moment. Already, he was formulating just what to do if that happened.