White mist poured from his slightly open mouth, floating like a small cloud up to the crumbling ceiling above him. An icy gust of wind penetrated the leaky window of the study and carried the thin smoke away, spreading the restless spirit of a brilliant psychiatrist into the dark depths of the old house. Jonathan stared vehemently at the paper on his old desk, after a while he put his bony fingers on his tense forehead. He gently massaged the dry, cracked skin. The new formula had cost the Master of Fear an infinite amount of nerves during the calculation, and even when he was about to complete it by now, he kept discovering errors in the dubious compounds of stubborn substances. Advanced chemistry required significantly more knowledge about the respective behaviour of mixtures and their sometimes strange peculiarities. In the end, it just wasn't enough to just tip different liquids together and hope it would achieve the desired effect. The brown-haired man reached for his cigarette holder, took a drag on the foul-smelling coffin nail and watched a little ash slowly trickle down from the glowing end. The burned material was carried away by a harsh draft, flying into the heavy air around him. The former psychiatrist rubbed his tired eyes. A look at the clock revealed that he should have taken a break long ago. Scarecrow chewed lightly on the sweet wood in his mouth and finally pushed the cigarette smoke out of his nose. No, now was the wrong time to rest. The Master of Fear studied the last lines carefully and fell into a kind of paralysis. Was it really time to finish his difficult calculations? A slight croak behind him made the dark professor look over his shoulder in surprise. The black raven suddenly crouched on the back of the chair, the black eyes fixed first on the sheet of paper on the desk, then on the gaunt man with a trace of curiosity. Jonathan smiled cautiously and rubbed the underside of his hard beak, breathed softly to his loyal companion at this caress: "I think we finally made it, Nimmermehr. It's finished. Now we just have to test the effect of the new poison." The animal turned its head to the side and focused its gaze on the brown-haired man. Jonathan nodded meaningfully and rose heavily from the chair, tremblingly took the paper in his thin hand. The dark blue ink lay like a harbinger of terror on the innocent white.
The former psychiatrist offered his left forearm for the animal, a frozen smile on his thin lips. The raven croaked happily and hopped onto the offered spot, fluffing its supple plumage slightly on this occasion. Together they walked through the pitch black corridors of the house. On some wooden floorboards there was a tiny layer of fine powder snow, which repeatedly sought its way into the interior through the cracks in the walls. The Master of Fear opened the rusty door to his laboratory, groaning and pressing open the often jammed or frozen hinges. The metal finally swung to one side, allowing the fearless visitors to penetrate the uncomfortably dense atmosphere. Even if someone didn't know anything about the dark professor, when this person entered the sealed room they could immediately feel that death alone ruled this place with an iron hand. The gaunt man stepped over the threshold and switched on the neon lights on the ceiling. The unnatural light spread mercilessly through the ancient laboratory. Nimmermehr pushed himself off the thin forearm as usual and sat on the perch next to the black filing cabinets. These contained endless plans, meticulously arranged blueprints of important buildings in Gotham and a lot of information about the colourful personalities of the city - regardless of whether they were corrupt politicians or well-known villains. Jonathan went to the clunky apothecary cabinet, scanned the chemicals behind the milky glass for the right substances. During his obstinate actions he could hear how Nimmermehr leisurely cleaned his oily-looking plumage. After a while, the former psychiatrist found the first bottles he needed for his new toxin and extended his search to the dusty drawers of the closet. The Master of Fear tore his thinning hair and grumbled, barely audible, opened the various compartments one after the other. In these he mainly stored chemical substances in powder or completely solid form. One substance at a time landed on the rusty metal table next to the cupboard. The professor sighed softly and scanned the selection of jars and cans, matching the partially faded labels with the complicated names on his paper.
