Convention

It's November 3rd.

I find myself shielding my eyes from the sunlight as I exit the backseat of my limousine.

It's been days, maybe even weeks since Peter Wayne last met the sun with his skin. It feels pleasant, but at the same time, alien. 

Almost painful. 

As I make my appearance, cameras flash, their light burning my nocturnal eyes. 

Tickets were sold out, so I became a sponsor for the event, giving me access to the convention. Word must've gotten out. The elusive Peter Wayne would finally be in the public eye again, even just for a brief moment.

There are hundreds of them; not psychologists, but the media. All they want is the newest scoop.

I thought wearing a medical mask over my face would allow me to be incognito; I guess the limousine didn't help with that.

I'm starting to think making an appearance as Peter Wayne was a mistake…

Still, I have a lead. The one responsible for the Scare Crows candy might be here; they call him the Scarecrow. It doesn't matter what his name is, he needs to be stopped. Spider-Man and Peter Wayne will make sure of that.

Peter Wayne wore all-black, shambling from the limo that matched his dark attire toward the Gotham Convention Sphere. His dark hair was still unkempt. His face was unwashed, a five o'clock shadow was hidden beneath the medical mask on his face; though you could see hints of it if you looked close enough. Just months ago, he wore a radiant smile on a handsome mug; he was Gotham's most desirable bachelor. 

He was.

Now, everyone wondered what exactly happened to the Peter Wayne of old.

The moment the billionaire was in sight, he was bombarded by journalists, swarming him like vultures. Posters of cartoonish brains, alongside other psychological imagery, hung on the outside walls. 'Annual Psychology Convention 2024' was written in bold, white letters on a banner that hung atop the apex of the dome.

"Peter! Peter! What made you become a last-minute sponsor of the Annual Psychology Convention!?" a female reporter yelled into a microphone before shoving it in Peter Wayne's face. The billionaire lay a pale finger atop the mic, lowering it from his sharp jaw. 

"I uhm... I found a sudden interest and appreciation for the science. I'd like to take part in its advancements. As I continue to mourn my parents, I've found the importance of maintaining one's mental health."

After he answered a single question, the billionaire was blitzed by a hundred more of them, figuring a word from the evasive billionaire would go big in whatever newsletter or blog they ran. He half-assedly answered a few before wading through the wave of reporters and squeezing inside the spherical convention center. Luckily, without a ticket, those pests could only watch as the billionaire disappeared through the entrance.

His exhausted eyes scanned his crowded surroundings, but they failed to find anything suspicious inside the globular epicenter. All Peter could find were a bunch of passionate nerds sharing their studies via homemade, tri-folding boards and PowerPoints on their shoddy laptops. 

'It's just a bunch of college kids…' he thought. 'Could one of them be the one responsible for the candy? Could one of them be the Scarecrow?'

"Peter Wayne!" Peter heard an unfamiliar, nasally voice squeal just west of him; it was so loud, it knocked Peter out of his train of thought. The billionaire turned, thinking his overgrown hair and mask would be enough to make him unrecognizable. He was wrong.

A young man, around the same age as Mr. Wayne, waddled over to the vigilante in disguise, a smile stretched across his face as he read Peter's name tag. "It's so nice to meet you!" said the young psychologist, snatching Peter's hand and shaking it vigorously. Peter, without thinking, yanked his cold hand away from the young man as if he'd touched a hot stove.

"Sorry, I-" Peter stammered. "It's best we don't shake hands, I wouldn't want you to catch my cold." 

"That explains the mask. No worries! My name is Stan Kitch, I am a student at Gotham University. I'm running a study for my thesis work about traumas-" Peter didn't care about what the young man had to say; however, hearing him spew that last word made the billionaire's ears perk up.

"Traumas?" Peter mimicked. "Interesting…"

"You think so!? Yes, ever since the death of my father, I have been interested in understanding trauma and how we can overcome it. Your trauma is like a broken bone or a sick organ. When you're sick, what do you normally do?" 

'Ignore it until it goes away…' Peter thought; though he wouldn't say that answer aloud. He'd play along.

"You go to the doctor," Peter mumbled.

"Exactly!" That stretched grin on the young man's face somehow doubled in size as he spoke. "But when we have traumas, we don't go to the doctor do we? There's this stigma behind mental health and illness; it causes people to just ignore it until it goes away. It doesn't…" 

Peter said nothing; despite somewhat agreeing. He just listened to Stan go on, nodding along to his words.

"As someone who has lost his parents, I'm sure you can understand the pain we share. For you… it was both of your parents and I'm so sorry about that. I'm sure you've gone through your own struggles in overcoming trauma. I want to help people like you. Like us. Thats why I decided to approach you. I wanted to make an informal proposal today; maybe we could exchange contact information so I can formally propose my ideas for this research."

Peter wore the slightest of grins beneath his mask. The young man's radiant smile reminded Peter of himself when he was younger; back when he was more hopeful of Gotham's future. Before the concept of Spider-Man took over his life. 'Spider-Man can't be everywhere at once, nor can he punch his way through solving all of the world's problems. He was created to do what Peter Wayne couldn't. Peter Wayne needs to do what Spider-Man can't in return.'

"I'm curious to hear more about it," Peter said. "What's the cliff notes of what you have planned?" 

"I want to start a non-profit that focuses on children who've lost their parents. I want them to learn that the pain they're experiencing is normal, I want to provide them education and therapy to help them overcome it." 

The young man truly was like a young version of Peter; wanting to help others the right way. However, the right way never worked. Not in Gotham. Still, with Spider-Man's help, maybe the right way will work someday. 

"Stan, was it?" Peter asked, compelling the young man to nod. "I love that idea. If it's funding you need, I'd be more than willing to help. Of course, after I read your formal proposal." 

The young man's eyes and smile lit up like a Christmas tree. "Really? Thank you so much!"

Peter reached into his coat, pulling out a card with the name Alfred Pennyworth written at its center in black text. He gestured the card toward the young man, "Contact my assistant," Peter instructed. "We'll be in touch."

With that said, Peter continued deeper into the science hub; though he failed to find any leads on Scare Crow candy. It reached the point where he was simply enjoying the convention, albeit, with caution. Near the end of the convention's first day, Peter Wayne found himself in the theater, sitting strategically in the furthest row from the stage. He sat through a couple of hours of presentations reminiscent of TED talks he'd seen online. He found himself truly enjoying his time; however, just when he started to feel comfortable, a man with a room-shifting aura stepped onto the stage.

"Good evening, everyone!" said the wet dog of a man, his half-shut eyes hidden behind the glint in his rectangular glasses. His beard, or lack thereof, took the form of a couple of unkept patches accompanied by pinkish pimples and scabs that he'd been picking at. 

Peter felt a gentle buzz emanating in his head, bouncing inside of the confines of that thick skull of his. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes poised on the man on the stage. 'Is that my Spider-Sense? Usually, it's more like an alarm, blaring as if to tell me that danger is imminent. But now, it's subtle. It feels as if it's telling me to pay attention…'

"My name is Dr. Gruidae. I am a professor at Gotham University," the doctor continued, scanning the room from left to right. "I recognize a few of my students from both present and past; it's great to see you all again. Let's get this party started, shall we?"

Dr. Gruidae paced the stage; the PowerPoint projected behind him shifted, showing the word 'FEAR' in all capital letters. "We all have our fears, don't we? Spiders… Snakes…" Gruidae placed the back of his hand beside his lips and pointed to himself with the thumb of his other hand. "Women…" he mumbled, compelling the crowd to chuckle. Even Peter shot a burst of air humourously from his nostrils as he relaxed into his seat. The light hum of his Spider-Sense was starting to fade; perhaps it was nothing more than a random buzz of the ears and not his Spider-Sense after all.

"When it comes to arachnophobia, we often turn to exposure therapy. We believe that confronting our fear head-on will help us manage our anxiety. Eventually, we hope to eliminate that fear altogether. That is all fine and dandy, but our traumas? You can't exactly use exposure therapy to cure the trauma created by an abusive parent. What, are we going to make a child sit in his room to be abused by his drunken father until the trauma is cured? That would be ridiculous; quite frankly, it would be inhumane and against APA laws."

The professor clapped his hands together once, smiling at the crowd. "Sorry, that was dark. But, what if I told you that there was a way to expose yourself to your traumas; or at least, to trick your brain into doing so? Thus, using exposure therapy to cure one's traumas."

The PowerPoint flipped to the next page yet again, this time showcasing a canister; the same canister that the professor held in his hand. His smile, which was once kind and inviting, turned warped, sinister, and inhuman. The entire vibes of the room had shifted in just a single second; Peter's Spider-Sense began to blare like a car alarm in his brain. 

"This is what I call Fear Toxin…" said the professor; meanwhile, Peter was leaning forward in his seat, his hands on the back of the chair in front of him as if he were about to stand up and lunge toward the stage.

"It's completely undetectable and takes approximately forty-five seconds before it kicks in. About forty seconds ago, my Fear Toxin was released into this very room," Gruidae said with a chuckle. 

Peter's eyes widened. 'He's poisoning us all right now!?' he thought, looking around to see people starting to panic, covering their mouths with their clothes.

Quickly, he rummaged through his coat jacket, pulling out a metallic syringe and stabbing himself in the arm with it before the Fear Toxin could take effect. He would've been a fool to investigate the Scarecrow incident without an antidote. However, those surrounding the billionaire wouldn't be so lucky; the Fear Toxin was already infecting their minds. 

Like animals, those inside the theater started attacking each other. Some used their bare hands, others used weapons, and many even used their teeth to break the skin. In their heads, they were being attacked by abusers, monsters, or whatever their worst fears were. From the perspective of each individual, they were acting in self-defense. In reality, they were slaughtering each other as mindless beasts would.

As mayhem ensured, Peter jumped to his feet, watching as Dr. Gruidae sprinted toward one of the exits on stage. Peter gave chase, running faster than any man would thanks to his powers, but not fast enough to out himself as a superhuman. With his vision tunneled on Dr. Gruidae, Peter sprinted past the slaughter, ignoring the cries held by those who chose not to partake in the violence, but were still under the effects of the gas, reliving their darkest traumas. 

What mattered the most to Peter at that moment was catching Dr. Gruidae. And so, he followed the doctor out of the theater, dodging crazed civilian attacks before kicking the door open with such ferocity, that it nearly fell off its hinges. However, Peter could do nothing but watch in horror at the sight in front of him.

The entire venue was under the influence of the Fear Toxin, murdering each other with pens, laptops, and whatever other everyday objects that could be used as weapons. On the floor in front of Peter's feet lay the face of Dr. Gruidae; a mask used to formulate the facade of the supposed professor at Gotham University. Beneath the mask was a lab coat and toupee, further showcasing the lengths he went to to hide his true identity.

Without any other leads to go on, Peter Wayne accepted his defeat. Dr. Gruidae, or rather, the Scarecrow, had escaped.