Glen-Troy was far from being a smart person, this we have already established. However, there's something almost awe inspiring about the way an insane man can manage to accomplish his goals in spite of whatever enormous personal stumbling blocks there might be in his way.

In addition to his insanity and inherent stupidity, the odds were against him in every possible capacity when he entered Gotham City, searching for the Scarecrow and his three brand-new minions, and yet somehow, he defied those very odds and managed to track them all down.

They had settled (if you could call it that) in an abandoned warehouse that was so large it was nearing the 'immense' spectrum with only two windows, both in very strategically inconvenient locations for someone who wanted to spy on the warehouse's inhabitants. They were set very high into either side of the building and were simple square cutouts with sharp, but somewhat rusted, metal shutters covering them. It took a great deal of effort for Glen-Troy to shimmy up the side of the warehouse--utilizing several stacked cartons and boxes to accomplish it--but he managed just the same.

The sight that greeted him caused him to fly into more of a rage than the one he'd already been in. There, within the warehouse, sitting on a threadbare sofa (which was the only piece of furniture in view) was the bitch that took his beloved axe and two of her little friends. Furthermore, she was grinning and cuddling with his Spartacus Bob!

Well, okay…she was shining him up with silver polish and a clean rag. That was close enough to cuddling for Glen-Troy! To the crazy man, that was the equivalent of professing undying love to the weapon!

With all the strength any furious, adrenaline driven madman should've had, Glen-Troy grabbed the metal shutter and gave a sharp tug, rattling it back and forth on its hinges until it left its frame and plummeted to the floor inside the warehouse.

The racket caused the three women on the sofa to stand abruptly and glance at each other.

"What in the hell was that?" the bushy haired one asked, grabbing an aluminum pipe off the floor, tensing her shoulders as she did so, and resting it on her shoulder like a baseball bat ready to be swung.

"No idea," the brunette dropped into a crouch and reached under the sofa for a Louisville Slugger, whose weight she tested as she stood up once more. "Think it's the Bat?"

"I hope not," the bitch with Spartacus Bob in hand said, eyes narrowed and scanning the area for any movement. She held the axe with a kind of reverence that, had Glen-Troy not already decided she had to die, he might have admired and even considered to be an indicator that they were destined to be soul mates. "Squishykins would never let it slide if we led Batman to him on our first day."

"But we already led Batman to him on our first day. Remember? Flamey death? Captive Robin? Batman flattened by the Bat Blazer?"

"Stuff it, Ops."

Glen-Troy ignored this exchange and dropped from the now opened window to the ground with a spectacular 'crash!'. He twisted his ankle on impact, but it wasn't enough pain to deter him as he emerged from the shadows, eyes bright and grin that of a completely unhinged mental ward reject.

The woman with the axe looked at him when he came into view with confusion. "You?"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" the bushy haired one exclaimed in disbelief. "Didn't I hit you with a car already? Shouldn't you be dead, Evil Ernie?"

The one with a baseball bat eyed him strangely. "You followed us all the way to Gotham?"

"I come fer what's mine," he said, jerking his head at Spartacus Bob. "I want my Axe."

The bushy haired one eyed the little one askance. "A territorial redneck with a sharp weapon fixation. You couldn't have possibly pissed off someone a little more stable, Captain? Norman Bates, maybe?"

"Don't y'all worry none, I just want my Spartacus Bob. I won't even skin ya if you give him to me," Glen-Troy flashed them a smile which was missing a few too many teeth to be anywhere near as charming as he intended it to be.

The three women looked at each other before they burst into hysterical laughter. "Spartacus Bob? You named your axe Spartacus Bob?"

Glen-Troy glared at them. "Gimme my Spartacus Bob and I'll kill ya nice and quick."

"Oh yes, a quick death. That's incentive if ever I heard it."

"Amateur!"

Glen-Troy lost his temper and ran headlong at the three well-armed women.

It was not the brightest move he had ever made.

The aluminum pipe swept out and slammed into his knees as the baseball bat swung out and collided with his shoulder blades. Worst of all, though, was the fact that Spartacus Bob--oh, his beloved Spartacus Bob!--slammed into his skull, splitting it in twain and dropping Glen-Troy like a sack of potatoes. It was ironic, sure, but it was not what was supposed to happen.

The Captain stared at the body at her feet, his rapidly draining blood soaking into the canvas of her sneakers. "Oops."

Techie stared at her in incredulity. "Oops? You killed him!"

"I didn't mean to!" she defended, stepping away from Glen-Troy's corpse. "I just wanted to incapacitate him!"

"Looks pretty incapacitated to me," Al remarked, tilting her head and studying the stiff with a kind of detached interest.

The sound of the door to the Scarecrow's lab rattling open caused all three Hench girl's heads to jerk up towards the source of the sound.

"Squishums!" Techie hissed. "He'll kick us out for sure if he sees this!"

"What? Why?"

"Our first real day on the job and we've let our security get breeched!"

"Oh. Good point. We should hide his body."

"Where?"

Captain glanced around, eyes lighting on the sofa and the small wire cartons that were serving as makeshift end tables. "We need more corpse sized furniture."

"Isn't the sofa a fold out?" Al asked, dashing for the item in question and ripping the cushions off it.

"Al! You're many kinds of brilliant!" the Captain exclaimed, joining her comrade as she unfolded the couch and Techie started dragging the body towards her frantic friends.

"Stuff him in good!"

"This is harder than putting together that turducken."

"Girls?"

"Hurry!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!"

"His foot is sticking out, Ops! Fix it!!"

"Give me a break! It's not like I have practice at this!"

"Girls!"

When Jonathan Crane came into view, the Captain, Al and Techie were sitting on the suspiciously overstuffed sofa as though nothing were amiss. Captain was hanging over one of the sofa arms, Al sat in the middle, drumming her fingers on her knee and Techie was reading a magazine…upside down.

He took them in, growing more suspicious by the second. "What nefarious deeds are you three plotting?"

"Nothing," they chirped in perfect unison.

He narrowed his eyes at them. "Why didn't you come when I called."

"You called?" Al asked, blinking innocently.

"Repeatedly." He folded his arms across his chest. "I require you to go fetch some chemicals for me from Star Labs."

They glanced at each other and then back at him, nodding their assent . "Okay, boss."

He turned to stalk away from them. They breathed a collective sigh of relief when he turned away from him, but then nearly choked on their tongues when he glanced back at them over his shoulder.

"Oh…and girls? When you get back…"

"Yeah?"

He turned back and started walking away once more. "Mop up those brains."