Anthem

Her name was Azalea, but her father had always called her Fox. She had a small build, a pointed chin, and pretty dark brown eyes that matched her dark brown hair perfectly. She was was almost fifteen, the daughter of the mob boss, and aptly nicknamed. One time, to see if she could pull her weight in the family, her father had sent her into a guarded office to retrieve some documents. She was in and out before the men at the door knew there was something wrong. She was clever and cunning and she could get herself out of almost any situation with minimal difficulty. Such was why she was in line to take her father’s place as boss when he got caught. She had an older brother, of course, and as tradition would have it, he would be the one to take over. Well, her father was never really one for tradition. For instance, traditionally, the children of the family were homeschooled, but he chose to send his two children to the Christian school in Gotham. The women in the family were expected to take a less active role in running the ‘family business’ as it were. But her father believed in his daughter’s abilities and leadership potential.

To top it off, her brother Neil was, for lack of a better word, a pansy. He looked like the sort of kid that would get beat up by some bullies every day after school. The only reason he didn't get beat up after school, in fact, was that his father was a very powerful figure. He wore thick glasses, and his hair was black and greasy. His typical getup consisted of some high-water slacks, because he outgrew them before his mother could get him replacements, a button-up white shirt complete with a pocket protector, and black socks and shoes. Her father frequently told her, in confidence, mind you, how disappointed he was in his son.

He was such a disappointment, in fact, that he wasn’t allowed to even be in the room when a meeting was going on. Colombo, her father, only allowed full-fledged mob members and his darling daughter to attend, but his fox usually simply sat, calm and sedate, in her favorite chair, a fuzzy purple beanbag, in the corner to her father’s right hand.

“No!” Colombo roared, causing the window panes to vibrate with a metallic chime. “If we get rid of them, who’ll get rid of the bodies?”

Fox sighed, her head sinking down onto her folded arms. Her cheek brushed the fake fur of the beanbag. It tickled. She allowed her eyes to close, blocking out the view of her notes on her lap. It was nearly three in the morning on a random Tuesday, and she was still awake and in a meeting. She groaned, dreading school the next day, and the inevitable math test.

Though she was the daughter of one of the most feared men in the city, she still had to get a normal education like everyone else. She did have the distinction of being the most popular girl in her class, however, and nobody could ever take that from her. She was a smart girl. She figured that her father had put them into an actual school as some form of training. After all, if she could get vapid, fickle high school girls who didn’t know her from Eve to obey her, then men who had been in her family’s power for generations should be no trouble.
Fox snuggled close into her chair, and stopped listening as all of the voices fell into a low hum. Her notebook slipped from her lap and fell to the ground with a soft, muffled thud. It didn’t bother her, she’d pick it up when the meeting was over…

Suddenly, though, she was alert.

“Scarecrow!” Neil cried, bursting through the door with horror in his wide, mirror-like grey eyes. “Scare-” he began, but he trailed off as a strange red mist that came swirling around his feet. He started shrieking, wordless cries of despair and horror choking him and pouring from his too-wide mouth. His eyes reflected ghosts nobody else could see as his body began to convulse.

“Run!” Colombo cried to his daughter, pulling her from her chair. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the revolver he always carried, the one his father had given him when he earned the title of the head of the family. Its silver body winked in the fluorescent lights.

She simply stood, quite transfixed, as the Scarecrow waltzed in accompanied by approximately ten other men, all wearing gas masks. The reddish mist crept towards her toes, and she felt the uncomfortable tickles of fear rise and lodge themselves in her stomach.

“Hello there.” Scarecrow said calmly, strolling up to Colombo and pulling out a gun of his own.

Azalea, retreating to the corner opposite her father and the Scarecrow, watched the scene before her wordlessly. His gun was loaded, she knew, but it was shaking uselessly in her father’s limp hand. She narrowed her eyes when the Scarecrow knocked it out of his grip with minimal effort. Colombo trembled in fright.

“You’re not so tough, are you?” Scarecrow muttered, pushing Colombo’s shoulder a little. Her father let out a small sound, much like a frightened child.

Azalea felt her chest grow tight as her heart began to hammer out in a staccato double-time.

“Gary!” he barked, and one of his men was instantly at attention. “Gas them.”

Neil screamed again, and the man Azalea assumed was called Gary hit him over the head with the butt of his gun. Neil fell, unconscious. Azalea watched uselessly from her corner as the man abused her brother.

“Except…” Scarecrow said, looking slowly around the room. His eyes landed on Azalea. “Her.” He smirked under his mask. “I do need a hostage, after all.”

At this, she screamed. The room burst into action. Her father’s men started to fight with the Scarecrow’s goons, but were severely hindered by the fear-inducing red mist. The Scarecrow slowly approached Azalea, calmness emanating from every pore of his body. Azalea simply pressed herself into the cool brick of the wall, whimpering lightly.

Colombo leaped onto the Scarecrow’s back, giving his pride and joy the much-needed chance to escape. She gratefully took advantage of the opportunity and fled through the room and down the hall. She was almost at the front door, the door to freedom, when a pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped themselves around her midsection. Azalea shrieked in fright and anger, fighting savagely for a moment before ceasing her movements altogether.

“No need to be afraid, my little flower. I won’t hurt you if you’re a good girl.” the Scarecrow cooed, lifting Azalea from the floor and into his arms. He slung her roughly over his shoulder, and she was suddenly grateful she’d decided to wear jeans rather than her customary skirt.

She hung there limply for a while, testing his strength as he carried her out the door. His even steps didn’t falter as he walked to the van parked on the road outside the building, so she decided her best bet for life would be to not put up a fight, just yet. After all, he was probably out for a ransom, and her family could and would pay any amount to get her back. He wouldn’t hurt her as long as she cooperated. She sighed in discontent, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around her upside-down torso.

“Good girl, Princess. If only your father had been so smart.” Scarecrow sighed, throwing her lazily into the back of the creepy windowless van that was parked just outside her father’s home.

Azalea’s eyes snapped open as her bottom hit the floor of the van with a thud. It hurt, but she didn’t mind. There were more pressing matters at hand, like the possible murder of her father. “D-daddy?” she squeaked. Tears welled up in her eyes. No, he’s not dead! she thought. He can’t be!

“I’m sorry, Princess.” Scarecrow said, reaching to squeeze her shoulder in comfort. She pulled as far away from him as the enclosed space would allow, refusing to let his murdering fingers get anywhere near her clean soul. She knew this man had killed her favorite person in the world, and she was determined to stay away from him. She hoped he would simply let her sit huddled in the corner of the van. Of course, Azalea never had the best of luck.

“Ow!” she screamed as the Scarecrow grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her towards him. There was a loud smack as his palm connected sharply with the side of her head.

“Be a dear, Princess, and make this easy on yourself. Don’t offend me and you’ll be much better off, I promise you.” He warned, settling into a seat in the back of the van and pulling her securely into his lap.

Fox whimpered. “Best seat in the house.” He growled. It was a clear warning for her to shut up, so she did, immediately. “Good, Princess.” He praised, patting her paternally on the head.

“My name is Fox! ” Azalea said, remembering how her father had trained her to react in any sort of hostage situation. She was to tell them her name was Fox and they would regret it if they didn’t let her go. Make up some story about a mother dying of cancer or being all that was keeping an alcoholic father from killing himself. Just keep talking, and don’t tell them the truth. The Scarecrow already knew who she was, so the best she could do was to lie about her real name.

“I don’t care what your name used to be, it’s now Princess.” He said. He sounded slightly amused, much like a grandfather scolding his favorite grandchild.

Scarecrow’s goons piled into the car at that point, eyeing her quite suspiciously. The one she recognized as Gary spoke up.

“Ooh, a new toy?” He laughed boisterously, sitting in the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “We broke our last one!”

Fox tensed in the Scarecrow’s arms. He held her tighter, almost protectively, paternally, as his goons leered at her and howled with laughter.

“No,” he said, and all noises in the van stopped at once. Fox was surprised they could even hear him, he had spoken so quietly. “This one’s not a toy, kind sirs. She’s for… leverage. I trust you let Colombo’s successor live? Or did that blow you gave him kill him, Gary?”

Fox bit her lip, praying that her brother was ok. He may have been a disappointment to the family, but he was still her brother. She still loved him.

Gary winced. “He was still breathing when we left, Boss. He’ll come looking for her soon. Judging from looks, they’re siblings.”

“Neil’s not…” Fox began, but Scarecrow clapped a gloved hand over her mouth, muffling her words.

“Oh, so he has a name. That is useful, but don’t speak unless spoken to first. This is your last warning – any more mistakes and I’ll have to hurt you.” The Scarecrow purred in her ear, his voice dropping an octave.

Azalea sniffed, realizing his breath smelled really bad, sort of like old fish and pancakes. She groaned in distaste, suddenly nauseous.

Scarecrow slapped her arm lightly. “No talking,” He growled, teasing evident in his tone.

“But I wasn’t - ” she began.

A fist connecting sharply with her sternum ended that phrase, though. All of Fox’s air gushed out of her lungs at once. Her eyes went wide for a moment; she couldn’t seem to pull any air from her surroundings. Panic began to set in as she fell from the Scarecrow’s lap onto the floor.

“Night, night, Princess.” Scarecrow said, grabbing some of Azalea’s hair and using it as a handle to slam her head against the corrugated metal floor. She accepted unconsciousness gratefully.