Crane stood there, motionless, facing the group.
From their point of view, he was just still, like a figure carved from stone—nothing about him gave any indication of what was actually happening beneath the surface.
His tail—unseen by anyone—retracted into his body, slithering upward beneath his shirt.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, folding into his spine as if it never existed at all.
No twitch. No visible bulge. Just a quiet, eerie shift of his anatomy.
Outside the door, footsteps approached.
Without a word, Crane darted toward the shooting range.
As he passed the group, he muttered darkly, "If any of you tell them anything—I'll skin you alive."
Powder stepped back, startled.
Vi turned toward him. "Wh—?"
She froze as the door knob began to turn.
Crane vanished into the shooting range, leaving them to face whatever came next.
The door creaked open.
Two men stepped inside—gas masks on, guns drawn.
Everyone tensed.
Powder clutched her fake gun, knuckles white.
Mylo instinctively stepped behind Claggor.
Claggor, without a word, shifted to the side—exposing Mylo completely.
Vi gripped Powder's hand and pulled her just behind her.
One of the men strode forward, rifle raised lazily but deliberately.
"Seen a guy in a mask? Riddled with bullet holes?" he asked, eyeing each of them in turn.
Vi stepped forward, placing herself directly in front of the barrel.
"We haven't seen anyone like that. Just you two, waving guns around like you own the place."
The man tilted his head, as if amused, then lowered his weapon.
"Kids these days and their jokes," he muttered, glancing at his partner. "Split up. Look around."
The other man nodded and moved deeper into the arcade.
The first one turned back to the kids, voice sharp and flat.
"If we find him—and you've been lying? We kill you."
Vi was silent for a moment, contemplating. She knew most people in the undercity couldn't be trusted—but gas masks?
That made her skin crawl. No matter how grimy their clothes were, the masks reminded her too much of the Enforcers. Cold. Faceless. Dangerous.
"We have no idea what you're talking about," she said, calmly.
"Fine," the man muttered, then turned and began searching.
———-
Inside the shooting range, Crane moved like a shadow—careful, deliberate, weaving behind the shooting range and silently.
His breathing was quiet, his body low to the ground as he crawled along the concrete floor.
I'm only trying to murder the organ traders and maybe a few innocent people, he thought bitterly. What does that have to do with them?
He paused behind a pillar, listening for footsteps.
They've read the reports. They must've seen the aftermath. But how did they know I was there? At the base?
Footsteps crept closer, then veered away. One of the men muttered something about the ventilation being too narrow.
The other paused at a punching machine, tapping it like it might give up a secret.
Crane didn't move. His breathing slowed to a crawl.
Five long, scraping minutes passed. They searched, but nothing.
Eventually, the two regrouped, their body language stiff with irritation.
The rhythm of their boots was heavier now—frustrated, aimless—as they made their way back to the kids.
————
"Sorry, kids, for wasting your time," one of them muttered, voice clipped with irritation.
Mylo, trying to keep things calm, shrugged. "It's fine."
The other man scoffed. "No, it's not. Actually—you wasted our time."
Without warning, he raised his gun again, the barrel leveled squarely at them.
His movements were sharper now, anger bleeding into every twitch of his fingers.
"You think this is a joke?" he growled. "He was here. I know it. And if you're hiding him…"
They started to back away—not just in fear, but confusion. Their eyes weren't on the man with the gun anymore.
They were staring behind him.
Behind them.
The two masked men didn't notice.
Crane stood there—silent, looming, the burlap mask over his face like a grim omen. His eyes flicked over the group once before he moved.
Before anyone could shout a warning, he was already there.
His hands clamped around their necks—one for each.
A split-second pause.
Grrnch!
A sickening crunch. Both bodies twitched once before crumpling like paper.
Necks—snapped clean.
Crane let the bodies drop. A twin thud echoed through the room.
Powder squeezed her eyes shut.
Mylo and Claggor recoiled, grimacing at the sight.
Vi didn't flinch—just stared, a little shaken, a little grateful… but mostly curious.
How could anyone crush two necks like that?
Scarecrow slowly looked up from the corpses, his eyes catching the low light.
"I am the master of fear," he rasped. "Scarecrow—the lord of despair. Cower before me in terror."
Vi blinked, eyebrows raised. "You saved us."
He paused. Then, with that dry, scratchy voice, said, "Of course I did. Who else gets to witness me kill two men that fast?"
.
.
.
"Why were they after you?" Claggor asked, glancing at the bodies—then doubled over and puked. "If you don't mind us asking…"
Scarecrow dropped to the floor, sitting criss-cross, calm as ever. "Alright. I'll tell you. So open your mouths and listen wide."
Everyone looked at each other—confused by the phrasing, but too intrigued to stop him.
"I don't think that's ho—" Mylo started.
"It's my story, not yours. Your whole life doesn't even compare to a single day of mine," Scarecrow snapped, raspy and cold.
Mylo clamped his mouth shut.
Scarecrow gave a rattling cough, then leaned forward.
"You all heard about what happened at the hospital?"
They exchanged glances.
"Yeah, everyone's been talking about it," Claggor said.
"It's the reason the Enforcers pulled back to topside," Vi added. "What about it?"
Scarecrow tilted his head, voice low and almost gleeful.
"It was me. I did it. I caused the deaths of fifty-three innocent people."
Silence.
Their expressions shifted—from confusion, to shock, to fear.
Now they understood the sheer magnitude of the danger standing in front of them.
Meanwhile, Scarecrow lay on his back, chuckling to himself before breaking into a rasping cough.
Vi stared. There were plenty of unhinged people in the Undercity—but none like this.
None who could act on their madness. He wasn't just deranged. He was dangerous. Capable.
Powder's mind raced. It clicked—he was telling the truth. He was a chemist. He made the drug they talked about in the newspapers. And that terrified her more than anything else.
She used to think smart people couldn't go mad. That intelligence meant control. That it came with limits.
But Scarecrow shattered all of that.
He was smart—and insane. A genius who had chosen chaos.
"I guess I'm pretty evil, right?" Crane asked, almost cheerfully.
No one answered.
"RIGHT? I'm evil!" he snapped.
Powder nodded slowly. "Yeah," she whispered.
Scarecrow sprang to his feet with sudden energy. "YEAH I AM!"
He stood tall, spreading his arms like a prophet of madness.
"Now go! Leave! Tell everyone about my greatness and how evil I am… or I'll murder each one of you—starting with Lanky."
He pointed straight at Mylo.
They all instinctively backed away.
"Fine, man, we'll leave," Mylo said quickly.
"And what else?" Scarecrow pressed, tilting his head.
"And we'll tell everyone about your greatness and evilness," Claggor added, hands up.
Without another word, the group shuffled toward the back door of the arcade, not daring to turn their backs too quickly.
————-
Scarecrow, now alone, dragged the two corpses out the front door and into a nearby alley.
He rifled through their pockets, looting what money they had with an absentminded hum, as if picking scraps off a dinner plate.
Just before leaving, he paused.
His eyes landed on one of their gas masks.
He crouched, picked it up, and turned it over in his hands.
"Looks scary and evil," he muttered.
He pulled it on, adjusting the straps.
"I am scary and evil," he muttered.
No one was left to argue.
————————
Did anyone else use to play Growtopia?
I feel like no one I know played it.