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Description
My last Batman villain compilation, at least for a while. I'd like to make more in the future and include the likes of Black Mask, Clayface, Hugo Strange, etc, but for now, we end here. Also, apologies if their backstories are a bit thin. I left these guys last because they aren't quite as developed.

-The Mad Hatter: They said it was a bad idea. They said it was a relic of the past best left in the past. They said a more modern facility was what was truly needed. And yet, in spite of what high profile figures such as Bruce Wayne said, Arkham Asylum reopened it's doors, ostensibly, to house those insane criminals who were too dangerous to be kept alongside those who were more of a danger to themselves.

A sort of "Trial Run" was initiated, to convince skeptics who believed Arkham's often dark, violent history. The facility was run by one of the latest to bear the Arkham last name, Jeremiah (Who mostly agreed in order to make sure the place wouldn't be mismanaged), highly respected men and women of science were contracted, such as Professor Hugo Strange, and the profile for guards and security seeked out those who could be firm but humane toward the inmates.

Patients who were then housed at Gotham State Hospital were moved to the newer facility. They were sort of the "Archetype" that the higher ups wanted to make for future residents: From mostly harmless people who had commited serious crimes, like Humphrey Dumpler and Mary Louise Dahl, to actually violent individuals who needed the extra security and especially made facilities, such as Jane Doe and Victor Zsasz, as well as anything in between.

Among those "Inbetweeners" was one Jervis Tetch. A case as tragic as it was mysterious, before Tetch snapped, he was simply a technician working at Wayne Enterprises, back before they were struggling financially without the leadership of either the Waynes or Lucius Fox. He was a brilliant mind, whose knowledge of the workings of the brain were quite advanced. Some even went as far as to say that, if he continued on with his research and applied it to more ambitious means, it would be far more advanced than either Lexcorp's or Kord Industries'.

It was a prospect that greatly motivated Jervis. From his childhood and up to his adulthood, he never amounted to much. Back in Great Britain, he was mocked by his peers for his short stature, odd looks and seeming single minded obsession with Lewis Carroll's body of work. This last bit also troubled his elders. His studious personality, mellow temper and good manners endeared him to his superiors. Even to some, his constant quoting of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" would be somewhat grating at worst. But as he grew older, this facet of his personallity never left, and folk were of the opinion that if he really wanted to make something of himself, he needed to leave these childish things behind and grow up for good.

Regardless of how discouraged he felt, he still managed to travel to the United States and slowly but surely work his way into Wayne Industries and into a job of some prestige. But the stress of achieving something of that significance for the first time in his life seemed to be getting to him. He seemed to age about ten years in a distressing amount of time. Previously quiet but lighthearted and playful, he became snappy and anti social. And then one day, he finally snapped.

A janitor found him shut in his office, seemingly not having left for the night. Once they finally came in, they found his office littered with barely inteligible scribbles and grotesque drawings of rabbits and turtles with cow heads. He himself was nearly naked, having fashioned a crude top hat using his discarded clothes and a couch. He was incoherent, delirious. He claimed to be the fictional character the Mad Hatter, how he was waiting for Alice and the March Hare to get there for tea time so he could show them the hat he had made. Naturally, they called a hospital to come and get him. When the men in white coats came, they tried to take his hat away from him. Big mistake. Jervis went berserk, bit the orderly in the nose, drawing blood. Nearly scratched out the eyes of the other when they tried to help. He was quickly subdued, naturally, being a small man, and was taken away.

At first, it was believed he just had a stress related breakdown. Nothing some medication and therapy couldn't fix. But that didn't work. Years passed, and Jervis' delusions prevailed. His patient interviews yielded no results, as they were mostly filled with inane monologues about hats and tea, and sometimes hour long quotings of Alice. It seemed he was there to stay, so overtime, a set of rules was established to ensure his cooperation.

Firstly, he would be given hats. Any sort would do, but he prefered top hats. The bigger the better, and material for him to make more hats would be given as well. Tea time would be respected.

No personel matching the following description is to be allowed near him: Caucassian female with blonde hair, blue eyes and having "Alice" as first name. He has proven particularly uncooperative to staff with one or two of these characteristics, and absolutely imposible with those who were a perfect match.

But above all else, he is to be denied any request for machine parts or chemical equipment. The few times he had were the closest he had come to snapping back into his former persona, but he would later use the resulting devices and drugs as, no joke, "mind controll devices". Any complex bit of machinery is to be confiscated, as previous experiences have made him into high risk for security breaches.

Meanwhile, his scribbles and diaries have been analised thoroughly. The more sane parts reveal that, prior to his breakdown, Tetch was close to achieving complete dominion over the mind. That is, the bits that have been understood, for even though they've been analised by world class scientists, they either become too complex or insane for anyone to understand. This has built a sort of mystique to Jervis' case, as some swear up and down that it was his research what drove him mad. Either he tested his devices on himself, and melted his brain as a result, or the mere knowledge drove him over the edge.

One thing is certain, though: Jervis Tetch is to be kept inside Arkham. The rules made to ensure his cooperation and containment must be followed no matter how strict or silly. After all, with a mind as brilliant and unhinged as his, he has the means to shape Gotham into... well... a Wonderland of his own design.

-Ra's Al Ghul: Men being turned to myths is something that has happened more than once in history. Conquerors being shaped into unstopable forces by their followers. Dictators turned into figures of demonic malevolence. Emperors into gods. But very few have lived up to their own legends. None as inmortal as their own place in history.

And pretty much only one as achieved all of this, while at the same time ensuring only a precious few were absolutely certain of their existance.

For at least five centuries, a group has swore allegiance to one such man. Their numbers have grown and spread, from unasuming people on the streets, to politicians and public figures. The League's shadows reach far and wide, equal parts secret society, equal parts a cult, all to serve the goals of their leader, The Demon's Head.

Only the upper echelons of the League have confirmed the existance of their leader with their own eyes, but his story is spread like gospel to all of those interested in joining their ranks: Once an ordinary man, he was appaled by the destruction men brought into the world, whether for their own selfish means or rampant ignorance. He set out to find the means to cleanse the Earth of the impurities humankind had tainted it with, but in order to do so, he needed the time and the resources. And no man could live long enough to get both.

But he didn't let that bring him down. He traveled far and wide to unlock the secrets of everlasting life. It took him years. Decades. He was near death when he found his goal, hidden in a cave high in the Alps. A pit, filled with a glowing green liquid, swirling as if being mixed by an invisible hand. The Secret for Life Everlasting. The fabled Fountain of Youth. He only needed to submerge himself from head to toe. And after a few seemingly endless moments, the glow in the pit faded away, and the man emerged, his life force fully replenished. Like Lazarus, newly alive.

His mind gained new clarity. His mission was clear. There was only one way to cleanse the Earth and fulfill his righteous purpose: Genocide. Cold, unforgiving mas genocide. Those who had tainted the Earth would perish, but humanity itself would survive, and those select few would repopulate to rebuild a better world.

For years, decades, centuries, The Demon gathered forces. He spread his gospel subtly but steadily. The League was formed, it's mission crystal clear. And any time it's leader was sick, old or wounded, he would be taken to a new Lazarus Pit, to ensure he would remain, to see his vision fulfilled.

Throughout history, they performed various attempts at a small scale. Humanities follies ensured that they didn't always need to engineer wars or cause entire civillizations to collapse, but almost always, they had a not unsubstantial hand in ensuring it would happen. And each time, they'd learn something, aquire new weapons. Increase their following. Their biggest plan to ensure the planet's survival soon to unfold.

But as it does, it's become terribly apparent that their leader may not be able to see it. For you see, once a Pit is used to replenish him with life, it is rendered useless. And although he has spent a lot of resources to ensure their locations and secrecy, it's become evident that his options are running out. More over, after each use, his mind and body have become more and more spent. It's become something of a race to see what runs out first: The number of available pits, or his physical and mental faculties.

If he is to fulfill the League's mission regardless of him being alive, he needs an heir. Someone with strong convictions, who'd share their vision for a better tomorrow through whatever means necesary. He has tried to produce a worthy offspring, but he has only been given daughters. And although strong in their own right, with one of them becoming his top lieutenant, he wants a man to continue his legacy.

Thus far, one in particular has been truly worthy of attention. An angry young man who sought to train under the League. He is naive, doesn't agree with the League's methods. But he is headstrong, intelligent, one of the best physical fighters he has had in centuries. His own daughter even showing romantic interest in him. He just needed to be shown how futile his idealistic methods truly were, and he'd come back to accept his offer, marry his daughter and become his successor.

This Detective will soon accept the ways of Ra's Al Ghul and his League of Shadows.

-Killer Croc: Waylon Jones' condition has long baffled men and women of science. The more widely accepted theory has been a severe case of atavism, but Jones' case is so advanced, unique and unlikely that alternative theories have been welcomed and encouraged. Even outside of the scientific community, theories have made, with varying degrees of seriousness: Ranging from his parents living near a toxic waste disposal when pregnant with him, to a witch's curse.

Waylon never really cared about the reason, though. He always had more concerns in the present.

His mother having died at childbirth and his father abandoning him in horror, he was left at his elderly aunt's care. "Care" being a charitable description. Although never physically abusive (She was too weak and old to do serious harm) she always made clear how she saw him as a monster, his appearence being divine retribution for some evil deed his father had commited. She never bothered getting him proper education, only gave him old rags to dress himself and he had to look for food on his own. As she became more and more senile, her verbal abuse became even worse. Waylon hated her deeply.

So much so, that his first crime was her murder.

After killing his aunt, Waylon fled Lousiana and, for a while, went adrift around the country. Already used to looking after himself, the added freedom was somewhat comforting, in spite of the lack of a stable roof on top of his head. But regardless of how he felt or where he went, he had to keep hidden from the public eye, lest he drove attention to himself in the ensuing panic. This became increseangly harder as his condition worsened as he grew older.

Waylon found acceptance (Or at least something close to it) when he was discovered by Hailey's Circus. Seeing as how he was an unusual, lost figure in need of a home, they offered him a permanent residense as part of the Sideshow attraction. It was far from ideal, but this way, he'd be surrounded by mostly friendly people, he'd get food, water and shelter and something resembling honest living, when he always thought such a thing was imposible.

So he joined the circus, and labelled himself "Killer Croc, the fearsome Crocodile Wrestler". He just had to show off to an audience every once in a while, fight some Gators and that's it. Rinse and repeat for the rest of his life. Not what most would call ideal, but he had found acceptance, not only with his fellow Sideshow Attractions, but also toward the rest of the Circus folk. But Waylon was still restless. He still had to endure the audience gawking at him, calling him names and occasionally throwing him peanuts and popcorn. He rejected the other's kindess with growling standoffishnes, figuring that they were just puting on a show for pity. After all, a circus freak is still a freak.

Waylon's anger reached its peak when he overheard Mister Hailey chatting with one Richard Grayson about how he was thinking of disolving the Sideshow attraction, as he had begun to face backlash against the public due to shifting views on such shows. To Waylon, that meant that the only moment of stability in his mind was well and truly over. He'd go back to living like an animal. This made his show later taht night a disaster, his mind somewhere else. The audienced jeered and booed mercylessly, and Waylon had enough. In a blind rage, he jumped into the audience and bit a man's arm clean off.

Panic filled the tent that night. Some audience members got trampled. And in the chaos, Waylon vanished, running deep into the wilderness. He spent some time in what he would later find out, was called "Slaughter Swamp", meditating, thinking. Wallowing on how bad his treatment by humanity had been. How he despised so called regular people for labeling him a monster. How, perhaps, he deserved to be called a monster. How, maybe, that wasn't a bad. thing.

He became an urban legend of sorts, right up there with Solomon Grundy in the same swamp. The reason why people went in, and few came out. A blurry photo and a panicked story. A cryptid, a scary campfire story. A monster.

To this day, Killer Croc has made sure to live up to his name.

Description
My last Batman villain compilation, at least for a while. I'd like to make more in the future and include the likes of Black Mask, Clayface, Hugo Strange, etc, but for now, we end here. Also, apologies if their backstories are a bit thin. I left these guys last because they aren't quite as developed.

-The Mad Hatter: They said it was a bad idea. They said it was a relic of the past best left in the past. They said a more modern facility was what was truly needed. And yet, in spite of what high profile figures such as Bruce Wayne said, Arkham Asylum reopened it's doors, ostensibly, to house those insane criminals who were too dangerous to be kept alongside those who were more of a danger to themselves.

A sort of "Trial Run" was initiated, to convince skeptics who believed Arkham's often dark, violent history. The facility was run by one of the latest to bear the Arkham last name, Jeremiah (Who mostly agreed in order to make sure the place wouldn't be mismanaged), highly respected men and women of science were contracted, such as Professor Hugo Strange, and the profile for guards and security seeked out those who could be firm but humane toward the inmates.

Patients who were then housed at Gotham State Hospital were moved to the newer facility. They were sort of the "Archetype" that the higher ups wanted to make for future residents: From mostly harmless people who had commited serious crimes, like Humphrey Dumpler and Mary Louise Dahl, to actually violent individuals who needed the extra security and especially made facilities, such as Jane Doe and Victor Zsasz, as well as anything in between.

Among those "Inbetweeners" was one Jervis Tetch. A case as tragic as it was mysterious, before Tetch snapped, he was simply a technician working at Wayne Enterprises, back before they were struggling financially without the leadership of either the Waynes or Lucius Fox. He was a brilliant mind, whose knowledge of the workings of the brain were quite advanced. Some even went as far as to say that, if he continued on with his research and applied it to more ambitious means, it would be far more advanced than either Lexcorp's or Kord Industries'.

It was a prospect that greatly motivated Jervis. From his childhood and up to his adulthood, he never amounted to much. Back in Great Britain, he was mocked by his peers for his short stature, odd looks and seeming single minded obsession with Lewis Carroll's body of work. This last bit also troubled his elders. His studious personality, mellow temper and good manners endeared him to his superiors. Even to some, his constant quoting of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" would be somewhat grating at worst. But as he grew older, this facet of his personallity never left, and folk were of the opinion that if he really wanted to make something of himself, he needed to leave these childish things behind and grow up for good.

Regardless of how discouraged he felt, he still managed to travel to the United States and slowly but surely work his way into Wayne Industries and into a job of some prestige. But the stress of achieving something of that significance for the first time in his life seemed to be getting to him. He seemed to age about ten years in a distressing amount of time. Previously quiet but lighthearted and playful, he became snappy and anti social. And then one day, he finally snapped.

A janitor found him shut in his office, seemingly not having left for the night. Once they finally came in, they found his office littered with barely inteligible scribbles and grotesque drawings of rabbits and turtles with cow heads. He himself was nearly naked, having fashioned a crude top hat using his discarded clothes and a couch. He was incoherent, delirious. He claimed to be the fictional character the Mad Hatter, how he was waiting for Alice and the March Hare to get there for tea time so he could show them the hat he had made. Naturally, they called a hospital to come and get him. When the men in white coats came, they tried to take his hat away from him. Big mistake. Jervis went berserk, bit the orderly in the nose, drawing blood. Nearly scratched out the eyes of the other when they tried to help. He was quickly subdued, naturally, being a small man, and was taken away.

At first, it was believed he just had a stress related breakdown. Nothing some medication and therapy couldn't fix. But that didn't work. Years passed, and Jervis' delusions prevailed. His patient interviews yielded no results, as they were mostly filled with inane monologues about hats and tea, and sometimes hour long quotings of Alice. It seemed he was there to stay, so overtime, a set of rules was established to ensure his cooperation.

Firstly, he would be given hats. Any sort would do, but he prefered top hats. The bigger the better, and material for him to make more hats would be given as well. Tea time would be respected.

No personel matching the following description is to be allowed near him: Caucassian female with blonde hair, blue eyes and having "Alice" as first name. He has proven particularly uncooperative to staff with one or two of these characteristics, and absolutely imposible with those who were a perfect match.

But above all else, he is to be denied any request for machine parts or chemical equipment. The few times he had were the closest he had come to snapping back into his former persona, but he would later use the resulting devices and drugs as, no joke, "mind controll devices". Any complex bit of machinery is to be confiscated, as previous experiences have made him into high risk for security breaches.

Meanwhile, his scribbles and diaries have been analised thoroughly. The more sane parts reveal that, prior to his breakdown, Tetch was close to achieving complete dominion over the mind. That is, the bits that have been understood, for even though they've been analised by world class scientists, they either become too complex or insane for anyone to understand. This has built a sort of mystique to Jervis' case, as some swear up and down that it was his research what drove him mad. Either he tested his devices on himself, and melted his brain as a result, or the mere knowledge drove him over the edge.

One thing is certain, though: Jervis Tetch is to be kept inside Arkham. The rules made to ensure his cooperation and containment must be followed no matter how strict or silly. After all, with a mind as brilliant and unhinged as his, he has the means to shape Gotham into... well... a Wonderland of his own design.

-Ra's Al Ghul: Men being turned to myths is something that has happened more than once in history. Conquerors being shaped into unstopable forces by their followers. Dictators turned into figures of demonic malevolence. Emperors into gods. But very few have lived up to their own legends. None as inmortal as their own place in history.

And pretty much only one as achieved all of this, while at the same time ensuring only a precious few were absolutely certain of their existance.

For at least five centuries, a group has swore allegiance to one such man. Their numbers have grown and spread, from unasuming people on the streets, to politicians and public figures. The League's shadows reach far and wide, equal parts secret society, equal parts a cult, all to serve the goals of their leader, The Demon's Head.

Only the upper echelons of the League have confirmed the existance of their leader with their own eyes, but his story is spread like gospel to all of those interested in joining their ranks: Once an ordinary man, he was appaled by the destruction men brought into the world, whether for their own selfish means or rampant ignorance. He set out to find the means to cleanse the Earth of the impurities humankind had tainted it with, but in order to do so, he needed the time and the resources. And no man could live long enough to get both.

But he didn't let that bring him down. He traveled far and wide to unlock the secrets of everlasting life. It took him years. Decades. He was near death when he found his goal, hidden in a cave high in the Alps. A pit, filled with a glowing green liquid, swirling as if being mixed by an invisible hand. The Secret for Life Everlasting. The fabled Fountain of Youth. He only needed to submerge himself from head to toe. And after a few seemingly endless moments, the glow in the pit faded away, and the man emerged, his life force fully replenished. Like Lazarus, newly alive.

His mind gained new clarity. His mission was clear. There was only one way to cleanse the Earth and fulfill his righteous purpose: Genocide. Cold, unforgiving mas genocide. Those who had tainted the Earth would perish, but humanity itself would survive, and those select few would repopulate to rebuild a better world.

For years, decades, centuries, The Demon gathered forces. He spread his gospel subtly but steadily. The League was formed, it's mission crystal clear. And any time it's leader was sick, old or wounded, he would be taken to a new Lazarus Pit, to ensure he would remain, to see his vision fulfilled.

Throughout history, they performed various attempts at a small scale. Humanities follies ensured that they didn't always need to engineer wars or cause entire civillizations to collapse, but almost always, they had a not unsubstantial hand in ensuring it would happen. And each time, they'd learn something, aquire new weapons. Increase their following. Their biggest plan to ensure the planet's survival soon to unfold.

But as it does, it's become terribly apparent that their leader may not be able to see it. For you see, once a Pit is used to replenish him with life, it is rendered useless. And although he has spent a lot of resources to ensure their locations and secrecy, it's become evident that his options are running out. More over, after each use, his mind and body have become more and more spent. It's become something of a race to see what runs out first: The number of available pits, or his physical and mental faculties.

If he is to fulfill the League's mission regardless of him being alive, he needs an heir. Someone with strong convictions, who'd share their vision for a better tomorrow through whatever means necesary. He has tried to produce a worthy offspring, but he has only been given daughters. And although strong in their own right, with one of them becoming his top lieutenant, he wants a man to continue his legacy.

Thus far, one in particular has been truly worthy of attention. An angry young man who sought to train under the League. He is naive, doesn't agree with the League's methods. But he is headstrong, intelligent, one of the best physical fighters he has had in centuries. His own daughter even showing romantic interest in him. He just needed to be shown how futile his idealistic methods truly were, and he'd come back to accept his offer, marry his daughter and become his successor.

This Detective will soon accept the ways of Ra's Al Ghul and his League of Shadows.

-Killer Croc: Waylon Jones' condition has long baffled men and women of science. The more widely accepted theory has been a severe case of atavism, but Jones' case is so advanced, unique and unlikely that alternative theories have been welcomed and encouraged. Even outside of the scientific community, theories have made, with varying degrees of seriousness: Ranging from his parents living near a toxic waste disposal when pregnant with him, to a witch's curse.

Waylon never really cared about the reason, though. He always had more concerns in the present.

His mother having died at childbirth and his father abandoning him in horror, he was left at his elderly aunt's care. "Care" being a charitable description. Although never physically abusive (She was too weak and old to do serious harm) she always made clear how she saw him as a monster, his appearence being divine retribution for some evil deed his father had commited. She never bothered getting him proper education, only gave him old rags to dress himself and he had to look for food on his own. As she became more and more senile, her verbal abuse became even worse. Waylon hated her deeply.

So much so, that his first crime was her murder.

After killing his aunt, Waylon fled Lousiana and, for a while, went adrift around the country. Already used to looking after himself, the added freedom was somewhat comforting, in spite of the lack of a stable roof on top of his head. But regardless of how he felt or where he went, he had to keep hidden from the public eye, lest he drove attention to himself in the ensuing panic. This became increseangly harder as his condition worsened as he grew older.

Waylon found acceptance (Or at least something close to it) when he was discovered by Hailey's Circus. Seeing as how he was an unusual, lost figure in need of a home, they offered him a permanent residense as part of the Sideshow attraction. It was far from ideal, but this way, he'd be surrounded by mostly friendly people, he'd get food, water and shelter and something resembling honest living, when he always thought such a thing was imposible.

So he joined the circus, and labelled himself "Killer Croc, the fearsome Crocodile Wrestler". He just had to show off to an audience every once in a while, fight some Gators and that's it. Rinse and repeat for the rest of his life. Not what most would call ideal, but he had found acceptance, not only with his fellow Sideshow Attractions, but also toward the rest of the Circus folk. But Waylon was still restless. He still had to endure the audience gawking at him, calling him names and occasionally throwing him peanuts and popcorn. He rejected the other's kindess with growling standoffishnes, figuring that they were just puting on a show for pity. After all, a circus freak is still a freak.

Waylon's anger reached its peak when he overheard Mister Hailey chatting with one Richard Grayson about how he was thinking of disolving the Sideshow attraction, as he had begun to face backlash against the public due to shifting views on such shows. To Waylon, that meant that the only moment of stability in his mind was well and truly over. He'd go back to living like an animal. This made his show later taht night a disaster, his mind somewhere else. The audienced jeered and booed mercylessly, and Waylon had enough. In a blind rage, he jumped into the audience and bit a man's arm clean off.

Panic filled the tent that night. Some audience members got trampled. And in the chaos, Waylon vanished, running deep into the wilderness. He spent some time in what he would later find out, was called "Slaughter Swamp", meditating, thinking. Wallowing on how bad his treatment by humanity had been. How he despised so called regular people for labeling him a monster. How, perhaps, he deserved to be called a monster. How, maybe, that wasn't a bad. thing.

He became an urban legend of sorts, right up there with Solomon Grundy in the same swamp. The reason why people went in, and few came out. A blurry photo and a panicked story. A cryptid, a scary campfire story. A monster.

To this day, Killer Croc has made sure to live up to his name.