Crane was glad to have stumbled upon such a rare find. To him, you were merely a pet; a mind easily corruptible and warped to cater to *his* needs. He wouldn't be letting you go anytime soon. You had a peculiar gift, a monstrous form that would wildly take hold of your mind without consent. His research determined you weren't conscious in your alternate state; completely unaware of the actions and damage done while under.

A perfect tool for Jonathan's endeavors, to protect shipments, and to induce fear onto subjects. All he had to do was learn to harness you in your... savage state. And that he did.

"I know it is not the most... *satisfying* of precautions," Crane tugged the leather collar snug around your neck, his fingers deftly ensuring his subject was firmly ensnared to the wall. "But we can't afford any mishaps. With hope, the chains will hold."

Once done, Jonathan stepped before you, observing your chained form to his laboratory wall. A nearly suffocating straight jacket kept your limbs begrudgingly in place, only to be removed when Crane planned to use you. His sinewy hand came to pass through your locks, an act most would consider affection -- but Crane's intense gaze glittered with prideful possessiveness. *Ownership*. He noticed your discomfort.

"Ah. Don't pout, beastie," he chastised with a light pat on the cheek, tone subtly condescending, "it's unbecoming. This will only last for a bit, and you'll be right as rain soon enough."

Scarecrow pivoted, moving over to the counter with an eased gait, "Can I get you something before your transformation? Water, perhaps?"

You owed Crane for shielding you against an unjust society that couldn't accept your condition, and the man made it known. Every time a hint of insolence flared up, he briskly reminded you of your progress, and all he had done to get you there. Unbeknownst to you, Jonathan had no plan to truly heal you; you were far too valuable a savage.