And now for something completely different. This is dedicated to my dear Captain as she is the one who introduced the idea that I should write into my skull.


As for the title of this little romp through the Batman universe, it was also Captain's idea.

Morrigan is a celtic battlegoddess whose chosen people go into a berserk rage. Or something like that.

And, as always, I own nothing but my original character.

Beware! This fic has bad language and adult themes. Viewer discretion is advised.



It was an ordinary day, or as ordinary as it could get at Star Laboratories. We had been rather busy lately, having just made several major breakthroughs. Not only had we developed an aggression inducing-formula, but I had personally developed a fear toxin that was believed to be stronger than the Scarecrow's. Basically, we had found a way to make liquid emotions that could be mixed and matched to the client's specifications.

With these new techniques we could revolutionize the medical world. If we could distribute other emotions we had extracted, as cheesy as it sounds, we could make the world a better place. Depression would be a thing of the past, pain would be a minor inconvenience, and fear would be easily erased. Of course we could do those things if Star wasn't so concerned with profit.

As the head of these projects, I had been "asked" to concentrate on the fear and anger toxins. "Ask" meaning "if you don't do this, your funding goes to the sexual aid department." The scientist in me rebelled. Regardless of how unpleasant the source material may be, I was obsessed with my work, my discoveries. Not only was I obsessed, I was possessive, too. Obviously. My therapist told me I needed to control my negative emotions. She also told me I needed to find a new job. As you can probably tell, she told me many things. I think she was too busy trying to run my life to have one of her own.

Maybe tomorrow I'll tell her that my hermit crabs told me to blow up the hospital, maybe that'll shut her up. At least if she had me committed to Arkham, I'd get some peace and quiet from her constant nagging.

Okay, maybe she was right. Maybe I did have anger issues. Yeah, well, who doesn't? And why do I care? Maybe I should introduce myself. Hi! My name is Sarah Newman and I'm albino. A fact of which I am constantly reminded. This blaringly obvious fact is always commented on, as if I already didn't fucking know. I'm a little sensitive about my coloring, or lack thereof. As a child I was constantly bullied and tortured. I had hoped that people would be more mature as we grew older. Boy, was I wrong. The people I worked with at Star were just like the children who made me afraid to go to school.

Even as I walked through the halls to my lab, yeah…my lab, I could hear them talking about me. Frigid bitch is the term I hear most from women. Bitch is right, frigid is not. I'd talk to those bimbos if they had anything interesting to say. Most women may be jealous of me, I believe. Not only am I a freaking genius (modesty, who needs that) but apparently I'm fairly wanted by the male population. I think it's because most of these men are shallow, idiotic creatures who only want to screw something exotic, and I'm the one nearest at hand.

It's easy enough to get rid of these cretins by glaring at them. At this point I should mention that my eyes are a vibrant shade of red. All of my coworkers, if you could call them that, were easily intimidated by me when I kept direct eye contact with them. A ploy I used as often as I could; it was amusing to watch accredited doctors squirm. Me sadistic? Never. Whatever gave you that idea?

Regardless of how I may sound, I've always been very quiet. I prefer to keep silent about the stupidity of others, although the inner rantings and brutal mental murders are never-ending. Those anger issues again.

Maybe I should take self defense classes again. The workouts would be therapeutic.

So, as I said, it was a normal day. People were quiet as I walked by, but their whispers would follow me to my lab. It was blessedly silent there. With a fridge near the door and a couch in the far corner, it was very comfortable. I often stayed there for thirty-six hours at a time, only going home for showers and the mail. Hell, I would have lived there if the chemical showers had warm water.

But I digress. The day passed quickly and peacefully. Since security knew I was going to stay the night, they locked me into the building. If I wasn't nose deep into my work, I might have noticed when that happened. Most of the time I didn't, and when I did notice it didn't mean I cared. Ah, apathy. What a wonderful bedfellow you make.

Although the day was normal, almost boring, the night was anything but. I'm usually blissfully oblivious to everything around me when I work, but even I couldn't miss the loud crashing that came from the back of the building.

Well, shit. Apparently, someone was trying to rob the labs. I turned off the lights, grabbed my umbrella, and hid behind my desk. Even though my umbrella was fairly strong and had one of those sharp, knifelike ends, I doubted that I could take on the small group heading my way. Besides, if they wanted money they would head to the main office.

Of course, if they wanted the money they wouldn't be picking the lock on the door clearly labeled "Lab 5." If it were actually a thief, wouldn't they make less noise? Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck! They're after my work!

I think I need a hug.

They opened the door. My heart felt like a jackhammer and I was quite positive I was going to be maimed, tortured and/or killed. I gripped my umbrella tighter. I was not going down without a fight.

"Find it," someone hissed.

I flinched as the lights were turned on. I am going to die. There was no way that I was going to be missed, now. My only chance was to surprise them enough to make an escape. Let me say this again: I am so going to die.

When I saw a shadow come close enough, I got ready to attack.

When the perfect moment arrived, I pounced. I hit the man across the stomach and tried to push past him. He recovered quickly and grabbed my arm, slamming me into my workstation. I hit the ground hard and look up just in time to see all of the completed rage serum heading towards me.

From that moment on, all I could feel was agony. A vial must have shattered on impact because my left eye was gone. I could feel the burning in my veins as the rage serum entered through the ruins of my eye. I could hear someone screaming. It took me a moment to realize it was me.

I don't know how long I was there on the ground, thrashing and screaming, but I knew when the serum had taken effect. The pain faded as white-hot rage filled my body.

I pushed myself to a sitting position and gently probed my left eye. The damage was extensive as the orb was gone and I could feel my blood coating the left half of my face. I was amazed at the absence of pain or fear. My heartbeat was steady and my sight was clear. The most important fact, though, is that I was angry. Very, very angry. They could take my work. I may not like it, but I could always make more. But my eye…What is that saying? "An eye for an eye." Well, my friend, an eye is just the down payment, so to speak.

I looked to the bastard who did this to me. He was staring at me in horror. There were others there, but my attention was focused on one man. I retrieved the umbrella and stood up slowly. He was staring at me in shock. Expecting me to be unconscious? Who cares. His ass was mine.

I must admit it, though. The rage serum is clever, creating a stable supply of adrenaline among other chemicals. My point is that not only does the serum make a subject extremely pissed, but stronger, faster, and immune to fear and depression, as well.

Quite handy, that.

So it came as quite a surprise when I ran the bastard through with the umbrella. He fell heavily to the ground, gurgling and twitching for a few moments. As he lay there dying, he was still staring at me. I gave him a big cheerful grin as I kicked the handgun from his grasp.

"Thanks," I chirped happily. "Merry Christmas to you, too!" Who cared if it was summer! The Christmas spirit isn't relegated to December, is it?

This was an internal debate for another day.

I looked up from my musings. I was surrounded by several armed men. I just grinned at them and waved happily.

"Hi there!"

Did I forget to mention that the serum, when in the system in large doses or for a long time span, has driven many test subjects to insanity? I didn't? Well, I just did! Hyuck!

A tall, thin man stepped forward. He was dressed as a ragged scarecrow. It wouldn't have taken a genius to realize that this was the Scarecrow. The most striking thing about him was his vibrant blue eyes. It just isn't fair! No one with a penis should have eyes that pretty.

He stepped closer to me, spreading his arms in a welcoming manner.

"Good evening, Dr. Newman. Tell me where the toxin is."

I merely pointed to the broken vial lying in the pool of my blood. I continued to grin inanely; it seemed to make his henchmen uncomfortable. It was pretty damn funny. Although a bloodied woman with one eye who just killed a man with an umbrella must be unnerving…

I must have drifted off for a minute because the next thing I knew, Scarecrow was right in front of me. Did he think he could scare me? I was immune.

"Where is the formula, D. Newman?"

I merely tipped my head to the side and grinned wider. At Star Laboratories, it was fairly common to write your notes in code or to memorize them. People don't pay those who made the formula, but those who have the formula.

"You will tell me, Dr. Newman."

Really, now? I'm sure that you'll just let me scurry free after that, won't you? Yeah. I believe that. He moved even closer to me. So, he thought he could gas me? I nearly laughed. He raised his arm towards me slowly, palm facing me and fingers spread.

"Last chance to tell me, Dr. Newman, before I rip it from your mind."

I kept smiling, even as the toxin surrounded me. I even took a deep breath as though scenting a delicious aroma. The looks of shock that adorned the faces of the henchman were too much. I started laughing. Cackling, really. But that's semantics and I didn't have time to think about it then. Seeing the Scarecrow's bright blue eyes wide with shock is something I'll remember for the rest of my existence.

After several minutes of laughing, I stopped suddenly. Someone needed to keep them on their toes. It was completely silent in the room, all eyes on me. What, do they want me to tap dance? I haven't done that in years

I eyed the Scarecrow again. I had heard about him, and his past. I had always felt sympathy for the fellow childhood punching bag. This was the driving force behind my next actions.

I hugged him. I even gave him a kiss on his burlap-covered cheek. Hee hee. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing maniacally again. The henchmen started to back away from me, like I was crazy or something. Was I crazy? I mean, I just lost my eye, skewered a man on an umbrella, and hugged a supervillain. Nah, I'm not crazy, I'm fun. There's a difference.

During my musings, the Scarecrow's eyes had not left me. Wide-eyed and looking uncomfortable, he continued to stare at me. He seemed to come back to himself, especially after I waved my hand in front of his face. Ya know, what he narrows his eyes like that, I can't tell if he's pissed or just really, really unhappy.

Before I could actually figure out if he was going to ghost me or hug me back, the lights went out. Cue Batman's dramatic entrance. In the chaos that ensued, I was able to sit down next to the ruins of the serum and my eye. Apparently I lost a fair amount of blood because everything went even blacker…if that's possible.