Murder Most Foul

There is blood on my hands. The blood of hundreds of people, mainly people who were stupid enough to keep living in Gotham even after the supervillains started taking over. We so-called supervillains are a merciless lot. There is the Joker, erratic and lethal. There is Poison Ivy, who values plant life over the lives of humans. There is the Mad Hatter, lost in his little fantasy world, and Two Face, who decides fates with the flip of a coin.

Then there is me. Scarecrow. The difference between me and the others is that my prime focus is research. Research about what people fear and how they react when their worst fears are made real. More often than not, I dispose of my test subjects when I am done studying them; I have no use for sniveling, cowering idiots with broken minds. By now, hundreds of test subjects have died at my hand.

At times like these, when I am locked in Arkham Asylum and the corridors and rooms are darkened, when the only sound is the occasional tap of the night guard's shoes as he walks by, I begin to feel introspective. It is a natural fault for a psychiatrist; we always need something to analyze or observe, and when locked in a cell there is little to analyze but oneself.

I look at the newspaper article on my nightstand. I cannot read it in the dark but I already know what it says. One of the guards gave it to me as a "present", although he really did it simply to torture me. The article recounts how, upon hearing of my latest arrest at the hands of Batman and my current internment at the asylum, the good citizens of Gotham suddenly decided that it would be beneficial to have me executed for my crimes.

Does my research really warrant death? The great majority of my transgressions have been in the name of science, not for some vicious personal pleasure. At worst, I have committed a few murders for retribution; those victims deserved what they got. For example, Griggs and Squires. They made high school hell for me. By causing that "accident" they were in, I was simply returning the favor.

The people of Gotham seem to be under the impression that I am a cold-hearted monster. They are most appalled by that fact that I killed both my mother (on Mother's Day, no less!) and my grandmother. In my defense, those murders were perfectly justifiable. Mother was pathetic and selfish, never showing a hint of affection for me. Her sad little life revolved around her boyfriends and her drugs, and her death freed her from that. It also freed her baby girl—my new sister—from a life tainted by neglect and abuse. As to my grandmother...frankly, the woman deserved to die. She was a religious zealot, and it was because of her that I am the villain that I am today. I was doing the world a kindness by freeing it of her. A lovely thanks I get.

I doubt that they will execute me. I am legally insane, and it is considered both immoral and illegal to execute criminals who are not in their right minds when they commit their offenses. If I were given lethal injection, those responsible for my death would be just as evil, if not more so, than they consider me to be.

Even if the Gotham courts do decree that I am to be executed, it is no matter. I have escaped from Arkham many times, and it would be easy for me to escape again then disappear. I am good at laying low when necessary, and on numerous occasions I have evaded even the Bat. I would have only to wait until Gotham sank back into its usual languor, at which point I would be free to resume my life of crime and research.

I settle onto the thin mattress, the darkness of my cell pressing down on me and wrapping me in sleep.



Scarecrow Escapes Arkham Again!

by Morgan White

Yesterday evening, the night guards at Arkham Asylum were presented with a grisly surprise. Upon opening the door to the cell of Dr. Jonathan Crane, AKA Scarecrow, the guards found two bodies. The bodies were those of Perry Byrne and Clark Cooper, both of whom were guards at Arkham and had worked an evening shift directly prior to the night shift. Byrne was dressed in Crane's inmate uniform, indicating that Crane had dressed as a guard and simply walked out of Arkham. Byrne's and Cooper's batons and tasers were also missing.

Crane, who was sentenced to death by lethal injection by Judge Allen, is one of many supervillains who have escaped from Arkham before.

Crane is 6'0'' and weighs approximately 140 lbs. He has light brown hair and blue eyes, and is usually seen wearing glasses. It is unknown whether he has his mask with him. He is armed and highly dangerous. If you see him, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CONFRONT HIM. Call the GCPD as quickly as possible and do not draw Crane's attention to yourself.


The lights of Gotham City sparkle innocently in the distance as I flee. I do not know where I'm going or how long I'll be gone, but I do know one thing.

I'll be back.



A/N: This turned out really differently than I thought it would. Stupid stories, taking on lives of their own. Anyway, this is based on the animated series Scarecrow, not the Batman Begins one. Also, I made the newspaper article short because I figure Gotham would be so used to criminals escaping Gotham that it would be pointless to make a long article about it, and they know all about Crane so the article wouldn't have to include a lengthy history of him.