It is never completely quiet in Arkham Asylum. Between the noises made by the patients and the ancient plumbing, even the latest night is supplied with an eerie soundtrack that haunts your every step. There are still some members of staff to be seen- a bored looking guard or tired nurse, but they pay me no attention. I am simply a doctor going beyond the call of duty to pull an all-nighter. If anything, they will see me and hold me in higher esteem than before.

The room holding the special "supplies" is unguarded. No one will notice if I decide to access it tonight. I must, after all, reunite Mr. Crane's hat with the rest of his costume.

Whoever organized the items apprehended from the patients did a disgraceful job of it. Mr. Tetch's peculiar little cards are easy enough to locate, but you cannot use them alone, can you? There is some kind of... headband... thing. Ah! There it is. Put the card in my pocket and the costume in my briefcase, and we mustn't attract attention with the headwear just yet.

I do not know the name of the man running the security control centre, but that hardly matters.

"Hello there."

"Sir, you can't come in here. Hey, what are you doing with-"

"Be quiet. That's better."

His face is so relaxed; I wouldn't be surprised if he begins drooling. What a relief. I almost didn't expect it to work. How on earth did Tetch manage to design these things to work so well without any adhesive to hold on to the head or a direct connection to the brain?

"Pull up cameras overlooking the cell of patient Jonathan Crane."

"Yes, Sir."

The screens light up with an overview of the cell and the hallways closest to it.

"Pull up controls for alarm systems and cell door lockdown."

"Yes, Sir."

"Disable all alarms except for the one connected to the east entrance. Activate east entrance alarm."

"Yes, Sir."

The sound is hollow and distant by the time it reaches the control centre. All attention is now drawn as far away as possible from Crane's cell.

"Open the cell door of patient Jonathan Crane."

"Yes, Sir."

It only takes a few moments for the professor's head to peek out on the grainy black and white screen. He hesitates halfway out of his room, looking up and down the hallway like a nervous animal sniffing at the air. After a few moments he makes a run for it, heading for the west entrance, away from the alarm. As I suspected, he will make a wonderfully predictable scapegoat.

No need to hurry with donning the disguise. Crane must have a bit of a head start to disappear effectively. Without his toxins he is like a declawed cat, cautious and more likely to look for a hiding spot than a fight.

Without further instructions the slack-jawed security worker sits and stares blankly at the screens. The remarkable device has rendered him the picture of calmness, and I wish I could say I feel the same way. My heart pounds as I consider things that could go wrong with the plan.

What if I can't do it? I may know some of the people who are still here tonight, and even if they are only vague acquaintances they are still human beings. No, I mustn't think of what the toxin will do to them. We have the antidote stored in the infirmary. They will be fine.

What if he- no, it cannot happen. I will not let him get away with it any longer. His selfish crusade has the public worshiping at his feet, but I will show them all how hollow it really is. He doesn't do anything the police couldn't take care of on their own, and he refuses to be there for the people who really need him. I will make him regret not being there for Julie.

Time to bait the trap.

Touching the hat was bad enough, but the rest of this burlap atrocity- euhg. I don't understand how anyone is supposed to focus with all this cloth and straw scratching at the skin, and the smell coming from the gas mask... Concentrate. Don't think about it.

It is quite clever, really. Canisters in the sleeves allow the costume's wearer to merely point his hand in whatever direction he wants to send a high-powered stream of toxic gas. There are pockets on the inside for small gas bombs, and I even took the time to reattach a few of the vials designed to be hidden by the straw of the hat. It is practically a metaphor for the way Crane arms himself mentally to ward off normal relationships and social contact. I must remember to record this observation in the patient's notes tomorrow. He will, after all, be returned to us before long by the police even without the Batman's help.

Most of the guards and other personnel who responded to the alarm are still investigating the area, but I can see on the screens that some are beginning to disperse away from the east entrance. Must act quickly.

I am close enough to hear irritated voices before I catch sight of anyone. The man's heavy footsteps give me a few moments' notice, enough time to gather my courage and take a stance in the middle of the hallway, waiting for him. He rounds the corner and his eyes grow wide with shock.

"Oh shi-"

I cut him off with a burst of the gas, enough to discolor the air around him a hazy green. He holds his hand over his mouth and coughs. The effects of the hallucinogen overtake him quickly, and within moments he turns on his heels and runs screaming around the corner, heading back in the direction of the others.

I cut through another hallway, bringing me behind the group that is now watching the man yell and flail at unseen things in the air. They are so distracted that they do not notice my presence until I have already created an inescapable cloud of gas in front of me. Some freeze and others flee, though they will simply run into the tainted air the first man came out of.

Each person reacts differently to being forced to confront his or her fears. One man runs heedlessly from whatever is chasing him until he slams into a wall, knocking himself out cold. Another backs into a corner and curls up in a fetal position, sobbing. Some stare at me for a few moments, transfixed, before pushing each other over in their desperation to get away from whatever I have become in their eyes. I should not be watching this. I should... should go back and wait for him.

Even back in the control room I cannot get away from it. They run soundlessly across the screens, but as they spread through the asylum the walls echo with their screams. Patients chime in, howling like excited dogs. I must focus on the final steps of preparation.

"Erase all video records for today."

"Yes, Sir."

While my temporary assistant covers my tracks I can place several bombs around the room, each wired to go off at my command and fill this tiny space with enough fear toxin to drive a man into deep, if not permanent, madness. For the finishing touch I remove the hat and place it on the man's head. He does not react, of course. All that remains now is to wait for the Batman's impulses to draw him to investigate.

He arrives within minutes, as if he had some kind of direct link to the asylum to monitor breakouts. Based on what I have heard about him, I would not be surprised if he had hidden some kind of surveillance equipment here. He appears on one of the screens through the east entranceway, which has been left open by one of the panicked men as he fled onto the grounds.

"Have all cameras follow Batman."

"Yes, Sir."

The nearest camera whirrs to life to follow him as he stalks down the hallway like a predatory animal. He pauses to look up at it. Even on the small screen it is possible to see that he is wearing a gas mask. That should be easy enough to take care of.

The moving cameras lure him in like a trail of bread crumbs to the security control centre. After having my assistant disable the lights the room is left to bathe in the soft glow of computer screens. The closet is not a sophisticated hiding spot, but it will do just fine in offering the element of surprise.

He bursts through the door in a remarkable flash of speed and pounces on the hated figure seated at the computer. As soon as I register the movement I trigger the gas bombs and leap out of the closet at the man already disappearing in the fog. I grab for the gas mask, feel it in my hand, and hold tight as a punch connects with my gut and sends me flying backwards out of the control room. A scream rips through the air.

I am doubled over in pain, but it does not matter. I have him now, trapped in the clutches of madness, ready to be brought in from his egotistical pursuits for his stay in Arkham. The city will see how unnecessary he truly is. They will forget him and begin giving credit to the real heroes of Gotham. Despite needing to lean against the wall for support I can hold my head high and be proud to see-

The security man running out of the control centre? How can he move or make those terrible sounds? Is there something wrong with the headband?

Oh.

When he drops the snapped card at my feet that explains one mystery, but leaves another painfully open.

"How can you not quake in terror at the Scarecrow's weapon?"

He might as well inject fear toxin with that stare of his. It would be futile to try to gas him again, and I foolishly did not think I would need any other weapons.

"Where is Crane?"

"Wha... what are you talking about? I am the Scarecrow!"

"Crane's pants don't drag on the floor, and," he narrows his eyes further, sending chills down my spine, "he would have remembered that I had already developed a pre-exposure antidote to that particular chemical composition of fear gas. I passed his cell on the way here. I'll ask you again; where is he?"

Before I can respond he grabs my shirt and slams me against the wall. Anger mingles with the fear washing over me.

"This is all his fault! How was I supposed to know the blasted toxin was obsolete? I admit it. I let him escape. Shouldn't you be chasing after him right now? It is all you ever seem to be interested in after all."

"The police are surrounding the area as we speak after a tip on a possible breakout. He doesn't stand a chance if he's on foot and on his own. Now, I would like to know who you are and why you did this."

"I am the voice of reason in this city of madness, that is who I am! You dress up to play vigilante and delude the people into thinking they need you. Why are you trying to do the police's job for them? Where were you when the bridge collapsed and sent all those people into the river? Where were you when they needed you?"

Confusion softens his expression, though not his grip.

"You did this because of the accident that happened a year ago? No one even tampered with the bridge."

"Do you think I care? Julie Durante- do you think she cared why it happened while she was stuck in that car, sinking into the river? Do you think she cared that you were too busy showing off to be there to rescue her when the water was filling up her lungs?"

Something flashes across his face. A memory? He frowns.

"The Riddler. He had me trapped in a maze for the better part of that day. Otherwise, I would have been there."

"You could have! You could have been there putting those skills of yours to better use, but you insist on playing your elaborate games and encouraging these... these sick people to follow you! My job would be a lot easier without you, and my wife would still be alive if you weren't so selfish!"

"That's not the Scarecrow."

I turn at the sound of a new voice and see that the authorities have arrived. They are not wearing gas masks. The vents must have had enough time to clear the toxin from the air.

"No, it isn't, Commissioner. He's somewhere outside, but if he slips past the blockade it won't take me long to track him down. I believe this is one of Arkham's doctors."

The commissioner drops his eyes and shakes his head.

"What is it about this city that drives so many scientists and doctors off the deep end?"

There is compassion in this man's face. Perhaps he is a fellow voice of reason.

"Please, this is not what it looks like! I am trying to help you. He has deluded you like all the others. Why else would you not arrest him as soon as you see him and send him here for treatment? Let me show you. I can show you, if you'll help me get free from him."

The look in the commissioner's eyes deepens, as if a great sadness has washed over him. It is hopeless. He is so delusional that he would rather continue to support the Batman than examine his error in working with him. His eyes leave me and firmness replaces his weary expression.

"The staff who were exposed to the gas have been restrained and we've got people treating them in the infirmary. Once we get Scarecrow back everything should be in order again, or at least whatever semblance of order this place ever approaches. We are, as always, grateful for your assistance."

The Batman nods before handing me over to two officers, who place me in handcuffs. My exhausted body gives out along with my mind, and I allow myself to go limp as they drag me to wherever I will be held.

The egotist maintains his grip on the minds of the poor deluded souls inhabiting this city.

The voice of reason has been silenced.