Jonathan Crane staggered through the narrow alleyway. More and more he was convinced Gunpowder had not taken this route. As Jonathan journeyed further between the adjacent buildings, he began to get a distinct claustrophobic feeling as the walls began to squeeze closer and closer together. Pain jabbed him with each breath and he vaguely clutched the side of the tender rib, wondering if it was broken or just bruised.

I hope it isn't broken. I can't afford to go to the hospital now – the police will find me.

(Do you think you can play the hero now? Whoever kidnapped dear ol' mom would laugh to see you now, mocked Scarecrow.)

Jonathan gritted his teeth, trying to ignore Scarecrow as he kicked away the empty aluminum cans from the alley and struggled to reach its end. He hated almost how he was growing accustomed to the darkness and filth. Just a few days ago he was the head of Arkham Asylum and one of the most respected psychiatrists in the city. But since that night when the Bat-man broke into Arkham and the toxin was released into the city he was a hunted criminal, reviled by all maybe even loathed by Emily. He closed his eyes and gripped his side, the pain too great for a moment, before he continued on.

How can I continue on, living like this? No food, no shelter – you have no idea where to look.

(Jonathan, dear Jonathan, why don't you leave it in my hands? Scarecrow will take care of you.)

You tried to steal my life and my love! The hell with you!

(Jonathan, for a head of psychiatry you're being very irrational. Think this through. What options do you have? Who are your allies? You have no one – except me.)

Wrong! I have no one!

Jonathan barged out of the end of the alley in anger and leaned against the vandalized brick wall, wheezing in pain. The street was still empty and darkness shrouded Gotham City in its sleep. How soon until Batman awoke and pursued him with renewed purpose he did not know. The cold pierced him now through the thin dress coat he usually wore to the office, but it could not keep out the long hours of icy chill he was being exposed to.

Hunger also gnawed at him and some thirst; Jonathan was scolding himself for leaving Emily's apartment so quickly without taking any provisions. But he was not interested in stealing from her cupboards or ransacking her pantry, not when he first held the accusing paper in his trembling hand. He knew this time would come, but how he hoped it wouldn't be so soon – that at least he could treasure one night with Emily. But she would see the paper, he couldn't hide it from her and he had to leave and leave quickly. He took what he came with and did not burden himself with extra pounds of food and water. Now as Jonathan was cold and hungry outside the alley he regretted it though, wishing somehow he could return to Emily, even ask for her forgiveness.

No, she can't love me, not now. How can she? She knows what I have done.

(Exactly, whispered Scarecrow. People are fickle, loving only what they can get out of you and when you are no longer of use to them they will turn on you as all of Gotham has! But I make no judgments on you, Jonathan. I lay no blame and will love you even when she no longer does.)

You are worse than any of them. Whereas I have been used and thrown aside you would possess me and destroy my life, my soul!

Scarecrow continued to mutter, pleading his case but Jonathan no longer was in the mood. To engage in an argument took energy and he didn't want to waste it on something as pointless and frustrating as a fruitless debate with his inner demon. Jonathan walked some ways from the alley he emerged from and took several side streets before he found a small recessed area away from the main thoroughfare where he could rest; it wouldn't be a very obvious place for the police or Batman to go looking for him.

He sat down upon some crumpled newspapers but the cold of the pavement still seeped through his coat and he shivered slightly. The first pale golden rays of the dawn were visible over the jagged horizon of buildings and already some lights from a few random windows were turning on – early morning risers getting ready for the day ahead.

How I wish I was back in my own bed and this was all just a nightmare I was about to wake up from. That any moment my alarm will go off, I'll be back in my own apartment and they will be expecting me at Arkham.

And mother is still back in cell 221? Well if this were a dream, I'd wish she was back in her apartment and we were having coffee and cake before the terrible nightmare began, before her madness.

Although Jonathan wrapped the coat tightly around himself, he was shivering regularly now, unable to keep warm. He tucked his long legs closer to his lanky torso, hoping this would help trap some body heat.

(Jonathan, you idiot! What do you think you're doing? Don't you realize I have a great destiny to fulfill!)

But Jonathan didn't answer, his eyelids drooped and his head dropped upon his chest as he fell into unconscious exhaustion.

A golden light filled the room and everything seemed to move slow and gentle, the air almost seeming to hover in mid-breath. Jonathan walked into an empty room that seemed quite sparse, there was no carpeting upon the hardwood floors and on one end the walls were painted and on another it was wallpapered, as though the previous owners couldn't make up their mind on the decorating.

As Jonathan walked into the room suddenly he noticed a woman was at the window, gazing outside. It seemed to be spring out, the breeze wafting in sweet apple-blossom scents and yellow and red tulips fluttered lightly in the garden. The woman had rich brunette hair and wore a white filmy gown which almost was luminescent against the sunlight coming through the window. Jonathan continued to approach the woman and tried to speak but found he couldn't. As he drew closer the woman turned and saw it was Emily, heavily pregnant. She gently stroked her belly and Jonathan smiled, joy filling his heart.

Emily, the child – our child?

But as he reached for her, to embrace her in love, in happiness and hope for their life together and the new life they created, she vanished and the window remained before him. Spring withered and faded away as the wind whistled bitter and cold. The corn swayed thick and heavy upon the stalks and a gruesome, evil looking Scarecrow glared back at him from out in the fields. Black crows cawed, their wings flapping upon the cold air and their beaks picked and pulled at the twine binding the evil Scarecrow fast to his pole out in the lonely cornfield. To Jonathan's horror, as the Scarecrow was pulled loose of the pole, it didn't fall like a rag doll into the cornstalks but instead began to walk toward the house.

(Jonathan, you cannot escape. You cannot run away from me.)

A shriek echoed in Jonathan's ears and now it was night within the house and so dark he couldn't see out into the cornfield – couldn't even see if Scarecrow was almost right at the house or inside the house now. But the shriek echoed again and Jonathan turned to find it within the room and coming from the crib. Jonathan slowly walked over to the crib and peered down at the blankets. Inside the darkened crib was an infant that had a gruesome Scarecrow mask over its head.

Jonathan angrily yanked the mask off the child but each time he did so it reappeared.

No! Scarecrow what have you done! What have you done to my child?

(It is not your child, Jonathan, gloated Scarecrow. It is MINE!)

Jonathan awoke with his heart racing and gasping for breath. He swallowed, his throat dry, his body trembling and wondered for how long he had slept. Although the day was overcast, it appeared to be late afternoon as pedestrians strolled by; not realizing who they passed once was the head of Arkham Asylum and one of the most hunted men in Gotham City.

The location is too obvious, go deeper into the shadows.

Jonathan stretched out his legs and found them stiff and numb, and when he rubbed them to return some circulation in them he was greeted with pins and needles. He suddenly felt water rolling down his cheek.

No, I can't be crying.

But more droplets came from overhead, and then a sudden deluge as rain poured through the streets and pedestrians scrambled for cover. In less than a minute what little warmth provided by the thin dress coat was gone and he was colder than he imagined he could be and shivered uncontrollably.

(Jonathan, you must find warmth and shelter. You will die out here. I can't allow that.)

Scarecrow being the rational one? I truly have gone insane!

(Jonathan, get up. Jonathan.)

The rain was now coming down in sheets and the roads now had only the occasional car that would pass by, almost splashing water upon him from the dirty curb. With a trembling, wet hand, Jonathan dug into his soaking pant's pocket and yanked out a bottle.

(Jonathan – what are you doing?)

I – I have rain water – I can take this – can get rid of you for now!

(Jonathan be sensible! Listen to me for once!)

Jonathan gazed at the well worn pharmaceutical bottle that held his schizophrenia medication Zyprexa and as the rain hit the label the ink began to slowly bleed. Carefully he opened the childproof lid – which he always found absurd because he had no children to protect from taking his medications – but didn't open the lid right away, protecting the valuable pills from the pelting rain.

(Well what are you waiting for? Take your damn pills! Banish me for now if that is what you want! But by doing so you are denying your greatness. Instead of being hunted by this city you could rule it! Instead of cowering in fear you could be invincible! Jonathan dwelling inside you is me. Whereas you are the caterpillar, I am the dragon!)

And you think what you told me will help your case, asked Jonathan.

(What choice do you have? You will be hunted for the rest of your days now! The police, the Bat-man – do you think they will ever stop hounding you? You are injured, cold, starving! What good are you now at finding mommy! And your pills, how long will they last before they too run out or you are caught? Face it, Jonathan, there is only one option left – Me!)

He turned the pill bottle over in his hand, his eyes gazing at the label and its side effects.

You're wrong, Scarecrow, I have more than one option. I could choose neither of us.

For a moment there was dead silence from Scarecrow, then a furious scream echoed through his mind.

(No, Jonathan! NO! I won't allow it! You won't stop me! Not EVER! You won't stop me from my Reign!)

Jonathan almost calmly looked at the pill's label warning Do not take more than two tablets at once.

Scarecrow's fierce screams and curses rattled like a mad animal trapped in a cage. Daylight quickly faded with the severity of the storm. The cold rain turned to ice and gleamed like harsh prisms in the street lights. The pellets of ice cut into Jonathan's skin and fell like diamond tears upon his soaked coat. Weakly he pushed himself up against the wall to give himself more shelter from the storm, but he was so cold, soaked to the bone, shivering and tired. Jonathan's eyes almost drooped and recognized it as the beginnings of hypothermia.

A car passed by and in his half-dreamings he almost thought it looked familiar. Jonathan struggled to hold tight to the bottle, wondering if he should take all the pills or just one to quiet the shriekings of Scarecrow or silence him forever. The ice clattered in hard, thick sheets against the brick wall and pelted against the windshield wipers of the car as it stopped in front of him. Someone stepped out of the car and stood in front of him.

Exhausted and feeling like Jonathan was already hallucinating from not having his medication for so long, he stared at the person in front of him through water smeared glasses. The street lamp dimly shone upon the person who stood before him and the ice cascaded off the long, black coat.

"Ah, Jonathan, I have been looking for you, but did not expect to find you here."

"No, it can't be," whispered Jonathan.

"I would think you would be happy to see me. How the mighty have fallen, but not for long. We shall rebuild, and now that we have found you it shall not be so difficult. Come, Jonathan, we have work to do. Your genius will be most useful."

The large, muscular hand reached out and Jonathan hesitated, not wanting to take his hand.

I trusted you and you betrayed me.

But suddenly the strong, firm grip of the hand grasped Jonathan's and pulled him to his feet as though Jonathan's weight was nothing. Jonathan gazed upon him part in relief, part in anger as he looked upon the man he had met three years ago – the man he had to thank for his current fallen state – Henri Ducard.