Goodbye free will. Goodbye identity.

[give_me_an_amen]

"People of Gotham, I salute you!" It has been a long time coming, but the Deacon Joseph Blackfire is once again on a podium in Gotham square, masses around him, and being played to televisions and radios across the city. All have heard of how the holy man has cleaned up the streets in a violent yet effective pogrom of the colourful psychopaths that

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[scream_and_cry]

It really is typical - every time there's a disaster in Gotham, something results in the lunatics getting free of the asylum. The cause of this breakout is more mundane than the usual earthquakes, mass riots or meta-powers however. The guards who had just been watching television just got up, and opened the doors. All of the staff are now locked in padded cells, and all of the criminally insane are on the run.

That is, except one.

"Tonight, doctors and nurses of Arkham, we will be looking at certain elements of your psychologies that may frighten and disturb you. To be quite frank, I'm counting on it." In a new costume assembled from an apron in the cleaning closet, a dirtied cloth for a hood and syringes in the surgery, the Scarecrow paces along the corridors of the asylum, dragging his needletipped fingers along the walls.

"Dr. Hart." Crane slides a syringe through the service hatch of Hart's cell, and sprays the contents into it. As the liquid hits the air it turns to gas, and the prisoner begins to rant and rave. "Astraphobia? Interesting, Dr. Hart. Have you always been afraid of storms? Thunder and lightning?" Crane begins to giggle, and rattles the door to Hart's cell loudly. "Do you fear the noise? The wind in your face?! The spray of the rain and the jagged jolt of electricity forking towards you?!!"

Scarecrow stops shaking the door as the man passes out, and moves on to the next one. "Dr. Arkham. Oh, splendid..."