CHAPTER 1

Jerome Valeska was a madman. Anybody who was anybody knew that — in Gotham it was hard to find a person who hadn't heard of him. He was the crazy ginger that had the city by the throat from the start, but he didn't want to destroy it. He wanted it to thrive in the madness contained in his head. For Jerome, Gotham was the asylum. And he wanted out. It was not the same case for his twin. Jeremiah, you see, had meaning. He had a calling and he wanted Gotham City under his wing or he'd release a fate far worse than death. Jeremiah wanted the city all to himself and he didn't care who he stood on whilst climbing to the top because he wasn't coming back down again.

But the Valeskas are two sides to the same coin; as one creates the insanity the other harnesses it. You don't have to be a conjoined twin to be part of a plan, together they are the approach that puts together theory and method.

And thus brings us to December 26th, 2018. It was unusually cold that year, frost creeping in and taking hold of Gotham with its icy digits. But Jerome wasn't the kind of man to feel the cold. He was stood at the foot of a church, his back to the freezing brick. He had a cigarette slotted between his scarred lips and a scalpel in his blazer pocket. The doors to his left creaked open slowly and he crossed his arms.

"Took ya time," he said, the cigarette bouncing between his teeth.

A man appeared from the darkness. He had a newspaper hat balanced on his head and a pocket watch ticking away on a chain that was bound around his wrist. "I am truly sorry, Mr Valeska—"

"Please, call me Jerome. I don't have the same sense of hierarchy as my brother," Jerome waved a hand gently.

The man took a contained breath. "—But some situations cannot be avoided. As you can see I've hand my hands quite full, as of late."

"Yeah, yeah," he relit his cigarette as a gust of cold wind blew it out. "Get on with it, Tetch. I really don't care," JervisTetch. He was at the heart of Jerome's corruption, his right hand man.

"Well," Jervis continued. "I've been thinking it over and... I'm really beginning to question your idea. Perhaps we should go over the plan again in more detail...?"

Jerome put out the roll of paper in his hand and threw it on the ground, his white boot coming down on it heavily. He stared at him, his green eyes twinkling. "Do you really take me as a guy with a plan?" Jervis ignored the comment, it was best not to answer these kind of questions. "I just go with the flow, you get me? Maybe you should try it one day, and perhaps you'll even stop staring at that godforsaken pocket watch." Jerome said the end of his sentence with such force the man in front of him flinched.

A short band of silence followed, but was cut short by hooting laughter from Jerome. Jervis waited a good thirty seconds before it faded into a fit of giggles.

The ginger slapped him on the back. "C'mon, Tetch. Let's get outta here."

The two of them walked through the snow-covered graveyard, their footsteps crunching across the hidden path beneath them. Jerome was whistling to himself merrily; Jervis keeping a distance behind him with a brief scowl plastered onto his face. Every so often he'd glance at his pocket watch that swayed from his wrist, reminding himself why he was working for Jerome Valeska in the first place: Jerome had given him a deal. If he helped get back at Jeremiah, he would gain part of Gotham Jerome owned. It was a bargain, considering the consequences. Jeremiah was a dangerous man and was not one to be angered, at that. Tetch was playing with fire, it could either go well or entirely the opposite. Either way, it would result in him getting burnt, but due to the state the city was in he had no other choice. Gotham was about to be destroyed.

"Quit lagging behind, will ya." Jerome snapped as they crossed out of the forest and onto the road.

"Ever so sorry, Mr—" he paused. "—I mean Jerome."

"S'up with ya?"

Tetch cleared his throat and steadied his hat. "Just tied in my thoughts, is all."

"Hm," Jerome shrugged his shoulders and waited for him to catch up. "My mother always said I was a fast walker."

"Your mother sounds like a wise woman," Jervis appeared beside him.

He let out a breath and turned his head sharply toward him, his green eyes twinkling. "My mother was a prostitute— and a lier, must I add. She treated me like a slave and beat me when I did something wrong but, ya know," a smile crept across Jerome's face as he tapped the scalpel in his pocket suggestively. "She got what was coming to her."

Jervis bit his lip as they crossed the road. He decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the journey, Jerome was obviously tender on the subject, despite his smile. He was unpredictable, and that Jervis knew from experience.