He was looking through the high apartment window above Gotham, not suprised of what he saw -- teenagers, buisness men, one or two gangs -- the usual in Gotham. He once remembered of the man he used to be -- kind, leaderly, the usual -- before it happened. Now all he could think about was that night, and what he said: "When I say it wasn't personal, I mean it."'He said it wasn't his fault...' he thought to himself, remembering the love of his life. 'But of course, it is 'him' I'm talking about...' He looked at a picture of the woman he had once loved, and still does now. 'Rachel...' He thought to himself. "RACHEL!" He yelled with angry tears in his eyes, as he punched the closest thing next to him -- the closed window. He swore out loud as he pulled the shards of glass quickly that were stuck in his hand, feeling as though he didn't have time for a "carful procedure". He sat down on a chair, crying and sobbing to himself. "Why?" He shouted. "Why me?!" For he was becoming the very thing that he was bound to destroy. Before he could think of anything else to do, something clicked in his head as though it was second nature to him. He got up slowly, put on a coat, grabbed a gun and a coin off the table, and headed out the door.
Two-Face had came out of the broken cacoon that was Harvey Dent.