Through the Focus of One's Mind

(Jeremiah's POV. Yesterday)

Jeremiah was pacing the corridors of his labyrinth. The alternating bouts of nausea and manic laughter occasionally brought him to the ground, where he curled up and remained until they passed, and then he stood once more and resumed his pacing. This had been his system for the past four hours. The toxin had fully seeped into his skin now, and the appearance of his hands made him terrified to look in a mirror.

However, his mind still appeared to be his own. For some reason, this made Jeremiah furious. Why go through all of this trouble just for Jerome to produce a gas that ultimately fails? Of course, he wasn't surprised that the absent-minded fool hadn't succeeded. Chemistry was a careful art, and Jerome had always been too eager to see things explode. Either he missed a critical element or the concentration of the dose was too weak.

Whichever it was, it had resulted in nothing substantial. Jeremiah felt more in control of his thoughts than he ever had before. He knew that if he'd been the one to produce the poison, it would have worked. Whoever had been sprayed with it would've had their entire psyche crumble within minutes. In fact, he was certain that he could carry out all of his brother's schemes better than that madman ever could. Because he could look at things rationally and use objective judgement. Too often, Jerome let his poor broken feelings get in the way of finishing what he started. Then again, his actual ideas were just as subpar as his ability to see them through.

How Gotham had been enraptured with his twin's exploits, Jeremiah had no idea. His so-called flair had nothing to it. Sure, he seemed showy at first, but there wasn't any substance to his misdeeds. He put on this big performance and very little actually ensued. Maybe a dozen people lose their lives. Pathetic, he thought. Rationally, if you're going to make the effort to commit a heinous crime, you'd think that you would try and achieve your goal on the largest scale. Why kill three people at the Gala when you could have killed forty? Why shoot two of those reporters when you could have shot ten?...Why continue to allow Bruce Wayne to evade you? But he knew the answer to the third question. Bruce fascinated Jerome just as he fascinated Jeremiah. Perhaps their intrigue was rooted in different places, but he was a rare oddity to them both. The crowning jewel of Gotham had a rather strong and gleaming outer shell, but inside he shone even brighter...and was much more vulnerable. The things that the two of them could accomplish together sent Jeremiah's mind whirring. After all, the prototype for the boys' clean energy project has already come along wonderfully. The amount of energy they'd been able to contain in those canisters was astounding, and the prototype was surprisingly stable in terms of explosive qualities. He'd hate to see the damage caused if one of them were to become...unstable. Although, the wiring itself could be changed rather easily. He wouldn't even need to alter the chemical composition.

Wait, what am I thinking? Why would I even want to turn them into bombs? he asked himself, suddenly frightened of his thoughts. "To prove that you could," his voice answered aloud. "To show them once and for all that Jerome's schemes are narrow-minded and pitiful. That you're the mastermind of the family. Then they'd stop comparing us. They'd all be too afraid to even say your name." He was making his way over to his bedroom now, eager to see his face.

He wasn't prepared for what he saw in the mirror. Jeremiah's skin had turned chalk-white. It looked unreal, as if painted on. But a quick scratch to his arm confirmed the change. His lips had changed too. They used to be a pale chapped pink. Now they were fuller, and very very red. Once again, it looked unnatural, and even garish against his albino skin. But what startled him most were his eyes. He hadn't anticipated that. They were a milky bright green-grey, the kind you only saw with color contacts. Jeremiah collapsed to the floor once more. The sinister jack-in-the-box on his dresser watched as he dissolved into another fit of laughter.

Well, at least they can tell us apart now, he thought bitterly when he regained control of himself. He really should have seen a trick like that coming from Jerome. He had just figured that his brother would be too closely monitored in jail to do anything to him. Jeremiah thought back to when he'd first received the package four hours ago.

Bruce had just left. They'd finally finished that first model, and the morning had gone well. As had become their usual, the two boys had chatted and drank tea, and then gotten to work in Jeremiah's main room. Throughout their visits, they'd joke and flirt lightly, but Jeremiah didn't think Bruce quite understood that he was truly interested in him. He could analyze the psychological reasons behind that, but he really didn't want to. Jeremiah figured that Bruce would get it eventually. There was no reason to push him.

After Bruce was gone, Jeremiah had very little to bring excitement into his day. He'd study maps and blueprints of Gotham, read as much as he could, and keep an eye on his surveillance system. So of course, after paying so much attention to security, he was extremely surprised to find a package sitting on his dresser that afternoon.

The wrapping of the box itself was relatively simple: royal blue felt tied up with a large, white, cloth ribbon. All the tag said was, from Wayne Enterprises. Maybe Bruce really had seen his intentions. It's sweet of him to get me a gift, especially after everything he's done for me already, Jeremiah thought happily. He eagerly untied the ribbon, and was surprised to find an ornately decorated box underneath. He turned the box over in his hands, searching for its purpose. Pulling the latch on the top opened a flap, revealing a grotesque clown doll. Before he could react, the doll rapidly sprayed Jeremiah with some sort of burning purple gas, causing him to drop the box in pain. He coughed as the clown began to speak.

"Hello, brother. You didn't think you could evade me that easily, did you? A little stay in the slammer can't keep you safe from me. Or, more accurately, safe from yourself. See, it's very likely that I'll die in Blackgate. But you can continue on for me! You will be my ultimate revenge. So, calm yourself. Don't fight it. Breathe it in. This gas was a special mixture I had made, just for you. Something to finally set you free. It's time to have some fun. Burn it down! Burn it all down."

Jeremiah was gripping his head in his hands; he couldn't stop laughing. His eyes itched and his skin burned, but he barely noticed. The manic euphoria caused by the gas stopped him from feeling the pain. He stood there cackling, gasping for breath, until he was hit by a sudden need to vomit. Jeremiah crawled his way over to the nearest wastebasket and retched until there was nothing left in his stomach. And then he was laughing again. This cycle continued for hours, bringing him back to where he was now.

Staring at his reflection, Jeremiah made his decision. He would take his words to heart. "Burn it all down," he'd coaxed. So that was exactly what Jeremiah was going to do. But he'd blow Jerome's wildest dreams and expectations out of the water. Unlike that madman, he wouldn't be playing around when he made his intentions clear.

He returned to the front room and gazed at the massive glowing blue canister standing there. Jeremiah brushed it lightly with his fingers before turning his attention to the exposed wires at its base. Then, he got to work rewiring it to create the most destructive explosive force his city had ever seen.

When he finished, about an hour later, he had phone calls to make. The first he sent to Wayne Enterprises, informing them that he'd be retrieving the copies of their prototype within the next few hours.

The second, he made to Bruce. Although it was still light out, he didn't answer. So, Jeremiah left him a voicemail saying "Hello Bruce, it's Jeremiah. I just wanted to inform you that I'm going to have to cancel our meeting tomorrow morning." He paused to think of an excuse, then continued "Ecco has fallen ill and I want to take the morning to settle her in to Gotham General. I hope you understand. So instead, I was thinking I could make up for it by taking us on a proper...excursion." He danced around the word on the tip of his tongue, date. "A walk somewhere pretty in the city, maybe. Call me back soon, please. Thank you." He hung up then, and placed his flip phone back in his jacket pocket.

Jeremiah pulled out a map of the city and looked for a simple test area. He wouldn't use the bombs, not yet. He just wanted to see how long it took for flames to spread in these old buildings. Settling on a section of apartment complexes uptown, he moved the map aside and began his ascent up the metal staircase to the outside world.

Hopefully, he'd be able to get Ecco to purchase him some cosmetic supplies. He didn't want to walk around with Bruce looking like this...not yet at least. But that was for him to worry about later. Right now, he needed to pay a certain teenage billionaire's laboratory a visit.

Author's Note~

Hello, I'm Evelyn. I began writing this little story about six months ago on ao3, and after its conclusion, I decided I should bring it over here to you guys. I really hope you're enjoying it so far, and if you have any questions or feedback, please, please, feel free to let me know! Thanks for reading, I'll have more up for you soon!