"Is there any news on Mr. Dent?" asked Jervis Tetch, as Jonathan Crane returned to the new factory they had rented.
"Nothing good," replied Crane, with a sigh. "He hasn't woken up yet. But his condition is stable. The burns, as you might imagine, will never fully heal."
"The poor man," murmured Tetch. "I can't imagine living with a deformity like that."
"Yes, his career is very likely over," sighed Crane. "Even if he recovers, nobody will ever vote for a man with half a face. He used his looks to get ahead and be popular – now he's going to lose everything he gained from those."
"Except Miss Ivy," said Tetch. "I can't believe she could be that shallow as to leave a man just because of an accident."
"No," agreed Crane. "She hasn't left his side since it happened. She will stand by him, whatever happens. I think she knows something of loss herself, and would never inflict that pain on anyone she cares about."
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "How's the mixing coming along?"
"Slowly," replied Tetch, gesturing to the single, large vat. "We lost so much in the fire – we can't produce on the scale we used to. We barely have enough to fill the Arkham Club's orders, let alone all the other speakeasies."
"We'll have to put a limit on the orders until we're back up to full capacity," said Crane, examining the chemicals pouring into the vats. "Perhaps it'll be better in the long run. Scarcity drives prices up, after all. We'll likely double or even triple our income. Plus with Mr. Napier out of the picture, there's more profit for us."
"Is he out of the picture?" asked Tetch.
Crane shrugged. "He hasn't asked to resume his former duties. And I don't want a man as unpredictable as that working for us anyway."
"No," agreed Tetch. He paused. "Why…did he blow up City Hall? There was no reason for it – his friends were in there…"
"Because he is evil," interrupted Crane. "And insane, as I told Mr. Wayne. He doesn't have reasons that make sense to anyone else."
He sighed. "Which is a shame, since with Mr. Dent out of office, it's very unlikely that things will continue as they are. The law won't turn a blind eye to all of us anymore. Commissioner Loeb is a coward, and without Mr. Dent to protect him, he'll be too scared to continue his criminal favoritism. Without Mr. Dent to protect us all, I fear our activities can only have a limited run."
"So what should we do?" asked Tetch, gently.
Crane sighed. "Finish this batch," he said. "We'll split it among the speakeasies as best we can. And then I think we should probably leave town before things start to heat up. Dark days are coming to Gotham, especially with this Joker on the loose. Before it was organized crime. Now it's disorganized chaos. And nobody wants that."
"Too true," agreed Tetch, with a heavy sigh. "Nobody can live in a mad place without going mad themselves. Look at Wonderland."
"Well yes, quite," agreed Crane. "Now why don't you head home and get some rest, Jervis? I'll take the night shift."
Tetch nodded, wishing him a goodnight and leaving the factory. Crane examined all the dials and settings, making sure the alcohol was stable, and then left the main room of the factory to head off into his laboratory.
Crane occupied himself during the long night shifts with his own pet project – chemical experimentation in fear. Fear was a subject that had obsessed him ever since he was a boy, where he had been tormented by schoolyard bullies. He had always imagined that one day he could control the fear that he had been subjected to, and inflict it on those who deserved it, if not through physical means, then through chemical ones. Since he spent most of his time surrounded by the chemicals used to produce alcohol, in his spare time he would use those and others he found around the factories to try to create a fear toxin, with limited success so far.
As the night drew on, he worked diligently, with occasional breaks to monitor the alcohol. By sunrise, he had a completed toxin, but doubted it would be any more effective than any of the others he had made.
"Only one way to find out," he muttered, reaching into a cage where he kept a lab rat. He filled a syringe with the toxin and then injected it into the animal, watching to see any reaction it might have.
There was none. The rat went calmly back to its food, looking as unconcerned as ever. Crane sighed heavily. "Wonderful," he muttered, tossing the syringe back on the table. "Another failure, Crane. Story of your life."
He yawned and stretched, heading back out of the room and out of the main factory to go get a breath of fresh air. Everything was silent inside except for the bubbling of the alcohol and the occasional squeak from the rat.
And then a figure moved in the shadows, a figure in a purple suit. He stole carefully into the laboratory, picking up the beaker of toxin on the table and examining it in gloved hands. He turned to look at the rat, which caught sight of him suddenly and began squeaking in terror, its whole body shaking as it squealed helplessly, scratching at the bars in panic. The figure grinned, a huge, red-lipped grin, and then took the vial of toxin and entered the main room of the factory. He approached the vat filled with alcohol and then dumped the toxin in, watching it mix with the alcohol and disappear.
He giggled madly as it dissolved, and then returned to the laboratory, shattering the glass vial on the stones. Then he opened the cage to release the rat, which went dashing off into the factory, squeaking madly. "Careless of Johnny not to lock the cage," chuckled the figure. "The rat got out and knocked over his beaker. No loss, of course, since it doesn't work or anything. Nobody will suspect a thing!"
He chuckled hysterically under his breath, heading back out the window he had entered by. "Let the fun begin!" he laughed.