This chapter frustrated me. I am so lucky to have you guys. Thank you! You are always appreciated and encouraged to comment. Yes, you've all been wondering about Firetongue and his antics. All is revealed. Gracious me, onward!

"Professor! You're face…who did this?"

The skin around his eyes was red, chapped as if raked by fingernails a thousand times…or deeply affected by heat. His eyes were pink, starved from hydration, veins protruding grotesquely, a deep maroon spider web forming over his mildly filmed pupils.

"I don't know," he replaced his hand to its previous position. "Someone jumped me from the shadows. He attacked. There was a great heat surrounding us. It was around me for so long that I…mmm…" he stopped, shivering too much to continue. His skin was paler, almost bluish in color. His symptoms were unknown to her. A great heat?

"Jonathan," she breathed.

"I didn't see him." Josephine helped him into a sitting position, leaving the other two behind her. He struggled to face her, but his eyes were off kilter. She writhed internally to meet his gaze. "Josephine," he reached for her, but grabbed empty air. "I can't see you."

"What? No, you have to be able to see me. You can. I'm in front of you."

"I can't…I can't see anything…"

The Clown Princess suppressed a gasp when he closed his eyes. Her anger boiled. Chap whimpered beside her, nuzzling her hurt hand.

"Him? You know it was a him?" She turned to the two henchmen standing idly beside. "Did either of the two of you see him? Hmm? If you did, answer me!"

The two shuffled slightly, not meeting her gaze. "We can't have seen him. He weren't where I thought he were," answered one.

She looked at him questioningly. "What does that even mean?" She asked none too enthused by his riddles. "I have no use for any of you who speak without sense. Go work for Riddler if that's the way you'll be. I need answers! Did any of you even try to fight him at all, or go to your boss's aide?" She was standing now. "No, I don't think you did! Look at the state of him." She gestured to the sick body lying there. "What do you do to get your money?"

"We didn't have time to do anything! He stood there over the professor after he torched the others, creating this…heat wave. And when you arrived, he ran off quick as that. There was no time at all to do anything about it."

Josephine decided to let the argument relax, and instead turned her attentions to her dear professor, lying helpless on the ground. "Dr. Crane, can you hear me? Don't go to sleep. You need to stay awake now." She turned back to the henchmen. "Can I trust you to look after him while I search the area a bit? I don't want him hurt again, understand?" She flipped out her knife. "Do you need incentive?"

The two shook their heads fervently. "No, no, we're fine the way we are." They came nearer avoiding her touch when she got up and walked past them, giving them the evil eye as she passed by. She could not deny the joy of seeing the shiver that ran down the spine of one.

Josephine began walking down the street, eyes wide for anything remotely resembling a flame. Even if it was Firetongue, she couldn't understand why he would commit such an act. He knew the professor was good to her. She told him that. Was her word not good enough for him? Should he deny her in pursuit of his own intuitions? Better yet, what would she do when she found him? It was all so problematic.

She came upon a dumpster in an alley. Beside it, the culprit. A quiet little fire breather looked up at her with pleading amber eyes. The small scar slits around his eyes were more pronounced with the glowing of the irises.

"Hi Firetongue," she said in a mock little girl voice. Her smile stretched across her cheeks. "What're you doing here?"

A strain of emotions crossed her mind: anger, frustration, sadness, anger again, disappointment, weakness, anger…

She approached him. He stood. His mouth was still, eyes pink as if ready to cry, like a child. A finger tugged at a rag hanging off his hand-me-down clothing.

Josephine stared strongly and knew. She knew. She shivered and shook uncontrollably. Her breathing was heavy as she delivered a harsh slap across his face. He did nothing in return. The sting settled on the weathered skin. Then she provided another on the opposite. A struggled inhale through his nostrils suggested the strength of emotion boiling inside. How fervently he struggled to prevent retaliation. He might even sob. She didn't care. She delved another and another until his face was in bruised.

This time, she hit him in the chest and kept pushing him away until he hit the brick wall behind. The silent beating went on.

"Why did you hurt him?" She cried, still giving him the punishment. "Why, why, why?"

I thought he hurt you! His eyes implored.

He stopped her hands and held them tight.

I saw him and didn't see you. In all that commotion before. I didn't know what became of you. He might have dropped you off somewhere…in a dumpster! I lost control and attacked him.

"It's not your place to assume such things about him! He could be blind forever!"

I thought you were dead!

He released his grip.

She hit him one last time in the chest –weakly. She stalked away from him.

"He would never hurt me." She stated. "Know that. Ever."

She breathed in deeply, nerves shattered. Her body felt cold against the soft new morning breeze. She felt weak. Too much emotion for one night. Josephine straightened her coat, and rolled her neck diplomatically, trying to pull herself together. She started walking away to the van. The men would be wondering where she would be.

"I was following Catwoman. She destroyed all those vans in pursuits of us. That's why I wasn't among the rest."

Starting off, there were footsteps behind her. She did not look back.

"If you follow me this time, you not only follow me –but him –understand?"

She felt his eyes bear into the back of her head. She marched with more force.

"But know this, you don't have my forgiveness."

Vrroooommmm….purred the van. Trees all around passed as they headed out for the summer places Gotham's elite traveled. The December months knew no one, making it the ideal hid out. The professor was a genius in his way. His head lay against her shoulder as the van crawled across the countryside. She pet him thoughtfully as he slept, eyes covered by a wrap he tore from his costume. His breathing was deep and soothing. Josephine found herself inhaling in the same rhythm, feeling closer to him. Her heart was full as her fingers thread themselves in his hair. The slender pale digits vanished through the auburn field. She sighed being this close, taking care of him. Her repressed feelings were able to come through the tiny slit through her austere façade. All the years she never cared and now she could do as little as feel his skin against hers and do nothing but wish he would waken and tell him all she felt. How she wished she could do that.

Alas, she would not. Not in this situation.

Chap was stretched out on the floor in front of her, snoring. All she could see was brown and black spots. Soft fur warmed her feet.

"Do you know where the hideout is?" She asked the driver.

"Just about."

She relaxed in her seat. "Did he tell you?"

"I saw the map to it. We're going in the right direction."

She hoped so. They had been driving about an hour now. It should not be too far away. Apparently it was just on the outskirts of the city. Somewhere in the woods. Good, she thought, away from everything for once. A break that doesn't include Arkham.

One thing she did wish for was a suitable vacation and a bottle of the finest merlot she could find. Perhaps this place they were in going to would have a decent supply of alcohol for the aching body as for the heart. If not, she would make do with bleach.

The black van crawled across the country with two henchmen in the front, she and Jonathan in the middle seats, and…Firetongue in the back with the cargo. She tilted slightly to view him sitting on a box staring out the window, head drooping in the guilt fashion. She could not feel much pity for him. She should, she knew, but couldn't. He hurt the professor. He may never see again. He did nothing wrong. Why did Firetongue have to be so…impulsive sometimes. Now wasn't that the pot calling the kettle black. She did act that way most times. But he should have known the professor would have never done anything to hurt her, ever. He cared, she thought, enough for her to tell her to accompany him, to wait on her, cook for him, to teach and stay by his side and let her into his world and….

She paused. He did…care. He accomplished what other rogues never really did. He justly sought out those who tortured him in his youth and hurt them until they bled or died in the attempt. He was a hero in her eyes, if not a little bit of an idol. All the same, she felt so strongly for him, she didn't know what else to do about it but sit there with him. Mulling it all over.

She owed her life to him. He was the reason she was alive right now, thinking about him. He saved her. It was an act not many could attest to. Besides Batman, of course. He never counted. He saved everyone. A rogue saves only who he chooses.

And he chose Josephine Quinzel.

Two years ago…

Arkham Asylum was not a spook house. It was not an amusement park. It was not ever a mental hospital.

Arkham Asylum was nothing less than a prison for the misfortunate mentally insane.

That was the recurrent thought of all rogues who passed through the doors of the darkened place, its walls whitewashed until it reached bleached potential, ceilings yellow from years of neglect, sometimes bent under weight of patients escaping though the vents. Perhaps even a time or two with Batman up there, or even one of his brats.

No, Arkham was not a good place for children or adults. It was never a place to call one's home. But Josephine Quinzel had called it everything she ever thought of and more. And, she was about to give it a new name.

Sixteen was not an age where one would think a person would be locked away or more importantly, in a cell at AA. Josephine had been there, under circumstances grim and gory in an out for over half of her life. She wasn't there for her younger years. Foster care was in that equation, but soon, the homes of her benefactors could not repress the powerful emotions of discord running deep within the veins of the Joker's spawn. Since the Howard incident, she was confined to a cell for each of her misgivings. She was given nothing less than the treatment of a terrible, violent tempered inmate who deserved the ill begotten "treatments" delved by none other than the new doctor there: Professor Hugo Strange.

She was a favorite of his. By favorite, she meant he liked her to pick on the best. If it wasn't a senseless lunatic who couldn't spell his own name that his was electrocuting or sticking needles in, it was Josephine Quinzel.

Why was this man so horrid a person as to treat a patient like this at an asylum? Because he himself, was insane.

It was the only other reason Josephine could come up with as she sat, terrified in his office, quivering under his hands as he hooked the wiring into her, not bothering with any anesthesia and setting fire to the lightning in her body. White hot pains circulated her limbs and muscles as she writhed in the punishment whilst Strange lectured her on what a depraved and undesirable creature she was. How she was such a misgiving to the world, being the daughter of a madman and his madwoman. She was a creature that deserved nothing less than to rot in the dungeons of the asylum.

"Cry for me little clown. Cry out and say what a bad little girl you've been."

"Please stop, please…ah! Please! It hurts so bad…"

"No, I will never stop, Josephine Quinzel. No until you've learned your lesson. It's a long one today.

Josephine had no choice but to bear his punishments when she arrived. It was not only then needles that stuck, but the whistle. The Goddamned whistle that only reached octaves dogs could hear. That, and Josephine. Due to her genetic madness, she was left with the handicap of having a sensitive ear, but not in the beneficial. THe high whisper of the whistle could send her in a migraine that made her collapse on the floor, writing in mental agony. THe Professor enjoyed blowing it lightly, and building more and more tension, teasing and taunting her ears until she felt like she was about the bleed. What was worse: it left no mark. The pain was merely internal, leaving no burns, or scraps across her pale form to show for any evidence.

It was not the food nor the sanitation she loathed more than Hugo Strange and his needles. She couldn't tell her father. She tried, but Strange only warned her that if she told a single soul what he did to her in his office, that he would kill her mother and make it look like suicide. She would not have taken the threat so seriously if Harley Quinn had not been incarcerated in the same period. She was helpless against him.

Once, just once, she almost succeeded into destroying the device he used: a portable electroshock box that hooked up directly to a patient. It was stored in his closet while visited by his superiors.

Josephine managed to happen into his office during a breakout, searching for the wretched thing during her precious escape minutes. She could not find it. When she did, the doorknob turned and she could only slam the closet door and burst through the window, heart beating out of her chest while doing so. She broke: a leg, an elbow, lacerated her neck (via trees), and broke her wrist. The doctors said she was lucky she was alive. That was the last time she ever tried to foil Strange's plots.

That is, until Professor Crane gave her mercy.

A sixteen-year-old Josephine Quinzel sat behind a Plexiglas wall, head against the cold material, thinking of how to avoid her appointment that day. Her neighbors were the usual, but without Two-Face. He was out and about Gotham, terrorizing it with his duality treatment. Firefly was gone too, leaving her with Dr. Jonathan Crane as a companion.

Unbeknownst to her, he watched as she leaned against the glass, face absorbing the coolant. Her eyes were closed, trying to form some sense of peace. It was never too near. He watched as her eyes moved behind the lids, swirling in attempt to find some sort of secret place within her mind that was not filled with laughter. Her father got her into this mess. Now she would have to face the creature alone.

Jonathan Crane was first to speak.

"We are alone."

Josephine did not open her eyes, but nodded. "Yes, I suppose so."

He wet his lips, nodding. "Yes."

"I suppose our neighbors were much cleverer than we in their exploits."

He stiffened at the comment. Did she dare challenge the Master of Fear? His posture relaxed when she cracked open an eye and half smiled. If the clown had made such a remark, Crane would have strangled him, but his daughter's smile was not one of mirth. It was of play.

Her eyes closed as she tried to sit up, quaking as she did, stretching her arms. A yawn escaped. "Mmm…Professor Crane, do you ever sleep in these cells? I certainly never found any comfort in them. The beds are too hard. Would you say so?"

The professor was a bit startled by how quickly she responded to his attempt at small talk. Harley Quinn was her mother. She must have inherited some friendliness. If Jervis were here, he would applaud him, after always pestering him that he was so anti-social. When the man in question never spoke to the girl he adored and landed himself in the darkest of asylums. But he wasn't here now.

"Like a rock." He edged a bit closer to the glass to view her properly. She was older than he thought, eyes bright with excitement, and dressed in an orange Arkham jumpsuit. Her skin was like her father's: bone pale. Since her incarceration, her vein bulged from her skin more, leading him to believe she was sickly.

Again, she sighed with boredom. "Professor, how do you survive here? It takes a toll out on me… but you mustn't repeat that."

He smiled to himself. No he wouldn't. He was still agitated by how he couldn't put a finger on how she affected him. It was like everything she said made him melt away. His anger felt like nothing. It was very strange indeed. "I survive only due to my mental strength and ability to keep to myself." How ironic both phrases were. "There is nothing else to do but stare at a wall, but I look to the greater matters, like my plans for the future."

"What are your plans? I don't mean to pry, but there is nothing else to do here." Her voice was sincere. He couldn't prevent the anxiety with it. She was the clown's daughter. She might –no, would –tell him about whatever he said. He wasn't about to fall into some sort of trap. He was interrupted with a quip.

"I know what you're thinking. 'Josephine Quinzel, who would tell her anything?' I don't blame you. But I do admit that I won't remember a thing. I'm so chalked up on medication, I feel like sleeping for a thousand years. Might be nice to, too."

Against his better judgment, he relented, regaling stories of the news and his accomplishments in the past years. His television appearances, time at Gotham University as a professor, even as the Arkham Asylum director. All were his happier times. Now, he was pushed and prodded like a lab rat, in the very institution he helped to found such a tremendous notoriety for. Forced to eat slivers of just deserts, he hated the lot of his colleagues and wanted to kill them. He told her so. She nodded sympathetically. A good listener. It was rare in this strange place.

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss while we're here?"

She yawned again. He didn't know how much time had passed by. Many an hour he would suspect. They talked about a variety of subjects. Much as he hated to admit it, he enjoyed their conversations. Tetch was usually babbling about something not so important to him: Lewis Carroll. But this girl, this child, seemed to understand. It was wondrous.

This type of meeting occurred over the next couple of months whenever they joined incarceration together. They would update each other on the events, and Josephine would even venture to inquire about his experiments and the chemistry behind it. She was truly fascinated. Her interest delighted him again, had he mentioned how excited he was that another shared a common interest.

One had once shared that, but she had diminished his heart and dismissed him as a lunatic. His lingering feelings –rather, broken pride –would not allow him that mistake again. But an idea flickered into his mind, but it was too much for him to think. Josephine may not ever agree to something such as that.

One afternoon, there was an instant where Josephine was being tugged away against her will, which was a common sight amongst the rogues. She bit the guard and he called out, "get her, get her! The brat bit me! I'm bleeding! Gouge out her eyes if you can!"

More guards held her as they removed her from her cell, teething on their arm, and trying to break anything she got her hands on. Dr. Crane was more than attentive during this. Apparently, she was on her trip to her doctor. A Professor Hugo Strange. Nobody he really knew. There were rumors, mind you. Everyone knew the rumors, but he believed them false. It was idiotic to believe everything. However, he kept an eye out for this Hugo Strange.

"Let me go! I swear to you I'm going. Unhand me now!"

"Calm down little clown, you little dirty imp. Get off the floor now! Do as I say. The Doc wants you to go to his office now. Time for your lesson."

"No!" She screamed, more desperately than any other inmate had ever screamed. Its pitch unsettled the professor and his stood, hands pressed against the slick, cool glass.

"Stop handling her like that! She doesn't want to go. Tell the doctor to come another time."

"Hey Professor you're in the Looney bin now, so don't be barking orders at me. She's got a schedule. She knows it and is going to abide by it, even if I have to tear each little hair off your head to make you move!" He directed himself and grabbed Josephine's hair, sending her tumbling to the ground. She moaned. A hand threaded through her brown locks, massaging the sore roots.

Something boiled inside the professor that could not be suppressed. "Get her off the floor and treat her better you idiots. She isn't a doll you can play with. She is a human being!"

"Ooh, listen to the ickle scarecrows' giving us speeches about humanity. What? Got a little crush on the urchin? Aw, you know that's probably illegal, but with you crazies, it's as normal as incest."

The professor pounded against the glass, accomplishing nothing but sending a bolt of pain up his arm. He winced only slightly. Too angered to notice. If only he could break through the glass and get to the guard, he would, oh he would…wait, why would he react so?

"Heh heh, look at the professor. He's so lost in his little mind he can't even think for himself. These crazies, you know, got to defend yourself against them, or else they'll jump you in the shadows. Aw professor, that's not a nice thing to think about the little clown. She's only a baby. She isn't too young for me though." He made a crude gesture with his hand.

Dr. Crane sprang up, both arms slamming into the glass, an expression of terror inducing anger exploded all over his face.

"DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT YOU LOW, CRASS HEATHENS! MAY YOU ROT IN HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY! I'M COMING AFTER YOU WHEN I BREAK OUT!"

The guards stopped and stared at him. One was utterly wet with urine. The others stared fearfully at the famed Master of Fear. Well, except for the one.

"God, Professor, don't give me a heart attack next time, right?"

Professor Crane kept beating on the glass, fists bleeding from the burst veins as they left, still shouting at them.

"WHEN I GET OUT, YOU ARE FIRST TO GO! DO YOU HEAR ME? THE FIRST TO BE INDUCTED INTO SCARECROW'S WORLD OF FEAR!"

The guard only laughed loudly as they dragged Josephine down the halls. The others simply tried to keep their bladders from exploding her crying. The one who peed himself walked away disgracefully in search on more pants.

When she returned to him, she was nothing but a doll collapsed under the pressures of psychological analysis. Completely unconscious, they dumped her on her cot, locked the cell, and left.

Jonathan edged closer to her cells. It was diagonal and he could not see her very well, although he wanted to so badly. She was not well.

"Josephine," he called. No answer. "Josephine?"

She moved only slightly, adjusting her drooping head in his direction. Her face had marking beyond an average prison sickness. It was pure fatigue and pain. She was tired from something. Her lack of answering worried him. She always answered him. What happened in that room? If the rumors were right, what had that doctor done?

"Josephine, answer me, are you safe here? What happened with your doctor? Did he do something?"

The very words made him sick. The thought of someone doing something to hurt her like that. "Josephine!"

"Pipe down Professor, or else you'll get the Taser. You want the Taser!" said a guard.

Dr. Crane sat back on his cot, eyes fixated on the broken creature in its cell. Something had happened in there. He didn't know what, but he would find out. And if it was real…Strange would need God more than any other man.

That evening, he broke from his cell, bribing one of the kinder, dumber guards. He worked his way down the hallways. Unbeknownst to Josephine, he searched through Strange's quarters, trying to find some evidence. There was little of anything that could incriminate the man. Everything was heavily ordered and looked after. To his dismay, the professor left the office, but he managed to grab his scarecrow costume from the storage rooms. He planned instead to give his fellow professor a taste of his own medicine. He returned the room and hid until morning.

When Josephine awoke, she heard screams of guards to retain the scarecrow. "He had escaped!" "Professor Strange was in trouble!" "He's been struck with fear toxin!"

She edged out of her bed to see two sets of guards hauling in the thin, wild form of Scarecrow, screaming obscurities at the guards as they threw him into his cell.

The bigger one leaned to the glass once the door was properly shut tight. "Listen, Professor, what you've done is something very naughty. Now, if you apologize to me about the other day, maybe I can work something out with the other guards and help you out. Maybe." He winked like slime. "And if you don't," his voice went dark, "I'm going to let the electrocution take place all on its own. You'll get yours professor."

The professor motioned him closer. The snarky young man leaned in, as if to hear the final confession. Scarecrow's stitched lips reached the glass and whispered with the grim hoarseness of the grim reaper.

"You think I won't do what I promise? You fool. My word is my bond. Whatever comes to me will be worth hearing the screams of hosanna to the almighty Master of Fear!" He broke off into mad laughter which the guard spat on. He turned to his fellow guards.

"Tell the doctors they may do whatever they like to him. Whatever punishment should be decided by…the victim himself." He grinned, leaving. As he did, he winked at Josephine, who shirked away with a glare of her own.

Nearing the glass, she felt something in her heart as the professor slouched against the glass, breathing deeply.

Oh, professor, what have they done to you? What have you done to him? Why do it?

It was then the epiphany came.

She licked her lips, making a silent vow inside that she made fully well to obey. To someone so willing to stand against that man as Strange for whatever reason, she would stand by his side and help if, if only for a time. It would be so.

That evening, Josephine received a message through a corrupt guard that Joker had given her the okay for a breakout. She would be in Gotham in her bed at their current hideout. Finally, a comfortable place she could feel better about. Perhaps, she would even have the time to better train her new men. They were still very green from their time at the circus. But a bed and a homey sanctuary was something she longed for…

The professor. She stopped in front of his cell. He was asleep in his cot, without his mask. The orderlies had taken away his clothing and replaced it with the usual jumpsuit. It made him look all the frailer.

"Professor?" She whispered, careful that the other guards could not hear. The corrupt ones had made sure to stay off her hall to allow a safe escape. It was thoughtful of her father and to think she wouldn't have to wash blood off her clothes once back at the hideout.

"Professor? Please wake up, it's me."

He turned in his bed, face confused by the intrusion at such an hour. He was more confused when he saw that it was Josephine at the glass, free. He stood, walking sleepily to the glass, watching her from the other side. "Josephine, what are you doing out-"

"-my father made arrangements for me. I'm going to leave this place and not come back for as long as possible. I never want back here again. But," she paused, looking down. When she gazed back up, it was into the doctor's brown eyes, still weary from his beatings. She placed a hand on the glass. "I don't want to leave you."

The shock that followed was expected. She took it as a compliment. It was the truth. She didn't want to leave without him, even thought she would have to. "Professor, since I'm going to have to leave you, I want to say something before I do. About Strange-"

"-he isn't a problem anymore, at least, for a time. He may be back sooner than I hope. Although I did give him a strong test of toxin."

She couldn't hold back a smile. "Thank you, Professor, for what you did. You don't know how much I really wanted to do that myself. But knowing what you're capable of, I'm sure it was equal to it."

Now he was smiling, though unknown why. He found himself placing a hand on the spot with hers. He stared at it, speculating what his Ego was trying to tell him. "It was…nothing."

"But it wasn't." Her smile left and was replaced with an earnest expression. "There was something else I need to tell you, or ask you, that is." She checked down the hall for any eavesdroppers. When satisfied, she continued. "It is something my father should never know. If he did, it would be horrible for all parties involved."

He listened intently.

"I want to thank you for what you did with an act of my own. You told me about your experiments, about the chemistry of them, your work and life. I…want to aide you, if you'll have me." Her eyes were full in longing. "Please don't deny me the opportunity to help you. It is my wish."

He was wordless. The Clown Princess of Crime wanted to help him? He had spoken to her for months and could not decide on falsehood. She was very heartfelt in what she told him. He felt troubled by allowing another into his work. What would that mean? What would it signify? The work would go much faster with an assistant. She knew basics of particles and elements. Why should she not be a good, if not the best, person for the position? He was unaware if he completely trusted her. But he did a little, and that might grow over time.

He nodded at her. "Yes, you may be my assistant, Josephine."

She smiled quickly and looked to her side when she heard a clank.

"You must remember not to breathe of word about this to anyone. If my father knew," she whispered, he expected she would be ashamed and thought of as a wily daughter sowing her wild oats elsewhere as well as her loyalties. What she said next shocked him. "He would kill you, or worse, hurt you to the point that you wished for death."

Her voice caught only for a moment, just enough to give her true emotion away. She was not lying about either.

"I agree, Josephine, only don't let Tetch know about it either. He will pummel me for details about a supposed relationship."

She smiled again. She breathed a sigh of relief. "You have my word, professor." Her gaze followed down the hall where voices were starting. "Professor, I need to go." Her hand lingered there for a moment whilst the two stared at the gesture. "Please, remember me. I'm so sorry I can't break you out too but-"

"-of course, you have other worries. Go, go."

"Thank you again professor." She removed her hand to leave but halted. She stepped forward, leaning forward a bit (she was taller than he thought) and kissed the glass where his cheek would be.

Before a blush could creep up, she backed away and ran down the hall.

And so the career between Jonathan Crane and Josephine Quinzel began.