Reckless Impetuosity

Arkham Asylum, Sector B2.

After three rounds of body searches, William walked down the gloomy corridor.

The madmen on either side pounded on their cell doors. Some reached through the barred windows, screaming and groaning as guards struck them with iron batons; others slammed rhythmically against their doors, letting out meaningless laughter.

But most simply screamed hysterical abuse.

"I'm not crazy!"

"Let me out!!! I was framed!!"

Bracing himself, William made it through that stretch of hell and finally reached the visitation room.

On the other side of the glass, smeared with handprints and grease, was Victor Zsasz's vicious, scarred face.

"How have you been?" William spoke first.

"Not bad. And you, my dearest friend?"

"Ran into some trouble, but fortunately, it worked out fairly well. Let's talk. Why did you want to see me?" William hadn't actually wanted to see Zsasz. He'd only come because the man's affection for him remained high.

"I missed you. That's all! If I hadn't asked, you wouldn't have come to visit, would you? You don't actually want to see me!"

William nodded. He wasn't afraid of making Zsasz cry.

Once he'd won someone over, their affection wouldn't drop. All he had to do now was commit fully to the philosophy of a heartless bastard.

Suddenly, Zsasz leaned his head toward the glass.

That wasn't easy. His neck and wrists were secured to an iron chair, and the tightened straps squeezed the breath out of him.

"My friend, something here is... wrong... They've been giving me medication lately... It hasn't controlled my urge to kill. Instead, it's made me... stranger and stranger!"

William didn't understand what Zsasz was getting at.

"My friend... get me out! You're the only one who can help me..." Tears welled in Zsasz's eyes. It was hard to tell whether they came from the straps choking him or the fear inside him.

William didn't want to see a serial killer escape every punishment on the strength of a psychiatric diagnosis, so he would never heed the man's pleas for rescue.

Still, what Zsasz had described was worth investigating, once William finished the work currently on his plate.

Leaving the visitation room, William was about to take a cab back to the station when he encountered a middle-aged man in a white coat and thick glasses beside the iron gate.

"Mister William Hans!"

The middle-aged man offered his hand. He looked as though he'd been waiting specifically for William.

"What did you think of your visit?"

Without introducing himself, the man went straight to asking for William's impressions.

"Uh... I saw fear in Zsasz. Is there something wrong with your treatment methods?"

"Everything is legal and compliant. His ability to feel fear is precisely a sign that his mental illness is being cured. Wouldn't you agree?"

"That makes sense. So, you are...?"

William raised an eyebrow, discreetly steering the conversation back toward the man's identity.

But the man refused to follow his lead.

"I noticed on the surveillance feed that Mister Zsasz said a few things to you. Please disregard them. Treating psychiatric patients doesn't produce results overnight. His perceptions are still accompanied by hallucinations, so please don't take any of his more outlandish statements to heart."

The man clasped his hands in front of him and smiled warmly.

William, however, remained wary.

Zsasz's warped mind didn't seem to have anything to do with hallucinations.

"Yes, I understand. I won't take a psychiatric patient's words to heart." Outwardly, William continued to play along.

"That's wonderful. Oh, right, I nearly forgot to introduce myself..."

Smiling, the man handed him a business card.

Oh, you nearly forgot to introduce yourself?! Who would believe that crap? You're just eager to clear yourself of suspicion. Who knows what experimental drugs you're secretly giving Zsasz.

William grumbled inwardly, but froze the instant he took the card.

It was blank.

"Guards! Guards! We've found Hugo Strange!!!" A team of security guards jogged over at the shout. Two or three seized the man's arms and pinned him to a movable chair.

The man didn't struggle, but his gaze stayed fixed on William.

"Everything I said was true. Everything I said was false. Which do you think is the real answer?"

Before being escorted away, the patient named Hugo Strange left him with those words.

Meanwhile, Stuart, who had pulled off the switch, spent three days holed up in the sealed-off old manor. Finally, early on the fourth morning, Harold arrived.

"Get your things together. There are a few urgent documents to sign. Come with me to headquarters."

Afraid Harold would notice the difference in his voice, Stuart merely grunted his agreement.

Focused entirely on work, Harold suspected nothing. He took his "puppet" into a bulletproof sedan and headed straight for Wayne Tower.

"You seem a little different lately."

Inside the car, Harold suddenly spoke.

The remark, coming out of nowhere, made Stuart clench his fists. At this distance, he had nine ways to stop the old man opposite him from breathing in an instant.

"Much better behaved."

Fortunately, it was only a compliment.

"Once the equity transfer is complete, I'll give you ten million and a manor. You can move into Wayne Manor instead, if you like."

"And what about the real Bruce Wayne?" Stuart's expression darkened.

"He'll soon disappear from this world for good. I believe that boy will hand him over to me. No one can resist the temptation of money. If someone does, it only means the amount hasn't met their expectations."

Harold tapped the armrest. The window reflected his smug face.

Under his management, Wayne Enterprises' revenue had risen nearly forty percent over the past year, far exceeding the eight-to-twelve-percent growth of previous years.

He'd discovered that all he had to do was slash charitable spending, cut employee benefits, and send those money-burning parasites in the technology R&D department packing, and the company's earning power would improve dramatically.

Wayne Enterprises' business interests were incredibly broad, spanning education, healthcare, housing, and insurance. They covered every service a Gotham resident could need from birth to death.

This wasn't a company. It was a printing press that never stopped churning out money.

They took the elevator to the Chairman's Office on the ninety-ninth floor. The moment Stuart stepped inside, the view captivated him.

Aside from the load-bearing columns and beams, the entire floor was open and unobstructed. A ceiling twice the height of an ordinary office floor made it feel like a palace, while enormous floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view over all of Gotham.

Far to the north lay the Gotham River, shrouded in rain and mist. Modern towers bowed beneath his feet, while to the southeast stood the peculiar Victorian and Gothic buildings of the old city, bearing Gotham's history.

The notorious East End was even more conspicuous. Buried within the surrounding city, it looked like a bubbling swamp of evil.

That wasn't even just a metaphor. Stuart approached the windows and stared at the East End in the gloom.

A tangled web of cables crisscrossed between shacks and dilapidated apartment buildings. Fires burned in places, sending up billowing black smoke. He could even faintly make out a vast crowd of demonstrators surging across an intersection, facing riot police armed with shields.

If he sat in this office, he would surely want to cut that cancer out of Gotham, too.

"Stop wasting your attention on those liabilities."

Harold tapped the documents on the desk.

Stuart stepped forward, picked up the pen, and quickly scanned the documents.

They concerned a project to build new water purification facilities along the Gotham River. Every district was covered except the East End.

"You don't need to read so carefully. Just copy this signature."

Harold sounded impatient as he tapped the sample beside them.

Once he had the signatures, he left without looking back, leaving Stuart in the office.

A golden opportunity!

William had repeatedly warned him to act cautiously and remain undercover until the day of the Equity Transfer Ceremony if at all possible.

But with such a golden opportunity right before him, Stuart couldn't keep his cool.

Toying with the highest-clearance access card in his hand, he whistled and wandered toward the elevator, pretending to have no particular destination.

Harold was the acting chairman, and his office was on the floor below. When the elevator doors opened, Stuart stepped inside with his hands in his pockets.

Harold wasn't there. A female secretary holding a folder eyed the bandaged stranger suspiciously.

"Mister Bruce Wayne?"

Stuart nodded.

"This is Mister Harold's office."

"I know. I'm just having a look."

Brazenly, he plopped into the office chair and switched on the computer screen.

Frowning, the secretary approached the phone on the desk. Stuart wasn't about to let her call for backup so easily. Clicking through folders with the mouse, he ordered her:

"Bring me a coffee."

"I want coffee!"

"Didn't you hear me?!!!"

His third demand finally forced the woman to put down the receiver.

Soon, a steaming cup of coffee arrived. Stuart switched the screen to Spider Solitaire and took a sip.

"Not enough sugar!"

He pushed the cup back.

"Not enough milk, either!"

The secretary brought the cup over again, only for him to find another fault and push it away.

"Too much milk. Make it again!"

While the woman went back and forth, he searched the entire computer and rummaged through every desk drawer.

He found no valuable documents, but a small safe beneath the desk caught his attention.

Unfortunately, he had no tools at hand to pick the lock, and hiding it under his clothes to carry it away wasn't an option. Glancing at the woman in the distance, he saw that she'd made a call and was speaking with her hand cupped over the receiver.

Realizing his identity was about to be exposed, Stuart abandoned the act. He tucked several manila envelopes under his arm, hoisted the safe onto his shoulder, and entered the elevator amid the secretary's startled cries.

The elevator descended at full speed. Beyond the glass, Gotham lay shrouded in rain and mist.

Beep! Beep!

A piercing alarm sounded, and the elevator abruptly stopped. Red warning lights flashed as static crackled from the intercom.

"What are you trying to do... No, I should ask, who exactly are you?"

Harold's voice was low and trembling, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Stuart stared directly into the camera and unwound his bandages, layer by layer.

"It's you!! You're not dead!"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mister Harold."

"Disappoint me? No, I'm not disappointed. The outcome won't be any different anyway."

As his words ended, the alarm fell silent.

Then the elevator plunged out of control.