Dr. Hugo crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees.
Before he went mad, back when he taught at Gotham University, he had often adopted this posture when confronted with his students' absurd research proposals.
"I don't understand. We've already done everything we can. How are we supposed to speed up the plan?"
"I need to borrow your friend."
Riddler looked toward the mechanical head smacking its lips on the table.
"Please leave Jervis Tetch alone. His life has been tragic enough. Harold Wayne used and discarded him, his corpse fell into Jeremiah's hands, and finally, I turned him into this."
"Exactly, buddy. Everyone's drooling over my powers! I don't trust anyone except Professor Strange anymore, even if you do have excellent taste in hats."
Mad Hatter had had enough of his fucked-up life. Though his consciousness and powers had been preserved intact, he could no longer do anything. Even getting a little cheap sexual pleasure required Hugo to load a special piece of code for him.
Honestly, every time they did that, it left him with the nauseating feeling that a man had sucked him off.
Of course, Mad Hatter hadn't been entirely useless.
He had pulled off a perfect save late one night at Arkham Asylum.
With the help of hallucinogens, he had successfully drawn Gordon and William into an illusion, helping Hugo conceal the truth about Zsasz's escape.
But now, it seemed those two cops might have discovered something.
Otherwise, there was no explaining why Batman had set his sights on the asylum.
Poor Mad Hatter had doubted his own hypnotic abilities before he ever suspected Deathstroke might have failed. It was even less likely to occur to him that Deathstroke had abandoned his pursuit of the target over a single remark from William.
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