It is in moments of great stress when human beings resort to their true animalistic forms. The sweet and sharp liquor of fear slowly trickled down the back of their throats, triggering their instincts into 'fight-or-flight.' Despite Jerome rarely ever finding himself truly afraid to a point where he regressed to his carnal state, he relished in watching others slowly sink back into small petrified animals. He watched with drunk delight as his brother writhed underneath the thin and immovable restraints. Scarecrow was gripping the jaw of Jerome's mirror image with the same decided power rush. There was something so glorious in being in the shoes of the preditor, especially when said preditor is about to devour his tediously chased prey. Jeremiah's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he passed out from fright, his head flopping back onto the ridged back of the chair as Scarecrow released him.

It was in these small moments of torture that Jerome loved: watching his victim's realization of death dull their eyes, listening to the last attempts of bravery fade in the face of losing all hope; or that sweet second of disbelief when the body is about the give out to the overwhelming stench of terror. These moments were euphoric, they fed the ever-growing worm of insanity in Jerome's head, and they helped provide moments of clarity for him. It was as if the world would stop just for him to take a deep and luxurious breath. That split second of time tasted even better on Jerome's tongue when dosed in the cold broth of revenge. The excitement filled him, knowing that his brother- the boy who caused him so much pain, who abandoned and betrayed him, who forced him into a bleak, dark and unforgiving world- was about to experience the same fear and torture that Jerome had once suffered.

The red-headed mad man let out a low giggle as he watched his brother slump into his restraints.

"Let him regain consciousness, Johnny, I want him to be wide awake for our game," Jerome guided his costumed companion. Scarecrow let go of Jeremiah's jaw and pulled the syringe out with the same forcefulness as he would a knife.

What had been pushed into Jeremiah's veins was a small dose of the chemical formula Scarecrow had started to work on. Jerome watched his brother's body start to shiver, sweat, and crumple as the poison slowly started to work its magic. Jerome imagined the strange lilac liquid crawl through the thin space of his twin brother's veins, causing neurons to fire and adrenaline to start being released. He pictured the formula causing a vibrant, colorful firework display underneath Jeremiah's skin, leaving behind a black and soot-like trail as it burned through his brother's blood; he envisioned the poison slowly dripping into his brother's brain, gradually trickling its way into the frontal lobe, ready to create mayhem.

"How long will it take to work?" Jerome asked, feverish with anticipation.

"With such a small dose I can't be sure but it should take an immediate effect," Scarecrow responded, chucking the needle on a metal table that was positioned to the left of Jeremiah.

Jerome stared at his unconscious brother with wide, excited eyes. He watched for twitches or steam, something which would indicate the effects of the formula was taking effect. The mad man was given nothing, not even a murmur from his brother. With a deep frow, Jerome approached his victim and prodded Jeremiah's face with his finger. All that did was cause his twin's head to flop to the side. Jerome pulled back and quickly looked to Scarcrow with a quizzical expression. Scarecrow merely shrugged in response.

"You don't think he's dead do you?" Jerome asked in a joking tone, his face keeping its confused expression. He then looked at his brothers sleeping face and slapped it. A small groan came from Jeremiah's lips and he quickly winced his way back into consciousness. Jerome let out a loud cackle, jerking back from his brother as he laughed.

"What was that?" Jeremiah spluttered, he gripped the arms of the chair he was tied to, trying to regain a securer position within his restraints.

"Oh nothing to worry your little head about, bro, it's just something to keep you awake." Jerome teased as he approached his brother again, tapping Jeramiah's cheek. He then moved away from the architect and stood next to Scarecrow, who was standing slightly behind the two.

"I-I'm not mad," Jeremiah spoke again, shaking his head to try and dispel any last spots of grogginess. Jerome merely smiled to himself and let Jeremiah sit in silence with those words hanging over him.

Jerome started to shake his head as he looked over the table, his actions faining indecisiveness.

"You would think after all this time, Craine, you'd think I would have decided where to start with Jeremiah here." Jerome sighed, his hands lightly brushing all of the tools in front of the two criminals. Jeremiah ceased at the words.

"Should I go with the cleaver or the belt?" Jerome brought the giant square knife up to his face, the glint of the light bulb getting caught in the blade. Jeremiah could see the utensil in his peripheral, but out of fear, he refused to turn to see the other weapons which were lying up waiting for him.

"Craine? Any thoughts?" Jerome spoke with a sickeningly happy tone. His words and movement are animated like a cartoon villain. Scarecrow was silent.

"No?" Jerome said in a light-hearted way, "belt it is then." He dramatically dropped the giant butcher's knife and grabbed the thick leather belt that was lying coiled. Jeremiah loosed slightly at this decision.

The belt which Jerome was now wrapping around his fists, had a heavy and beautifully detailed silver clasp. It looked like something fat and happy drug dealer would wear. The weighted silver buckle would be the only thing keeping the gangster from popping like a balloon. Jerome moved in front of his brother, wrapping and unwrapping his knuckles with the thick leather almost religiously.

"You must be relieved that you're not going to be losing any body parts," Jerome teased. The clunks of the fastener echoed around Jeremiah as the belt moved, feeding into his anticipation for pain.

"Jerome, please," Jeremiah blurted out, the dread of his fate causing panic to once again rise through him.

Watching Jerome twist and retwist the clothing accessory over and over was terrifying. Not knowing what his captures wanted from him also caused Jeremiah's skin to crawl. Fear moved through his body like air bubbles trapped under his skin.

Jerome's eyebrow raised as his brother started to beg.

"Do you know our dear mother used to have a belt just like this?" he said, slowly tracing the outline of the buckle in his hands. Jeremiah let out a sob.

"She would always say it was our fathers, that it was one of the last things that he left for her," Jerome spoke with fake sadness. his grip tightened around the slack which was wrapped around his fist. He let the buckle fall, the belt now dangling like a pendulum.

The belt buckle slashed through Jeremiah's cheek as it hit him. The leather bit his neck as the belt was pulled back to Jerome. The strike was sudden and viper-like. Jeremiah let out a cough of shock.

"'This is your father punishing you, Jeremiah.'"

Another blow landed. This time the buckle hit Jeremiah's jaw, awkwardly knocking his jaw. Again, Jeremiah spluttered out at the force. The attack was too quick for him to even brace against. He felt star-struck.

"Of course, you never felt 'Dad's' wrath, have you brother," Jerome sneered, pulling the belt up and repeating his ritual of wrapping and unwrapping.

Jerome hit Jeremiah in the stomach. The brother curled inwards at the blow. The hands of Scarecrow pulled Jeremiah back into the cold, ridged back of the chair. The belt unraveled from Jerome's fist as he pulled out and once again Jeremiah was struck by the slack of the belt and the sharp, heavy buckle.

"Stop," he blurted out, blood pooling in his bout from his bit tongue cut lip.

Jerome ignored this plea and slapped Jeremiah with the back of his leather-bound fist.

Jeremiah spat out blood and bile, letting out a groan of discomfort. His head hanging loose from the beating. Jerome stood over his brother, he watched as he licked his cut lips, heaving in breaths.

"You probably thought I deserved it, huh?" Jerome grabbed his brother's bloody face with a hard grip. He moved closer to Jeremiah. He glared into the eyes of his twin, squeezing his face.

"You enjoyed watching her punish me for your lies."

Jeremiah failed to maintain eye contact with his assaulter; Jerome's words cut as deep as the belt buckle.

After a tense second, Jerome let go of his brother and took a could of steps back, still looking sternly at his twin. He nodded to Scarecrow who let go of Jeremiah's shoulders.

"Family bonding aside, brother, I need you to tell me everything you know about your work with Wayne Enterprises," Jerome spoke again, recomposing his cartoonish persona. He rolled his shoulders and re-twisted the belt.

"This isn't just about me?" Jeremiah stuttered. Jerome let out a shrill laugh.

"So self-centered brother! Of course, it's not!" Jerome exclaimed, shaking his head.

"I mean- you're very important to me, Jeremiah, but I have an empire to build," As he said this he pouted. Jerome then motioned for Scarecrow to come to him, handing the masked criminal the belt. Jerome then reached into his suit-jacket pocket and pulled out two small polaroid photos.

"You're going to tell me the addresses of these two board members and their access codes," Jerome demanded, pulling up the pictures of two Wayne employees. One was Sid Bunderslaw, who had been abducted by the Penguin a couple of years ago when Gallivan was causing chaos and the other was Ben Crowley, who had connections to Indian Hill.

"No," replied Jeremiah.

Scarecrow struck him with the belt.

"I'll make it easier for you. just tell me the addresses and code of one," Jerome spoke through his teeth.

Jeremiah composed himself after the blow. He looked at his two captures then at the belt which was hanging from Scarecrow's hand.

"Ben Crowley, Apartment 108b, Mayfield Complex, 6th Avenue New Town," Jeremiah confessed.

"His codes?"

"1075 and 2578."

Jerome grinned at his brother, satisfied with the information his brother had given him. He approached Jeremiah again, putting his hand on his brother's cheek.

"Your reluctance was expected, so I will forgive you today," Jerome spoke in a patronizing tone. Jeremiah met his brother's eyes with a spiteful glare. He lunged forward against the restraints, attempting to head-butt his brother, but he was too badly hurt to move as quickly as he wanted to and Jerome lurched away before any contact was made.

Jerome stood with a disappointed sigh, pulling down the sleeves of his suit jacket in composure.

"After we leave, Jeremiah, I recommend you get comfortable with telling me your secrets. Or else, you can work out what you value more: your fingers or your toes."

#

Rory hadn't been able to catch her breath since she had come back from Jeremiah's maze. Her chest was tight and her brain buzzing with fearful noise. Seeing her father again had shaken her awake. Every now and again her thoughts would trigger Tetch's hypnosis and she would flinch back to the start of her panicked loop. How can she save herself?

One of Jerome's goons had swept her away from the villains after they had arrived back at Jerome's base. He was a tall fellow, with a bright neon spikey mohawk. He wore lipstick that looked like it had been applied in the dark. As he led her back to her room, she paid more attention to her surroundings.

The entire complex was crawling with men and women who looked like the lackey that was leading her back. All of them dressed in various leather outfits, all of them holding huge guns or weapons, all of which looked like they could snap at any second. Rory realized that they were staying in an abandoned Wayen Enterprise complex. There had been adjustments to certain areas, the roof was stripped to the metal beams, and the walls were heavily graffitied and rusting, like the ones in her bedroom. When she did see a window, she could make out the dark brown waters that surrounded the Gotham docks. the repetitive dull brown and grey walls of the lab started to cause Rory to feel dizzy.

Maybe it was Tetch's hypnosis, or maybe it was a panic attack, but all Rory could think of was how she had allowed herself to get this far into Jerome's world without resiting. All she had thought of these past months in Jerome's capture, was Lola. Guilt had consumed and numbed Rory's presence, the heavy and suffocating emotion causing her to become desensitized to the overwhelming experience of flashing neon lights and Jerome's overpowering insanity.

Her stomach turned when she thought of Jerome, his scared face flashing through her thoughts as her mind continued to race.

When the brightly coloured goon left Rory in her room she immediately ran to the bathroom and threw up. She sat, hunched over the toilet, retching. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten, or showered.

She had lost her train of thought as she threw up, and despite the sharp and uncomfortable feeling of vomiting, Rory was glad to have a moment of stillness. She wiped her face.

"Lola never wanted this for me," she whispered to herself. This was her conclusion to her reflection on her past self. The words hung in the air for a moment. She then picked herself up and started to run a bath. She stood watching the run-down tub slowly fill up, her mind went back to her and Lola, sharing secrets and making up ridiculous escape plans whilst they played with the water.

"She wouldn't want this," Rory whispered to herself again.

She slowly stripped, dropping the grey skirt and slowly unbuttoning the red silk shirt that clung to her body. She cleaned herself, using a rag and scrubbing herself clean. As she soaked in the lukewarm water she traced all of her scars. Her stomach had fully healed, what was left was a soft light brown line. Jerome's initials had also faded into light pink lines, the skin slightly raised. Her ring finger was also healed, there was still some scabbing and bruises around the metal that was stuck to her but she could move her hand without pain.

Staring back at her hand, a faint memory of Jerome before she left him came floating back to her. they had just shared a shower and were now lying in the small bed which was found at the back of Jerome's circus trailer. She remembered tracing all of the small scars on his body with her finger. She had asked him about them, but he would always avoid telling her the whole story. Rory had worked out that it was mainly from his mother who had gifted Jerome the jagged lines. Whenever she noticed his mood shift, she would talk about their future. She would paint a picture of the two by the beach, her hiding under the umbrella, reading, and him sweeping her up in his arms and running into the sea.

A distant scream broke her away from her reminiscing. Rory had thought of trying to save Jerome several times, there were moments where she could see the boy she had loved peak through the villain. She had always given up on it, pushing it as an impossible task. But as she stared at her finger, she thought, he hasn't killed me.

She looked back over the past couple of years, of the cat and mouse chase between the two. He wanted her around him. She had always thought it was because of her curse, that her disposition had made him the criminal he was today. But he had always glowed.

Rory felt torn, on one hand, she wanted nothing more than to reunite with her father and be rid of Jerome's madness. On the other, she felt that Jerome was an inescapable presence that she could save. There had to be a way for Rory to set them both free from his insanity. Tetch's hypnosis shot through her skull, causing her to wince as she thought of running away. Then she realized how she could save herself and get back to her father.

The first step was to play her role as Jerome's wife, then the rest of the puzzle pieces would fall into place.