Jonathan since returned to one of his many sanctuaries around the city. Thanks to his…[i]remodeling[/i] of the current one, the circular room in which he now stood bore plexiglass walls, displaying his latest prisoners at every turn, of varying ages, genders, and occupations. He smirked in particular at the Joker thug he had contained, taking [i]exceptional[/i] pleasure in the man’s torment due to his relationship with his expired boss. He never quite figured out what the laughing purple madman feared for certain, but he had his guesses. And truthfully, he was [i]relieved[/i] that mad fool finally kicked it.

It became clearer with each day, but in a twisted sense, the Joker’s existence kept everything in Gotham more or less in check, kept its heartbeat pacing, kept up the quiet rhythm its citizens subconsciously followed. And with him out of the picture, the choked grip he once held crumbled. No longer would this city dance to the tune of bat and clown, but allow for new seeds to be sown, for a new pace, a new dance.

The seeds were ripe for the taking. The mobs were already trying to gain ground over the costumed crowd.

Jonathan slowly walked among his prisoners, hands neatly clasped behind his back, his metal brace shining in the light. He took in every detail of their terrified faces, every note of their screams, the exact postures contorted and deformed as they curled away or fought off monsters only they could see.

The talk with Edward had given him pause. Most might find their biggest concern with the League or the mobs. Jonathan’s thoughts went to the Batman, and more specifically, the lack of his presence in Gotham. This could be his chance to take the city, he knew. Terrify it. Weaken it. Destroy it. But what worth would any plan hold if the Batman could not witness it?

He walked to the center of the room, took a seat in the swivel chair he kept there.

More importantly, he wondered, if the Batman were to never return...nothing terrified him like the Batman did. Gave him that delicious thrill, the satisfaction that he craved. That in itself was its own sort of Hell.

Which meant he needed to find a new source. Something that would sustain him, keep him going with or without the Batman.

Jonathan stood again, turned to leave the room, hardly giving a glance to one of his prisoners who had given up, and collapsed with the last glimmer of both hope and life in her cell. Merely a test subject bound for replacement.

Long ago, he took hit jobs for cash, and though his current supplies were plentiful, they were nowhere near what he needed to wreak [i]true[/i] havoc. He would send word on the streets to potential clients. Perhaps revisiting his roots instead of simply pulling a job might assist in his predicament, allow him to rediscover a part of himself still capable of producing anticipation.

Afterward, he would set to work on another formula.