"Who said it was for you, son?" Jonathan came into a glimmer of light and inhaled deep, clearly high and out of his mind of toxin. He was known to do that, at times, to overindulge in drugs and put himself in a strange headspace but usually, he didn't have mass murder on the mind. Usually, he didn't really kill. And yet, downstairs, he had slaughtered so many. People he had worked with once, people he kind of liked.

But there was no rationality any more. No logic.

"Gotcha though, didn't it? Anxious. Heart racing. Pupils dilating. It's a weak dosage. Build up immunity."

"Shoot him." Harvey urged, wishing Victor would just shoot his kneecap off. He saw the glint of the scythe and tensed. Fuck, he didn't want Ed to end up like the Joker.