— Dr. Quinzel. You know, I live for these moments with you. What do you got?
— I got you a kitty.
— So thoughtful.
— Let's wind the clocks back a year. These cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you. I mean, what happened? Did your balls drop off? Hm? You see, a guy like me...
— A freak.
— Damn right. A guy like me... Look, listen. I know why you choose to have your little, ahem... group-therapy sessions in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at night. The Batman. See, Batman has shown Gotham your true colors, unfortunately. Dent, he's just the beginning. And as for the television's so-called plan... Batman has no jurisdiction. He'll find him and make him squeal. I know the squealers when I see them... and...
— What do you propose?
— It's simple. We, uh, kill the Batman.
— There is something you could do for me, doctor
— Anything. I mean, yeah.
— I need a machine gun.
— A machine gun?
— How much you want?
— Uh, half.
— You're crazy.
— No, I'm not. No, I'm not. If we don't deal with this now... soon little Gambol here won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma.
— Speaking of which, you know how I got these scars?
— No, but I know how you got these.
Enjoy yourself out there.
In the ASYLUM.