Quincy cried on the hard, cramped bed in his small, sterile cell longing for the splendour of his City Hall. He wished his master was here. Dr. Hugo Strange had awoken Quincy, lifted him to a higher state of awareness. Made him Mayor of Gotham! The... therapy. The drugs. The loss of free will. A fair, fair price for such a gift. In return Quincy had defended Strange through both trials.
Even now, he clutched onto Strange's remaining secrets - dear mementos of a parted friend.
"It's OK, Quincy," he heard Strange say. "I'm here."
"Hugo?" Quincy asked, wiping his tears on the cheap Arkham City jumpsuit the guards made him wear.
There he was. Dr. Hugo Strange, with his radiant white lab coat and paternal smile.
"Quincy. My servant. My friend," Hugo said. "We don't have much time."
Quincy was crying again, with joy. "How, master, how did you-?"
"Psychology, Quincy. Science. I'm a being of suggestion, etched into your subconscious by my living self."
The therapy, Quincy realised. The hypnosis. The drugs.
"Stay with me master, please!" Quincy tried to grab hold a phantom hand.
"I cannot." Strange said, looking benevolently down at Quincy, stroking his hair with a touch the prisoner couldn't feel. "But there is one last service you can perform me."
"Anything, Hugo, please."
"First, remove the sheet from your bed, Quincy. And tie it to the light-fixture on the ceiling."
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