Dr. Quinzel lounges in her office and sips at a coffee as she glances at the headline of the Gotham Gazette: "THIRD EXECUTIVE MISSING - POLICE SEEK INFORMATION ON 'JESTER' LEAD". She let out a scoff in what might have been interpreted as an attempt at dismissing a sense of amusement - or was it accomplishment?
It didn't matter what the newspapers said. All that mattered was that she would make a difference.
These insufferable elitists who spend so much money to come into her office to whine about how awful they feel and then do nothing to fix themselves in spite of her best efforts. It disgusted her.
Until one day, she remembered what her mentor had told her about the power of fear. And little by little, an idea germinated, until she came to set up the "Playpen". Within this space, in the guise of the Jester, she could act on her frustrations by making those fools and nabobs suffer, torment them and humiliate them until they were totally loyal to her.
Of course, there were exceptions. She would only go for those who were truly wasted on her. People who really needed her help were safe. A rare example was Bruce Wayne, a wealthy client working to overcome the deaths of his parents who was taking a similar, albeit far less violent, path into vigilantism. Naturally, she subtly encouraged his pursuits, feeling it would give him a sense of purpose by fighting crime and ensuring nobody else would suffer as he did.
She afforded herself a small, subtle smile at the thought. Possibly her finest work, and yet she had needed to do so little to set him in motion. He was a stone on a precipice eager to roll off the edge; she merely had to give him that nudge.
She took another sip of her coffee and glanced down at the drawer in her desk where the she kept the jester mask, then to the hidden entrance to the Playpen behind the bulletin board where she knew the rest of the costume - and the mallet - awaited her.
Bruce had his way of keeping the city safe. She had hers.
Now, then... to play the psychiatrist, or to play the fool?