Us? ... We have to write about us? ... Let's see how much you'll know.
So be it. Well, then. We were born Harvey Dent, in the suburbs of Gotham. Our mother passed away when we were almost too young to remember, and our father, Christopher, raised us (and cut us down). We studied law, just out of state. We came back to Gotham to make a difference. To bring some justice to the streets. And we found our father on his deathbed. He gave us something, something that held memories for both of us, but didn't mean a thing at the time.
We can't even begin to tell how much it means now. But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
We had a rough time as DA for a while. None of the collars were holding, and neither was our publicity, even with a few certain well-heeled citizens at our back. Then we formed an alliance of sorts ... with Him. And He helped us for a while - both us and Gordon, if memory serves. Helped us bring down some of Gotham's worst. We doubted him at first, since he came to us right after that whole mess with that idiot Cobblepot. When we were all hurting - not just ourselves, and him, and Gordon, but Gotham, too. We'd hit a rut. And working together, we were starting to pull out of it just enough to breathe a little easier. Especially after we caught Boss Maroni.
And then we put him on trial. Before it happened, one of his men came to kill us. We killed him instead. Self-defense. Justice. Looking back, that could've been the start of things, maybe. Maybe even before what happened next. Before he said he needed that prescription bottle of antacid in his pocket ... and threw it in our face. And our face ...
...became our faces.
We're glad for it, really. If the blues hadn't already killed Maroni, we'd have to thank him, but as such, it settles that we'll have to thank the Bat instead. After all. He said he'd keep us safe.
Safe turned out to be Arkham, after we got done killing punishing all we could find of Maroni's men. If a couple of petty officers happened to be undercover with them at the time, how were we supposed to know? We'd been in the hospital. No one told us anything. Or maybe they did.
Arkham was not our idea of a great place, so it only took us two months (appropriately) to bust out of there. July 2nd. And we celebrated Independance Day with a few lovely fireworks down at the harbor that got us a few hired hands of our own ... after all, how's a gang to run itself when its leader's got holes in his head? Ah well.
We found a place. We set up shop. Things were going particularly well - especially after Ed crashed the party and brought a few favors along.
Then the Bat ruined it. Again. Almost for good.
Twice, he's ruined us. And as appropriate as it seems, we're more than ready to return the favor.