Warning: this will be very dark, with graphic violence, mental illness, torture, murder, mentions of rape, the works.
Napoleon had been a man of great wisdom and wit. His words had lived through the ages, to enlighten the common men on topics such as leadership, war, and torture. In a letter to Louis Alexandre Berthier, in 1798, he had shared quite scathing views on the practice.
«The barbarous custom of having men beaten who are suspected of having important secrets to reveal must be abolished. It has always been recognized that this way of interrogating men, by putting them to torture, produces nothing worthwhile. The poor wretches say anything that comes into their mind and what they think the interrogator wishes to know.»
Oswald rather thought Napoleon had missed the point.
You scarcely needed to resort to violence to uncover secrets. Information would flow easily enough, provided you used the adequate currency. Most often than not, that currency was promises. At other times, it was guile. Then came favors and money. When all of that failed, when you were adamant that you could not extract a word from your target, you had torture. Torture was not about interrogation. It was not about pushing men to confess and betray every confidence. It was about punishment. It was about revenge.
If you were so inclined - like Victor - it was about pleasure.
«When will he be ready?» Oswald asked, circling the 'operating' table, and looking down at Gilzean's quivering, naked form.
The man was sobbing, a high-pitched, continuous sound coming out of his throat between every gasp, despite his gag. The smell of urine was unbearable, even though Zsasz had washed him every time he had soiled himself, lifting him in the air by the arms with the pulley and chains hanging from the ceiling, then hosing him down. The hitman kept his basement meticulously clean. He would only allow infection and gangrene to take hold when he fancied it.
If one had to be honest, there was not a trace of dejections around. The tiles were spotless, both on the walls and on the floor. The operating table was immaculate - save for the blood - and even the drain appeared clean. The stench of fresh urine had just burned itself deep into Oswald's nostrils, just as the smell of fear.
Zsasz leaned closer to Butch's chest, cutting a neat, one inch long square into the man's skin. He pushed the blade of his scalpel under it and slowly lifted the skin, stripping it away. Gilzean wailed and trashed, and dissolved into near convulsions a minute later, when Victor poured disinfectant over his exposed flesh. The square of removed skin joined six others into an aluminum tray.
«He will be ready when I say so», Victor replied. «It is your fault, this. You spoiled him.»
He clicked his tongue and went for his scalpel again.
Oswald had to admit the results of his work were satisfying to watch, even if the monster could not be trusted to properly break a mind. Gilzean's skin was a patchwork of old scars, burns and cuts mixed together, long healed. The fresh wounds were a pleasure to look at, red, bloody, and entirely deserved. Oswald's gunshot wound had been cleaned and sutured the previous evening. The the pain was minimal, really - the nerves in his leg too damaged to properly register the extend of the wound - but the betrayal still required retribution. «I'm so sorry», the traitor had told Fish. «I would never hurt you, I love you». It was good, oh, hilarious, wonderful that the slimy bag of grease had seen the bitch fall to her death. The look of utter despair on his face after that had nearly been punishment enough. Nearly.
Oswald was still tremendously enjoying this visit to Zsasz. He loved watching him work: he needed the release. Fish Mooney's body had yet to be found, and her lover's pain made for good distraction.
It was also very good to have currency to enlist the freak.
«I want him perfect this time. I refuse to be forced to watch my back constantly because you settle for a subpar job.»
«Shouldn't you be elsewhere, attending to… 'your' city?» Victor asked.
The creature was not capable of sarcasm, but Oswald still felt himself flush.
«The situation is being managed», he replied. «I have men out there, taking control of the strategic building. Falcone's mansion is mine. The club is mine. The theater district is mine. Maroni's territory is being divided as we speak.»
Zsasz smiled, a childish, half-swallowed grimace of lunacy.
«I heard of fighting in the streets.»
«It will quiet. On that note. I will require your services, shortly. A show of force will be necessary.»
«I do not work for you», the hitman answered, pursing his lips when Oswald's eyes pointedly turned to Butch. «He is. Myyy. Toy.»
«We should still discuss the matter of your employ. Falcone retired. Maroni is dead. And I offer you first dibs on any contract I might have. Trust me, there will be many of those.»
Zsasz moved away from Gilzean's quivering body, placing another square of skin into the tray.
«You cannot pay me. You will not even be. Alive. By the end of the day.»
«Oh, my friend, my good friend, you are so terribly mistaken. I believe I can trust you with my life, as long as I provide you with a suitable payment for your services.»
«I don't want your money», the monster replied, reaching for his bottle of disinfectant. «Don Falcone and I… We had an arrangement.»
He poured the liquid on Gilzean's chest. Oswald waited for his wails to subside.
«And we can have our own. I have many enemies, and very little concern about the time it might take you to dispose of them… As long as they disappear the instant I require them to.»
Victor started and turned to him, swallowing hard.
The easiest currency was promises. And sometimes, sometimes, torture could be too, in more ways than one.
###
«We'll be safe here», Cat told Ivy as they settled inside the attic of an empty house in Tricorner.
The owners were on a trip, which she had discovered while she dragged Ivy across town, when a neighbor had walked in to feed the cats. The two girls had waited around until dark, then Selina had broken into the place through the second floor window.
The place would be safe enough. For a while.
It was all a disaster. Fish was dead. Fish. She had never been supposed to die. She was strong, the strongest around. She understood the streets, she understood what had to be done to survive, and she took care of her own. She had gathered the misfits, the weak, the outcasts, and given them shelter. To those who needed protection, like Ivy, she had given protection. To the strongest, she had given weapons. Cat wasn't one to be easily swayed by figures of authority, but she had seen what Fish Mooney offered, in a city at war. More than that, she had talked to the woman. She had tested the waters, looked for the lies that always came with promises of food and power. And Fish had known what it meant to be alone in the streets, to fight tooth and nail for survival in a world that did not give a shit about you.
Cat had a kid to worry about, red haired and grumpy and always sick as she was, and what Fish Mooney had offered had not been just a gig and a roof. It was obvious the woman cared, though she was not about to let feelings affect her resolve.
«I've dragged myself up from where you are, girl», she had told Selina. «All the way to the top. And I will do it again. This town will be ours. There will be change.»
She had meant every word of it. She could have done it, too. She had taken Maroni out. She had Falcone in the palm of her hand.
Jim Gordon, too. That had been satisfying. Jim asshole Gordon, who had gone and made silly faces to try to get her to free him. As if he deserved it. Cat had been there to see Barbara come back from the hospital after the Ogre's death. After Jim had not only been too late to save her, but had not even thought of warning her. One phone call, one word, and Selina would have made sure Barb' was safe and out of reach, but had Soldier boy even thought of her? Of course not. That was just like Gordon, letting the monsters get to you, like those assassins at Wayne Manor. And he didn't even see what he did. He thought he was such a hotshot cop, all 'Protect and Serve'. The truth was, he didn't know the meaning of the word 'protection'. He did not protect, he waged wars. He didn't serve, he did as he pleased. And he didn't even apologize when he destroyed people. He did not notice at all. When he came to check on Barbara after she had returned home, it had been out of duty and nothing else, and he had barely stayed five minutes.
If Fish had killed him, it would have served him right. Shown him how it felt to have no one coming for you.
The apartment thing had been sweet. It was a good place, and Barbara was nice enough. Sure, she had not been easy, and she drank too much, and she could get into piss poor moods and all. But she loved them, even Ivy, who was a bit of a cross between a cactus and a bitch. She made sure they were fed and that Ivy's hair was brushed and soft. She worried when they didn't return for a few days. She had whined a lot, and done drunk, and seethed at everything and nothing, but she had been a person. What had come back from the hospital had been… Something else. Composed, and nice, and proper, and sober, and just plain wrong. Cat had noticed it at once, that weird malevolence, that creepiness she sometimes felt around Ivy. But with Barbara, it had been a thousand times worse, and talking to her had brought Selina no comfort.
The girl had been direct with her questions. There was no point circling around the issues. She came from the streets. She was not stupid.
«No, no, Jason did not rape me», Barbara had replied without even noticing she had used the killer's first name.
The pimps who picked runaway girls in the streets didn't 'rape' them either. Just seduced them and called it making love. But Barbara had kept denying, though she admitted being tortured when Selina pushed, so the girl had crossed her fingers and hoped for that sick freak to have kept his hands to himself, unlike his tools and his blades.
Anyway, Barb' as the girls knew her was gone, and what had replaced her could not be trusted, so Cat had dragged Ivy away. She had just met Fish. At least, they had somewhere to go.
But now, not only was Fish dead, that Penguin guy had seen Cat's face, and he would not forget her. Everyone Fish had recruited was gone - out of town if they were wise - but the crazy bastard had probably not memorized their faces. Selina had felt him watching her, filing every detail of her face for later use. That sniveling bastard had spent the night limping around on that messed up leg of his, telling everyone he was the «king of Gotham».
Gotham had not gotten the memo. Every mobster Falcone had kept under his thumb was fighting for territory. Maroni's family was doing much better. It remained organized, much to everyone's surprise, despite the death of the Don. Cobblepot was going to be king of the bottom of Gotham River by the end of the week if he kept repeating he had a claim on the city. Until he was dead, though, things were a disaster. And Falcone had seen her face, too, even if he planned to 'retire'. Plenty of Maroni's men had. She would have to lay low for a while and keep Ivy out of trouble.
###
Jim hung up and stared at his desk, ignoring the noises of the bullpen, the ringing of the phones, the voices, the constant shuffling of papers, every other small, familiar noise.
Coming back to the precinct had been… Well, his relationship with Boel had hit rock bottom before the confrontation at the hospital, and the commissioner was probably busy figuring out whose side to pick, seeing how there were no more sides to side with. Boel and the Mafia were at the back of his mind for a moment, though, as another matter had kept him on the phone for twenty minutes and was now battling for control of his thoughts.
«Barbara just arrived in Arkham», he announced to Harvey, who grunted and didn't answer. «They'll be… Well, she has her cell, she'll see a psychiatrist in a few hours.»
There had been no other options, really. She had killed her parents. Sure, it had not been her fault, she was damaged and broken, but her thoughts had been clear enough to fake sanity for two weeks and then go after Leslie. Criminally insane. Barbara, of all people. She had her issues with substance abuse, and she could be bitter at times, but evil had never been part of her. Not until the Ogre had captured her. Not until he had… Well, she had not been his first victim, and the bastard's torture room left little to the imagination. Jim suspected. Barbara had refused to talk about it with him. She had told Lee, but Lee would not repeat what she had heard. Confidential. Doctor-patient privilege, even if that «therapy» had been a ploy for Barbara to attempt murder.
Jim felt sick.
«Do you think she can heal?» he asked, even though Harvey was not paying attention.
His friend was listening to the news on radio, one earphone in, and looking at his phone.
«Jim, for fuck's sake, I'm busy here. Go ask someone who cares.»
The blond clenched his jaw and nodded, and struggled with his thoughts for a while. The noises around him grew louder, just as his inner voice grew more pressing.
«I should have found her sooner», he said. «If I'd done a better job-»
Harvey slammed his fist on his desk, turned the radio off, grabbed his cloak and left without a word, leaving Gordon bewildered.
«What have I done now?» he asked to the empty space in front of him.
Then he shook his head, grabbed the radio, and listened to the reports of arsons and shootings. Ten minutes in, someone tapped his shoulder. He turned to a punch to the face.
«YOU FUCKING BRAINLESS ASSHOLE», the woman screamed, as he pressed a hand to his face.
Blood was streaming from his nose, and he had to take a second to recognize the latina standing in front of him.
«Montoya?»
«I just got a call from a journalist friend who worked on the Ogre story and who told me Barbara was sent to Arkham. Three months undercover and my first contact from outside is to tell me she's killed her parents and went insane.»
«She… It just came to light, she…», he murmured back, aware that everyone around had turned to them and was listening in.
«You son of a bitch.»
«I swear I did everything I could to find her, I-»
«FIND HER? FIND HER? How did he get to her to begin with? You KNEW who you were going after, what was she doing in Gotham? Why didn't you get her out of town before you went on TV to taunt the bastard?»
Jim blanched, and Montoya took one look at his face and saw very clearly what had happened. He had not thought of Barbara back then. Not at all. Not for a second. Not until Jason Lennon had already lured her away from that charity ball. Guilt sank in, and he saw Renee's expression slide from rage to absolute fury. He braced for another blow.
She spat in his face and stalked away.
###