Prologue: Victor Zsasz
She should have returned by now. Hour late as the smoldering refuse melted into the overcast sky above the crooked city and bled into the distant iron pinpricks of stars, the thought disquieted him. Even at his age, Victor Zsasz was not one to unsettle easily. Gotham was a dangerous city, everyone knew that, and yet she had insisted that she would be fine out there, that her switchblade and smile would be enough; he knew better though, even before hitting his teens. Embeth may have been the elder of the two, but it was apparent that had their parents been any sort of decent guardians, he wouldn't have felt it necessary to insist that she just refrain from seeing to her business until morning. Though if that had been the case, things might have been different...
Stationed ever so patiently at the beaten kitchen window as he waited for the slightest sign of his sister's approach, knees beginning to grow numb against the unyielding wood, young Victor acted the sentry and peered outside to the rumbling late-night traffic once more. Not the worst neighborhood yet a far cry from the best, the boy's wide brown eyes could clearly make out the shape of a large man dragging an overripe trash bag in his wake, something wet and dark trailing behind. Either that was a truly amateur mistake in a city with virtually no rules, or else the man was just that confident in what he had done. A short ways down the block, just passed the weed-infested stop sign that had been tagged by three rival gangs, one of Gotham's supposed finest was engaged in illicit activity with what appeared to be a minor, though from the distance and glare of the tacky laundromat neon overhead, it was possible it was only a costume. In the bleak distance beyond that a car backfired, and even further out in the sea of sickness and corruption there was no mistaking the final wails of a pathetic death as some sap was dealt with. Informative as that all might have been, it meant nothing to him as he strained his ears for one voice in particular, alert for her cry or shout, even the horrendously whistled first movement of Beethoven's butchered Moonlight Sonata, which was a personal favorite.
Lowering his hand from the drafty frame so that the musty mustard drapes fell back into place, the boy could only scowl deeper as he resolved to go track-down his wayward kin. Mind already two steps ahead, he knew that the first thing he would need would be a means of protection, so he turned to the sparsely decorated kitchen; flickering almost instantly to the cutlery, his eyes came to rest on the finely-honed steel, so razor sharp in his hand and cruel against soft flesh. It was a good start, but against a gun he knew that it would prove prudent to pack more than just a blade, so the boy grabbed the bone-handled utensil almost as carelessly as a teen would reach for the telephone, continuing on to the extra room his father had so thoughtfully given to himself for a private office to escape from the rest of the family. In the end it had done him and their mother little good when the kids decided that it was time to give 'play time' a new meaning, but at the moment that was neither here nor there.
Stalking passed a row of what appeared at first glance to be dismembered mannequin parts, the putrid, rotting stench in the room coming back with a veritable vengeance, he paused at the farthest corner of the room and ripped a bloodied sheet off of a sleek oak desk. Tossing it aside to be dealt with later, Victor gazed almost fondly down at the items scattered across the top of the table, taking a deeply sadistic joy in the memories and knowledge that he kept a much more entertaining workspace than anyone else. Bare fingers brushing across the cool metal set into the wood, the wolf in lamb's guise slid open the drawer as easily as the razor opened flesh, muscle, and vein, extracting an older model M1911. There was a good feeling in handling a knife, a feeling of raw power and pounding adrenaline, but guns weren't that bad in his mind, though at that point his experience had been strictly limited to handguns.
Were it anyone else that had gone missing, frankly Victor wouldn't have cared in the slightest, but Embeth was different - the only person that had yet to fail him, as well as being the only person that he could be himself with, his sister was the sole thing he cared about in this miserable world of adults. A great big sister, she would always drop whatever she was doing to play with him whenever he wanted, and when he was scared, she would be the one to comfort him. When he had made good on a threat and killed his classmate's dog, she had helped him bury the body without a single pointless question or moment of panic - she had just looked at him, nodded, snapped the dog's neck again for good measure, and helped him bury the beast in the sweater she had stolen from some upper-class snob. Embeth would do anything for him.
And he would do anything for her...
A/N:
This is just a little something I'm putting out to test the waters, so I'd really appreciate it if anyone reading this would review and leave me their thoughts! Yes, I realize that Victor probably didn't have a sibling, though if he did my nonexistent money would be on them either having a less-than-great relationship, or else the sibling is dead. Or most probably both. Honestly I'm totally grasping at straws with the back story of his upbringing, just crafting what will work for my idea and weaving in MY opinion of what could have been. Note I say mine. And no, I haven't read the comics (I've only the internet for that, and anyways I'm new to the whole DC scene). Rated for paranoia and potential plots...