At 11:30pm exactly, in the east side of Gotham City, Jean Athens stumbled back into her apartment with a giggle. She looked most undignified, she knew, but the man she had brought home with her was a well-built, well-dressed, well-blonde haired kind of guy, and she doubted he cared much for decorum.

She had in fact been planning on staying out till much later, and was secretly glad she had picked up this strapping gent early on. Her apartment was only four blocks from the infamous Iceberg Lounge, the finest casino and second finest mob hideout in the city, and most of the nearby area was infested by unsavoury characters. Not that it mattered to her this night. She had pegged her companion for a former quarterback, and whilst he wasn't an especially big man – in her heels, she was nearly the same height as him – there was something in his dark eyes that boasted confidence. Size doesn't equal power, she thought to herself with a cheeky grin. Anyone who had seen the owner of the Iceberg Lounge could tell you that.

'What are those for?' Jean whipped her head around. Her companion – the Madame, she had teasingly called him earlier when she misheard his name - had poked his head into her bedroom, and noticed a pair of handcuffs, idly left on top of her dresser. She hadn't realised he'd moved to the bedroom door, or that she'd left it open.

'OH! Those, er…'

'Are you an undercover cop?' he asked her. His voice was so deadpan, she almost believed he was sincere, and resumed giggling.

'No, I just, er… I'm…' Jean summoned up her courage. It was the twenty first century, and no one ever got what they wanted by pretending they didn't want it. 'I'm naughty sometimes.' She looked up, giving her best attempt at seductive eyes.

'So I see. You believe in fate?'

'What?'

'Do you believe in fate?' he repeated. His voice was surprisingly soft, and soothed her nerves.

'Honestly, no,' she replied.

'Me neither. It makes times like these all the more impressive,' said the Madame. He reached the pocket of his leather rockabilly jacket, and pulled out leather strap with a red sphere fixed in it. A more naïve young lady might have been confused. Jean immediately recognised it as a ball gag. 'Snap,' The Madame said.

She didn't giggle in response to that. Instead, she marched into the bedroom, and in one fluid motion, grabbed the zip atop the right side of her dress, pulled it right down, then whipped the whole thing off and away. She kicked her heels of and let herself do a sort of spinning fall backwards onto her bed, in just her lingerie.

The Madame, to his credit, immediately played along, taking his jacket off. He seized the cuffs and climbed onto the bed, on top of her. He fed the handcuffs through the gaps of the metal frame that atop her bed like a headboard and managed to get one cuff on each side of the central pole in the framework

'Hold your hands up,' he told her. Even in his soft voice, it was unmistakably an order.

'Mmm, yes Master…' she replied, and complied. 'Or should that be Mistress?' she added teasingly, as he took her hands and fastened them into the handcuffs. She was getting at his mercy know, and was keen to see just how vulnerable she could be.

'What do you mean?

'Well, Madame, what was it you said your name was? Vanessa? Victoria?' She winked at him.

'Those are girls names, young madam. I said my name was Victor Zsasz.'

Jean pretended to gasp in shock. 'Oh, I am so sorry Master! How silly of me. How naughty.' She waited for him to take the bait, but he simply picked up the ball gag. So she added 'Maybe I deserve to be punished.'

'Oh, but I don't want to punish you,' said Victor. His voice was now a whisper. 'I'm not a punisher. I'm an artist. I want to make you a fine piece of work.' This was a surprise, but Jean liked the sound of it. She wondered if he had some ropes with him, or knew a few tricks to make her feel like a work of art in some way.

'Oh Master, will I be a prize piece in your collection?' She asked.

'Hush now,' he said, putting the straps of the ball gag around the back of her head. She willingly opened her mouth and let him place it here delicately, before clamping down on it with her teeth. This was unlike anything she had done before. Victor was amazing her. He was also scarring her. She had a hard time saying which one she preferred at the moment.

'You will be a prize piece. Someone who sees it. The liberation in pain,' he muttered. He removed his shirt, revealing a well-toned torso. Looking closer, Jean was again surprised by the man she had invited home. There were three cuts across his right pectoral, two down the left of his abdomen, four on his left arm, three on his right, and five on his right shoulder, forming a tally mark. She started to wonder what she had let herself in for.

'It's incredible' Victor muttered, more to himself than her. 'Just what happens when you see through it. Life's lies. When you give in to your desires and feel it. The truth. Nothing more true than pure, honest pain.'

And he slit her throat. She hadn't seen him get the knife out. She had been too fixated on his monologue. His dark eyes were starting to grow light with some kind of longing, and it had worried her in a very unpleasant way. When the knife crossed her throat, she barely felt the agony before all her sense dulled and she slipped away. The last thing she saw were those eyes, alight with glee at the newest piece of art, that only those dark eyes would appreciate.

'Nothing more true. Nothing that makes us more alive,' said Victor Zsasz. And he cut a fourth line down his right pectoral, gasping in ecstasy.