The Batter grit his teeth. Once again he could feel Zacharie's stare burning twin holes in his back as he sorted through the merchant's inventory. Did he really think the purifier wouldn't have noticed his prying looks by now?

He was reluctant to consider the alternative—that Zacharie simply did not care whether he noticed.

In any case it didn't matter how the Batter felt about him, so long as he offered a steady supply of battle equipment and healing items. The mission was more important. The mission was all. So he put his mistrust of the merchant on the back burner, focusing fully on following the Puppeteer's silent instructions as they bloomed in his mind. Six luck tickets. Emmanuel Bat. Nicolas Tunic.

"Fascinating," he heard Zacharie murmur, as if to himself.

His detached tone—as if he were considering a particularly tender-looking cut of meat—made the Batter's shoulders tense up, just a bit. Once he'd paid for the goods Zacharie watched him go without another word; the Batter didn't relax until he was out of the merchant's sight.

"Does the Puppeteer always tell you what to buy?"

The Batter blinked at the question, which seemed innocent enough on its own. "Yes. They know best."

Zacharie regarded him casually. "I see. There's golden flesh in stock now, by the way."

The Batter started to make his way over for a look, but the ever-present voice in his head halted him mid-stride. Save your credits. Silver flesh will do for now.

He obeyed without question, and from the corner of his eye he caught the merchant giving him that look. His own flesh crawled.

The Batter looked at him blankly. "A request?"

"Ah, it's nothing big," Zacharie reassured him. "I was just wondering if you'd round up a few dozen spectres and collect their luck tickets for me."

The Batter narrowed his eyes. "You want me to give up free luck tickets?"

"I know, I know." There was a slight edge to the merchant's voice now. "Though personally I didn't think it would be so much to ask for given our little arrangement. But, y'know, if you're too busy…"

Do as he says. He is your only consistently reliable source of equipment. We must stay on his good side.

The Batter frowned, but he could see the wisdom in the Puppeteer's command.

"I'm not too busy."

A few luck tickets here, the still-smoking body of a Burnt there—after he fulfilled Zacharie's initial request, it seemed the merchant had decided to make the Batter his honorary gofer. It ground on the purifier's nerves, but the Puppeteer's insistence on maintaining Zacharie's good favor did not falter.

"Ah, welcome," said Zacharie as the Batter hauled in his latest delivery. "You must be exhausted, my friend."

Thanks to you.

"Excellent, excellent," the merchant muttered to himself as he pawed through the ample pile of freshly-collected healing items. He looked the Batter straight in the eye. "Organize these for me."

The Batter grunted, startled by the nerve of this impure little cur. "I don't have time for that. I must purify this zone."

Even as he spoke, he knew how the Puppeteer would respond. What are you doing? We need the merchant to like us. Do as he says.

Zacharie leered at him as he reluctantly began sorting the tickets into small, neat stacks.

"That's a good puppet," the merchant purred. "Next you can straighten the equipment on the shelves. I have a big load of laundry that needs doing as well."

Laundry?! That did it."Don't fuck with me, merchant!" the Batter growled, scattering the luck tickets with a furious swipe of his hand. Rage boiled in his stomach like a volcano threatening to erupt, and he dropped onto all fours, rapidly swelling in size. Zacharie stumbled back with a cry of alarm as the Batter's face bulged outward and his jaws cracked open to snap at him with monstrous teeth.

The Batter could hear the Puppeteer screaming in his head, ordering him to back off, chastising him for threatening the entire mission with his rashness. It was only this last that got through to him. He froze, indecisive, yearning to rip the merchant's impudent head off his shoulders but knowing all would be lost if he let his anger get the best of him.

Zacharie composed himself, panting but clearly aware that the moment of danger had passed. "The Puppeteer has the right idea, you know," he said. "You need me. Without me you're nothing. And you're even less without your Puppeteer!" He barked out a derisive laugh. "You would've permanently cut off your connection to the only items merchant in the game just now if the voice in your head hadn't been there to stop you! Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. But then what else could one expect of a poor, brainless puppet?"

The Batter watched in stony silence as Zacharie slid one foot forward.

"Go on," said the merchant with disgusting fake cheerfulness. "You've been a naughty puppet. Show me how sorry you are."

The purifier fumed, but there was no need to wait for the Puppeteer's command when he was already well aware what it would be. Lowering his great, misshapen head, he rolled out his pointed tongue and lapped it across the toe of Zacharie's black leather boot.

"Ah, good," the merchant murmured. His breathing became ragged as he watched the Batter slave away at his shoe. Sickness tugged at the purifier's stomach as he realized Zacharie must be getting off on this.

"So this is the holy man with the fate of the world in his hands." He chuckled quietly, placing a hand on the Batter's head. "How can you look at yourself in the mirror every morning? Do you even see anything there?"

The Batter said nothing, concentrating on polishing Zacharie's boot. For the mission. For the mission.

"Nothing has changed, really," Zacharie went on breezily. "It's not as if you were ever your own. I'm just sharing you, that's all. Look at it this way—when the Puppeteer has cast you aside like a used tissue, I'll still be here to make you feel useful. Isn't that great?"

Cold. Everything was going so cold inside him.

Shoulders slumping, the Batter went on licking.

He'd never really had any other choice.