What would the tetch-virus have brough out in you?
Erm. I'm not sure I know how to answer that. (Female, age unknown)
Sophie couldn't help herself, after all, the virus was at least as intriguing as it had been horrendous. But, of course, most of her fellow citizens weren't as fascinated by the subject as she was, and it admittedly was a very intimate and unnerving question.
After everything the city had suffered, Sophie wondered how quickly Gotham seemed to be getting back on track. The crime statistics beamed in a harsh contrast to the mayhem that had peaked only a couple of months ago. Everything seemed more idyllic than ever and subsequently the paranoia of the citizens decreased.
People on the streets seemed a bit warmer than before, there were less miserable faces and fewer slouched shoulders. The city had licked the worst of its wounds and was on the road of recovery.
And, once again, people had come back from the dead. Sophie wasn't sure how she felt about seeing Oswald Cobblepot on the front page of her morning newspaper almost every day. Not that she preferred him dead, but to her, the penguin-man somehow felt like bad news. Even if the headlines announced them to be good.
Apparently, the former mayor had decreased the crime rate by more than fifty percent in the course of only three months. And no one really knew just how he had achieved that. It seemed rather peculiar to her.
In Gotham's official politics, Cobblepot did not appear as an overt participant, but as he claimed responsibility for Gotham's 'betterment', Sophie was sure he must have pulled more than just one string in the background.
Another indicator for this was the way Victor Zsasz behaved. The assassin seemed busier and happier than ever and Sophie hoped that the current version of him she sporadically got to see was the smuggest there was. An enhancement of the complacency he radiated these days frankly would have been too much to bear. To her, the only reasonable explanation for his almost irritatingly good mood was that Cobblepot kept him busy with the kind of work he loved.
Things with the bald hitman had gotten stranger and thus more intriguing after the Tetch virus.
For starters, having his number in her contacts felt exciting, although Sophie would have never dared to initiate any contact and he, of course, never texted her again after that one conversation.
Instead, he had taken on the habit of arriving unannounced into her flat. Or rather of letting himself in.
Sophie was quite sure that he was doing this for the sole purpose of unnerving her.
Especially since he had also invited himself when she wasn't home in the beginning. The only things indicating that he had been there were missing food and moved objects.
And since he wouldn't leave any traces if he didn't want to, she assumed that psychological terror must have been some kind of sports for him - or at least utterly amusing.
As a response, Sophie made it her mission to seem as unfazed by his intrusion of her apartment and privacy as she could.
The first time she had come home and found that there was already someone in her flat, she had let out an indignant loud gasp and dropped her groceries to the floor with an even louder thump. She would never forget the wide, satisfied grin on his face.
The week after this incident, she would paranoidly shout 'Hello?' once she opened the door and then carefully look behind every door and the few corners her apartment had – feeling like an idiot once she realized that her caution had been for naught and that she was alone in her four walls.
The second time, long after she had abandoned the aforementioned ritual for reasons of dignity, she only gave the room a quick scan after coming in and then turned around to get rid of her jacket and shoes. One she had kicked off her boots and turned around, the bald hitman had somehow, seemingly out of nowhere, popped up in her kitchen and was watching her with an expectant grin on his face.
Sophie felt rather pleased for not reacting as dramatically as she had the time before. Instead of doing something that would have fuelled his amusement by large, she merely tensed in shock and felt her heart skip a beat, before she regained her composure and forced herself to look at him with a crooked eyebrow. His grin faltered slightly when she asked him if he had been hiding under the table. Needless to say, it had felt rather satisfying.
The third time, the shock she felt had turned into surprise and was solely indicated by the way her face paled once she became aware of his presence in her apartment. And the time after that, she was able to make sure that her face gave nothing away to indicate this surprise.
Strangely, it felt like having passed a test. Back then, she could have almost sworn to see approval in his eyes for a split second – or at least a slight decline in smugness.
He had always seemed fearless to her, like he was not only invincible, but also fully aware of it. Not being scared by someone who so flagrantly enjoyed inspiring fear in other people felt like an achievement.
In a way, she thought that it made the abyss between them slightly less gigantic. Like she had come one step closer to gaining his respect – given that he was capable of the concept.
Especially, since Victor Zsasz had been starting to give away bits and pieces of information about his everyday life – given that this life consisted of work.
It was on a Tuesday evening that she came back from work, gave her apartment a quick scan, registered that she was alone, and put the kettle on. With a cup of tea in her hand and a tuneless melody on her lips, she made her way to the sofa and stopped abruptly when she saw that it was already occupied by her criminal acquaintance. The assassin was lazily lying on her couch with his arm crossed behind his head, looking like an epitome of relaxedness.
She answered the provocative smile he flashed her with an eyeroll. "Do you want a cup of tea?"
When he nodded without looking at her, she put down her cup in front of him and went off to fetch herself a new one.
With crossed arms, she let herself down opposite of her uninvited guest and allowed herself to scrutinize him. Sophie remembered how she hadn't dared to look at him when they first met. But by now, it seemed that he didn't seem to mind. Although she was sure he must have felt her eyes on him, his gaze remained on her ceiling.
The company of someone who cares so little about politeness enabled her to forget her manners as well. And so she stared shamelessly.
He looked healthier than ever. The dark shadows under his eyes were almost gone, there were no tensed muscles in his face, and he looked genuinely happy, at peace, even.
Sophie was pleased with that, and she thought that it wouldn't hurt to see if he might be more talkative in this state.
"You seem happy." She stated. As a response, he just gave her a quick glance with one raised eyebrow before looking back up. Of course, you couldn't just start a conversation with Victor Zsasz like that. She inwardly rolled her eyes.
"Are things going well at work?" Ah, that's it. One corner of his mouth curled up into a smile.
"Yes."
"What does Cobblepot have you do?" She still wasn't sure if he was really working for the former mayor.
"Mh, penguin's taking control and making some changes in the business. I get to talk to people and convince them of the boss's plans." Apparently he was.
He had made a small pause before saying 'convince' and during that, Sophie could see how the other corner of his mouth went up into a grin that could be well classified as sadistic.
It didn't even send a shiver down her spine anymore. Instead, a small smile had spread across her face which, once she became aware of it, disappeared at once.
It's just because he looks so happy, she tried to reassure herself, not because of what he says. It's like feeling sad when you see someone cry. Or happy when you see children playing with their toys. Or breaking them to pi- she stopped herself.
"What kind of changes?"
"I can't tell you the details, but the effects are already visible."
"Like cutting crime down by half?"
"Exactly."
"So, it's some kind of vigilante justice? And you get to carry it out?"
He tore his eyes away from the ceiling and gave her a calculating look.
"You could say that." He sounded amused. There undeniably was something amusing about a criminal paying another criminal to execute his version of justice.
Just when Sophie thought about what Oswald Cobblepot's motives may be, he, much to her surprise, filled the silence.
"There are some organized groups who don't want to follow penguin's plans."
He didn't say it as if it was a problem. He said it as if it was a good thing.
Perhaps it really didn't matter to him what his employer's agenda was, as long as he got to do what he apparently loved. Intimidating, threatening or killing those to whom it did matter – and who dared to oppose.
"Today, I paid one of them a visit. A bunch of guys that called themselves Magpies, focused on theft, talked too much…"
It did not go unnoticed by Sophie that he was speaking in past tense.
"They refused penguin's offer and tried to gather more people, so they had to go."
While she probably should have been worried about how her guest had killed 'a bunch' of people before he came over, Sophie instead tried to fathom what kind of deal Cobblepot had proposed to Gotham's criminal. It couldn't be too good if people accepted a visit by Victor Zsasz instead.
It was weird how comfortable she felt despite the topic. Maybe it was because the hitman's choice of words had been euphemistic. Would she have been more appalled if he had directly said that he had killed several people in cold blood?
She had always known how powerful words were. Many people underestimated what one exhale of breath, two vocal folds and the obstruction of air within the oral cavity could do. Almost everyone articulated sound without even thinking about it. And a lot of people spoke without giving it a second thought. Without seeing the potential of their words and their possible impact.
But for Sophie, language had always been the centre of her universe. Even as a child, she had paid close attention not only to what people said, but also the way they said it. Sometimes, understanding the meaning behind words was like unwrapping a gift, other times, it was like reaching into snake's pit. Interestingly, both could hide the same message.
Victor Zsasz not voicing out that he was actively committing crimes was something that seemed like an intentional avoidance. Yet, she was certain that this was not for the purpose of sparing her the cruel details. He evidently loved to unsettle people. Not wanting to incriminate himself in front of her also wasn't really up for discussion since she witnessed him kill people in the past.
And even if someone were to tell the police that Victor Zsasz had killed someone, Sophie highly doubted that this would have given him reason for concern.
Perhaps that's it, Sophie mused, it's an open secret that he is a hitman. He doesn't need to address it because everyone knows.
The meaning behind his words wasn't hidden in a wooden chest. It was kept in a transparent box. You didn't need to open it in order to see.
Yet, this unfortunately wasn't applicable to much else about him. Even if he could tell her the most gruesome things without really voicing them out, she still couldn't read him.
But what she could do was listen – and she had always liked stories.
Sometimes, Joice would forget to laugh at the appropriate moments and other times, she would have to stifle a laugh because it overcame her in the most inappropriate contexts. It was like she was constantly missing all the cues. At her grandmother's funeral, one part of her wanted to start crying and never stop until she and world drowned in tears. Another, new part of her wanted to burst out into laughter at how strange the whole procedure was. Her grandmother would be turning in her grave if she had been aware of all the fuss everyone was making about her. It was the image of her sweet old granny rotating inside of the coffin that was just too much. She walked away from all the sad faces, away from all the white flowers, hid behind a tombstone far away and bit into her sleeve to smother her laughter.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for your reviews! We have finally arrived at season 4 and I couldn't be more excited. :) I like to think that Victor flourishes under Oswald's rule, what do you think?
Here's another episode of shameless advertising for another Zsasz-fic, this time written by the lovely SewingUpTheWounds: "Different Demeanor, Same Heartbeat" is a very promising story which includes a lot of suspense, interaction and dialogue between the accident-prone OC and the characters we (or I) love.