Chapter 7: Lucas Is Dead

Author's Note: Hello, friends! Just thought I'd put a trigger warning here for oodles of gore and intense emotions. Lucas is gonna pay for hurting Charleen and he doesn't exactly make it any easier on himself. So trigger warning: intense violence and gore. Also, I want to thank SilverIce523 for your reviews. C.S. Allen, I appreciate your reviews; I want to answer your questions, but I don't want to ruin the story for everyone else. I'm also not able to message 'Guests'. I hope you can understand xx. For extra tidbits, I do plan on making Martin into a DC character as well. :)


Charleen walked behind Sylvia as they came upon the familiar alley in which the entrance to Lucas' place of business was located. The car was parked a block away.

The walk here had been mostly quiet with the exception of Charleen giving her future adoptive mother tidbits about the establishment, to include the forewarning of strippers, the repulsive music that would greet her once they came inside, and everything in between.

In response to her helpful advice, Sylvia made small acknowledgments that she'd heard her, occasionally smiling. Otherwise, she seemed to mentally prepare herself for the physical and emotional side-effects Hugo Strange had warned her about: the ramifications that would come once the Virus took control.

The side-effects she felt after letting Barbara off with a warning were minimal but noticeable, and were everything Strange had predicted that she would experience: the headaches that came once her body settled down; the tingling she felt in her hands and toes as if they'd fallen asleep; the dizziness, which had made her nauseous as if she'd held her breath for far too long; how terrified she had felt while sitting in the car, recognizing the extent of her raw strength and power…not to mention the voices.

That was probably the most unsettling part about having Alice Tetch's blood swimming in her veins.

When Tabitha came at her, those voices in Sylvia's head had gone from soft, barely audible whispers to angry declarations: "Look at what they've done to you…Look at what they've done to Charleen…Oswald…Gertrud!…They deserve to die—she deserves to die…"

The voices had encouraged her to go further than she had intended. It was already hard to ignore what felt good. Trying to ignore the devil on her shoulder that provoked her homicidal rage, the same that promised to grant her the instant gratification she had been denied throughout her entire life (either because Oswald was there to hold her back or Jim's well-ingrained morals hit their mark)—It felt damn near impossible. How could someone not take the bait when it presented itself so willfully and reached out its hand for one to take?

While Sylvia had wanted to make Barbara see how hurt she was due to her betrayal, she had never gone to the Sirens club with the intent of hurting what used to be her friend. That impulse pushed her to it, and—as the voice grew louder with its vindication—didn't Barbara at least deserve to feel an eighth of the pain that she had caused?

Hurting Tabitha—that had been an impulse too tempting to resist. Those voices didn't have to try too hard to convince her to slam Tabitha into the floor—she half-hoped that the bitch's spine might've been injured. It was only out of her own empathy for Barbara that Sylvia had restrained herself…that, and she had an ounce of hope that Oswald would be alive and if anyone deserved to kill Tabitha, it would be him. That glimmer of hope kept Tabitha breathing: if only they knew…

Giving into the Virus was easy. Trying to find that balance between clarity/justification and impulse/indulgence was a lot harder than Sylvia had anticipated. Now as she took one step closer to settling things with Lucas, those soft voices (which were her own) spoke in their eloquent echoes: 'Lucas hurt your ward…He hurt Charleen—you should be angry, he deserves it—he hurt your ward. Are you just going to let him get away with that!"

While these voices made a choir of reasons to justify what would be Lucas' inevitable demise, Charleen was trying to give her tips to best handle Lucas and the atmosphere that encircled his less-than-worthy habitat. All Sylvia hoped to do was control this inferno that begged to be released.

Oswald had always held her back; her safety, well-being, and happiness had primarily been his priorities where it concerned her. She almost depended on him to do it, relying on him to stop her, to calm her storm when the winds began to blow too ferociously. Who, now, would be able to look after those things when Sylvia barely did it herself? The idea of having to police herself and her own emotions alone was almost overwhelming: The Virus wasn't helping any.

'As an empath, you feel things much more strongly than others. With this Virus, it'll bring out those emotions tenfold'.

Strange wasn't exaggerating.

They stopped in front of the door; as before, it was disguised like any other wall except for the formidable texture between the red painted brick and metal. Coming from the Sirens, Sylvia still wore her ensemble of black (leggings, matching crop top, and laced boots) while Charleen contrasted her in her all-white romper and tennis shoes.

"Also, the guy at the door is a bit of a pervert," Charleen continued.

"Did he do anything to you?" Sylvia asked airily, although there was a protective edge to her tone.

Charleen thought about getting the doorman in trouble just to see what would happen, but considering what Sylvia had done to Barbara for delegating someone to watch over the Fences and what had happened to her purely based on the actions of those she'd appointed, Charleen reconsidered. Even though the doorman was creepy, he didn't deserve the brunt of whatever wrath Sylvia had in store.

"Nah," Charleen answered. "He was just being a little too nice—nothing happened though."

Sylvia gave her a once-over as if she were weighing the truth in her statement; she didn't comment on it either way as she stepped forward and rapped the door with two knuckles.

There was a five-second pause before the door opened a crack; a face appeared from the inside.

"What do you want?"

The voice and face belonged to the doorman from Charleen's prior visit. She inwardly shuddered at his gruff demand; even though she'd initiated the offer, she was grateful that she hadn't needed to fulfill her side of the bargain when he granted her entry. That would have been a gross narrative for the books, out of a few.

"Oh…" The doorman grumbled as he recognized her white romper and bunny ears. "It's you. Lucas said he doesn't want you back here."

"Well, he's not going to do business with me this time." Charleen responded smartly. She tilted her head in the direction of the woman beside her. "He's going to do business with her. So unless you want to get your face turned inside out, you might want to start being more fucking polite."

"Who is she?" He gave Sylvia the up-and-down gander, smirking to himself. "Ohh…Oh, yes, Lucas would love to see you. You're just his type."

"I'm no one's type." Sylvia said coolly. "Especially his…or yours, for that matter."

"Oh, you're a feisty one."

"Dude, stop." Charleen chastised. "She's not here to flirt with you—especially you" (She grinned, using Sylvia's tone in the way she emphasized the word) "She's here to talk to Lucas, got it? Now, let us in. If you don't, she's gonna do it herself."

"Not as coy as you were before." He grunted. "What's her name? I'll tell Lucas…"

"Don't bother." Sylvia said impatiently as she pushed the door in all the way through so that the gruff contender's back was pushed against the wall and the door pinned him against it. "I'll do the introductions myself. Thank you so much."

Charleen followed her inside, smirking at the doorman as she tossed her head back: "Told you."

While Charleen scrunched her nose and curled her lip at the terrible taste of music, the strippers that were continuing to dance on poles, and the men at the bar who were raucously berating like howling hyenas, Sylvia barely took notice. As if she were guided by blinking arrows, she made her way towards the back of the room.

Before the Virus, Charleen felt that Sylvia might've taken the time to get to know Lucas' followers, develop an understanding as to whether they'd follow her instead, and then form a mutiny against their leader—taking Lucas down from the inside-out. That was Sylvia's clear-headed thinking she'd adopted from being around a criminal mastermind like the Penguin. Now that the Virus was enabling all of Sylvia's bad habits (the lack of impulse control that she'd mentioned earlier, for example), she had a one-track mind, evidently: Find Lucas. Talk. Settle. Leave.

Charleen followed her trail, noticing that Sylvia had stopped in front of the curtain, getting a sense that Lucas was behind it.

For a moment, she seemed to ponder her disadvantages and circumstances before she reached behind her back, taking out her 9mm Glock, which had been pressed between her back and the waistband of her leggings. After a pause, she handed it to Charleen, who took it, albeit with uncertainty.

"Won't you need this?" She asked skeptically.

"No." Sylvia said calmly, shaking her head. "I hope to resolve this in a civil way."

"I thought you were going to fight him?"

"If that's what it comes down to, yes, but…Oswald would do this with diplomacy."

"Lucas ain't one for 'diplomacy'," Charleen reminded starkly. "He came at me with a gun because I tried telling him he was a shit manager. That's not someone who's open to constructive criticism. Besides, you didn't handle Barbara that way—"

"—and I didn't want to handle it that way. That's not what I wanted. Oswald had a gentleman's code, a code of honor among criminals. As did Falcone." Sylvia bit her bottom lip as if she were operating under pressure. "If he is gone, I want to make sure that we do this properly…the way he would…"

"And you think Lucas will honor that? I don't see that happening."

"I'm hoping he'll choose that over violence. What I did to Barbara—I didn't mean to. I don't want to be a monster if I don't have to be."

Charleen offered the gun along with her advice: "If he does get violent, maybe you should have this, then. Just in case?"

"No. You hold onto it."

"Why? Won't you need it?"

"I'm capable of defending myself, my petal."

Charleen prodded the inside of her cheek with her tongue thoughtfully before she lowered the gun and nodded, intrigued. Sylvia pulled back the curtain, and Charleen followed in from behind. As she did, Lucas was sitting at his table, as one would expect.

He was the same large brusque man that Charleen remembered encountering only a few days before, and her shoulder tinged achingly as if in memory of what he had done. The pain of it alone made her grimace.

Noticing that his office had now been graced with two intruders, Lucas peered up from the pile of money he'd been counting on his desk, smirking at Charleen with disgustingly smug familiarity.

"Back for another thrashing, little rabbit?"

Charleen subconsciously stepped back a pace.

Sylvia noticed, her head turning ever so slightly; her eyes turned back to Lucas, who surveyed his new opponent with an interested gaze.

"Is this your 'mother' you were talking about, Bunny? Huh?" Lucas leaned back in his seat, simultaneously reaching into his desk to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

He took one out, placing it between his lips, sparking a flame from a lighter before he put both the pack and Zippo back in the drawer, taking a long drag before he exhaled, "Lark, right?"

"That's correct." Sylvia returned coolly.

"I guess you're here to talk territory? Offer a trade, maybe?"

"No. I'm not, actually. I came to tell you that your boss, Barbara Kean, has relieved you of command, and I'm taking your place. That said…" She gestured to the curtained archway. "You're more than welcome to leave."

Lucas burst out laughing, a sarcastic smile twisting along his mouth.

Charleen gulped quietly, her gaze darting between his over-embellished amusement to Sylvia's eyes, which grew colder by the minute.

Lucas' laugh sobered as he stood to his feet, saying, "That's a good one! I love your sense of humor, Lark. I've been told you were funny—that's the first time someone has genuinely made me laugh."

"It's not a joke. And I'm not being funny."

He walked over to a cabinet that was nailed to the wall.

Charleen flinched, gripping the gun in her hand. It was the same spot he had wandered off to before he pulled out his own!

As he headed in that direction, Charleen stumbled forward and hissed, "Sylvia, that's where he went to get his—MOM!"

She shrieked in the instant the gunshot pierced the air.

Charleen lowered her hands from her eyes, panicking as they darted down to the ground, expecting to see Sylvia, dead on the floor. Instead, there was something far more intimidating happening in front of her.

Lucas had withdrawn a shotgun from the cabinet. But that was the only similarity between Charleen's fearful simulation and reality.

Whereas Charleen had suspected the bullet to have caught Sylvia, it, instead, pierced the ceiling above. The shaft of the weapon was bent into the shape of an 'L'; Sylvia held the end of the barrel with the fiercest glare reflecting at Lucas, who staggered back in surprise.

Sylvia snatched it from his hand and threw it to the side. It clattered harshly against the wall; both Lucas and Charleen winced.

"I tried to be nice." She said dangerously. "I tried to be polite. But you, children, make it so hard."

Charleen shivered. It was the same eerily calm voice she'd used with Barbara.

Lucas took a few steps back, holding up his hands in immediate surrender. Fear was a new expression on this rough man's face and it was as if he'd never truly experienced fear—not in the same way he did now.

"I tried to be civil, let you off easy. And what do you do? You try to shoot me?"

She struck Lucas and he flew over the desk and into the wall. His back assailed against it as if he were no lighter than a couch pillow.

"Ah…uh…" Lucas groaned, getting to his feet. "Lark…you can have anything you—"

Her hand wrapped around his throat and she lifted him off the ground.

"Oh, see, you're listening. Now." She said unhappily. "Now that you see me as a threat, you expect compassion. Funny how that always seems to happen with people like you."

Charleen's eyes widened when she could practically hear his windpipe crush in her grip.

His eyes grew to the size of dinner platters as he tried to communicate through raspy gasps. His hands reached to Sylvia's that slowly had begun to suffocate him. His nails clawed at her wrist.

"Please! Have…mercy…" Lucas whimpered. "I didn't—"

Sylvia released him. When she did, he dropped to the floor, coughing, and holding his throat painfully.

"I didn't do anything." Lucas managed in a raspy voice.

"The hell you didn't. You hurt Charleen!" She declared harshly. "Do you remember her!"

"She came for me—"

"—That's not what I asked!"

Her eyes filled with red liquid as though it were actual blood; the veins in her neck and forehead crept forward and throbbed as if tiny black snakes had breached just below the surface.

Lucas shook his head, sweat running down his nose and neck: "I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize to me!" Sylvia snapped, grabbing him roughly by the jaw and forcing him to stand.

He stumbled forward, landing on his knees.

Charleen stepped back—no longer fearing Lucas, but now of Sylvia, whose voice even seemed to change as if five Sylvias demanded with a roar, "APOLOGIZE TO HER!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"

"I'm so fucking sorry!" Lucas sobbed; tears fell down his face as he trembled. "I'm sorry! I-I don't know what else to say! You want the bar, you have it! You want the territory, the Fences—You have it! Please! Please, don't hurt me! I-I swear, I didn't know—I'm not the one in charge! I—"

"SHUT UP!" Sylvia ordered.

Lucas muttered something inaudible.

Charleen stepped forward, hoping to calm her down before something worse happened. Sylvia's attention lifted to her. In this moment when she was distracted, Lucas reached behind his own leg.

Charleen shook her head and said just as urgently, "Lucas! Don't! Don't do it!"

Sylvia looked at where Lucas' hand was heading.

A Glock was tethered to his boot. He got as far as grabbing it.

She snatched his hand and forced it to the side; the weapon was tossed in that direction as he whined in terror.

Charleen breathed a sigh of relief before she was horrified to see Sylvia bend his wrist back; the bones snapped.

"Mom! Stop! He gave it up!" Charleen shouted.

Lucas brought up his uninjured hand to stop Sylvia, screaming. She caught that one and administered the same punishment.

"You hurt my family," Sylvia seethed, those veins grew darker, her rage seemingly possessing her, "You deserve to die!"

"—Mom, stop! Please!"

"ALL OF YOU"—She took hold of his chin— "DESERVE"—She reached her other hand inside his mouth, so his head tilted back— "TO DIE!"

She pushed her hands apart. His jaw ripped open, blood splattering her face and onto Charleen, who shrieked in terror and disgust in the instant she saw it happen.

When Lucas' body fell back, his bottom jaw fell onto the floor while the upper half remained intact as his tongue fell slack with the rest of his muscles.

Charleen screamed, shaking her head. She leaned against the wall, cupping a hand to her mouth to avoid puking anywhere around the body.

Sylvia panted; her chest heaved up and down rapidly; she trembled as she took a step back, her hands shaking.

"LUCAS, BRO, ARE YOU OKAY IN—whoa…"

The curtain flew open. An unfamiliar follower took one look at the carnage then at Sylvia, who peered at him exhaustedly, then to Charleen, whose skin was paler than even her own white attire.

"Oh…" The uncertain witness looked at her fearfully, rubbing the back of his head as he said, "You're not going to kill us, are you?"

"Get out." Sylvia uttered breathlessly. "Tell everyone to get out."

"Uh, yes, ma'am, right away, uh, er, ma'am, uh—" He quickly left and said loudly to the others, "GUYS, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, TRUST ME, YOU DON'T WANNA GO BACK THERE!"

There was an assortment of screams and confused shouting before the place silenced. Charleen shook her head and stared at Lucas's dead body, still terrified, horrified, repulsed, and surprised at what she'd just seen.

Ten or twenty minutes passed before Charleen steadily paced forward as Sylvia was leaned against the desk, turned away from her.

Charleen couldn't hear what Sylvia was saying as the woman spoke to herself in a mantra. She noticeably pulsed as if she were uncontrollably twitching; her fingers were clenched into fists; her knuckles were blanched. Her shoulders shook as if she were crying; noticeable sharp intakes of breath as if she were trying her damnedest to catch her breath.

"M-Mom…?" Charleen whispered. "Are…Are you okay?"

A second later, Sylvia fell over, her body hitting the desk first before she collapsed to the ground.

"Oh my god! Mom! Someone—anyone—Help!" Charleen called. She damned herself for the fact that she knew all the personnel had left per Sylvia's earlier gasped command.

Thinking of nothing better, she smacked Sylvia's face: "Get up! Please! Come on! Get up!"

Sylvia stirred for a moment, looking up at her.

"Don't ever do that again!" Charleen quaked.

She looked back at her confusedly.

She groaned, "What…What happened?"

"You fainted just now! Get up!" Charleen snapped. "Come on! Police'll be coming no doubt!"

"What?"

"You just ripped someone's face apart—Get up!" She grabbed her hands and pulled so Sylvia staggered to her own two feet. "We gotta go to the car!"

Charleen grabbed her arm and pulled her through the club.

There was clearly a sign of an evacuation: chairs had been tipped over, glasses were left unfinished and some had spilled and shattered over the tables and onto the floor; purses were littered about as if the bodies had been picked up by a UFO but had left all the belongings behind.

Getting to the car, Charleen shoved Sylvia into the backseat, putting herself in the driver's seat, and started the car. When Sylvia got in, she quickly rolled down the window and puked.

Charleen drove back to the mansion, glancing over her shoulder to see if they were being followed.


When they arrived at the mansion, Sylvia was still groggy; Charleen peeled out of the driver's seat, opened the door to the back, took Sylvia's arm and pulled her out with a grunt of effort; slinging Sylvia's arm around her neck, Charleen aided her inside and plopped her down on the couch in the instant she had a moment.

Victor, the Kabuki twins, Benson, and Marcus were there to receive her. Instant concern flashed over the posse's face upon Sylvia's disposition.

"What happened?" Benson demanded.

"Lucas is dead." Charleen answered in a higher voice than she'd intended, pointing at Sylvia, who turned on her side as she lied on the couch; she appeared disoriented. "She killed him."

"What are you talking about?" Jack questioned.

Joel added, "Yeah, I thought she was going to settle things with Barbara—"

"—and she did!" Charleen snapped. "She dislocated her shoulder—Tabitha got thrown into the floor, the floor got crumpled—"

"—Why did she—"

"— 'Cause Lucas hurt me—"

"—Is Tabitha dead too?" Jack questioned.

"—No, and neither is Barbara—"

"—But you said Lucas is," Joel piped.

"He's the only one! Listen, why don't you!" Charleen snarled, gesticulating rapidly. "Lucas is dead! Gone! He got his face—she ripped him open—"

"You mean metaphorically?" Marcus offered.

"NO!" Charleen screamed, her voice rose into hysterics. "STRANGE MADE HER THIS WAY! HE PUT THAT STUFF IN HER, MADE HER FREAKISHLY STRONG AND SYLVIA RIPPED LUCAS' FACE OPEN—HIS JAW IS ON the ground and HE'S DEAD and THE PLACE IS GONNA BE riddled with cops, and I don't know—SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Benson, Marcus, the twins, and Victor exchanged expressions as Charleen hurried to the bathroom to compose herself. In the meantime, Victor peered down at Sylvia, who rested on the couch; quiet, uneasy groans escaped her.

Benson looked at Victor expectantly: "What did Donna Gordon say about Strange before she left?"

"She said she was going to do business with Strange," Jack said interestedly. "I thought she was just talking about returning the pills…"

Marcus murmured, "You don't think she went to him for something more than what you guys got from him, do you?"

Victor glanced at Sylvia's overall appearance.

While the others contemplated her motivation behind what had been her momentary departure, and fussed over her disposition, he now observed her current appearance with calm.

Victor instructed that the twins go out and take Charleen somewhere to eat so that the teenager could mellow down while Benson made a small mention of heading over the bridge to brief the Mainlanders that their contact with the island was back in action, even if she did seem a bit off.

Marcus gave Victor a meaningful glance before he left, going back to Lean on Vee's to tend to the bar now that Sylvia seemed more than in charge of her own club these days.

This left Victor alone with her.

He sat on the couch cushion, cleaning one of his Glocks. Sylvia's head rested on his lap. Every now and then, she would shift restlessly before her body pulled her back into the sleep that she no doubt needed.

Her skin was no longer clammy or cold as it had been when Charleen had brought her inside. Her breathing had initially been erratic, but the longer she remained here, it was seemingly returning to normal. That was a good sign, at least.

He briefly left to the kitchen to get a sandwich. When he returned, he sat on the edge of the couch and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. The gentle gesture made her stir. She turned on her back with a soft moan, her eyes opening slowly to gaze up at him.

"Good Afternoon, Pumpkin." Victor greeted.

She smiled tiredly, "Afternoon, Precious."

"You didn't threaten any cops this time, right?" Victor asked humorously.

"No." Sylvia mumbled; she met his knowing glance. "Not cops."

"You did something to yourself, didn't you?"

Sylvia smiled guiltily, "What gave me away?"

"Besides the frantic teenager that whisked you inside, the fact that you were covered in blood, and how Charleen mentioned something about Hugo Strange—Nothing."

"Well, that's just incriminating."

"Charleen said Strange 'put something inside' you."

"Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. What does it matter?"

Victor said seriously, "What did you do to yourself, Liv?"

Sylvia glanced at him before she sat up and rubbed her head ruefully.

She said defensively, "I did what I had to do. I did the only thing I could do…to protect everyone…"

He sighed, looking up from her to roll his eyes: "Do I want to know?"

She sent him a sarcastic smile: "Probably not."

"Tell me anyway."

"Victor, you're not going to like it."

"That shouldn't stop you from telling me why that kid of yours came back in full hysterics."

Sylvia startled, looking around before she asked worriedly, "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Or will be." Victor stated flatly. "I'm more concerned about you." He holstered his weapon pointedly. "So, I'll ask again. I hope you and I share a mutual level of respect that you won't lie to me when I do. What happened when you went to talk to Strange?"

He felt her hand on his thigh, rubbing gently. She sat directly beside him, leaning forward. Victor had never seen Sylvia look at him in the way she did now.

She patted his lap, saying dryly, "He gave me an injection that would allow me to think clearly. It rid me of my depression: I'm not sad anymore. So…" She stood. "Let's drop it, okay?"

She walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. Victor sighed deeply, pausing only to consider the momentous effort that would be required to get the real truth out of her before he stood and followed her into the other room.

She was in the middle of pouring herself a glass of wine before Victor grabbed the bottle and glass in each hand, placing them on the kitchen counter.

She sent him a disingenuous look when he placed himself in between it and herself, like a barrier.

"What are you doing now?" Sylvia asked coolly.

"You're not telling me everything." He pointed at her.

"You're right. I'm not. Glad we got that out of the way. So, would you?" She gestured for him to move out of the way.

When he didn't, Sylvia let out an exasperated sigh, taking his shoulder and pushed him to the side. However, Victor didn't budge.

"What was in that injection?" He questioned.

Sylvia frowned: "I'm done talking about this."

"I can see that. But I'm not."

"Seems like a one-sided conversation, then, doesn't it? Almost like a waste of your energy, and maybe, what's more important, mine."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you be better off just telling me the truth?" Victor offered stoically. "This 'injection' isn't any anti-depressant that's on the market: I know that for certain. And that kid" (He inclined his head to the front door where Charleen had left with the twins for ice cream) "she said whatever Strange gave you made you 'freakishly' strong."

"It gave me what I needed in order to do what had to be done—"

"Which, I assume, is the necessary build to rip Lucas in half for what he did to Charleen."

Sylvia rolled her eyes dramatically to the ceiling and said harshly, "If I didn't take what Strange had to offer, I still would be in bed, crying my eyes out—doing nothing. Now I'm fine. I'm better. I'm taking action."

"And by action, you mean acting eccentric. Because if I know Sylvia as well as I think I do, ripping a man's jaw off his face is something she would have done in theory—as a dark joke, which no one appreciates that more than me, trust me,—but for as long as I've known you, you would have never done that." Victor said seriously.

"I've cut a man in half before."

"Yeah, a few years ago, when you had no self-discipline or self-control, when Penguin was still climbing to the top rung of the ladder," Victor said casually. "You said so yourself: When you were handling the Underworld, you had to work differently when Penguin was in Arkham. You had no time for any amount of fun. Coincidentally, you go to Strange for a 'cure', and you're coming back dislocating shoulders, smashing floors with human hammers, and ripping jaws apart. Does that sound anything like the 'you' before?"

Sylvia sighed apathetically. She began to leave the room. Victor moved and blocked her path. She glared at him when he did.

"Victor, get out of my way."

"Nah." He shook his head slowly with a small, mischievous smile. "I'm more interested to see what you'll do now if I don't."

"Get out of my way."

"Nope."

Her lack of impulse control was clear as day. She brought her hand up to shove him to the side; he caught that hand and pushed her against the wall, daring her to try it again.

According to Charleen, Sylvia had more strength inside of her than she'd already once possessed. It would easily mean that Sylvia could punch him through two walls if she so desired. And even so, when he stopped her from doing what she wanted, Victor saw with fascination how her eyes filled with deep red, and the veins along her neck almost seemed to crawl.

Victor's lips parted in both intrigue and disappointment. He'd seen this same effect on Mario Falcone when the man wished to have a drink and Victor passively declined to get him one (Falcone himself was a Don but he could sometimes be altruistic, but his son was just not someone that Victor could vibe with.). In that same circumstance, Mario's face had reacted very much in the same way Sylvia's did currently. Was it possible?

"You're infected." Victor uttered dryly. "Aren't you?"

Sylvia looked at him as if she might throw him out the window before her face relaxed and the hand that Victor pinned against the wall above her seemed to do the same. Her lack of response might as well had been his confirmation.

"If you think you needed to take the Virus in order to deal with your sadness and lead your people, you're not the same woman I've gotten to know these past few years," Victor uttered, disappointed.

Sylvia tilted her head slowly to the side, her eyes surveying him. Victor released her hand and she leaned her back against the wall with what was almost amusement at his reaction.

"The same woman you met had restraint enough not to do whatever it was that first came to her mind," She said darkly. "The woman you've known was raised to understand the difference between justice and vengeance. It's amazing how those two things get oddly blurred when there's no one telling you when to stop."

"Charleen was there to tell you to stop." Victor said unhappily.

"Lucas hurt her. He deserved what he got. Same with Barbara. I dealt with them without my morals getting in the way and it felt amazing. But I think, if you ask me, they got off too easily."

"Charleen said you were sick after. Maybe that's your queue to stop. Obviously, your 'morals' aren't in agreement with what you are right now."

"My morals can take a fucking hike. Barbara got what she deserved for taking my club. Tabitha got what she deserved—and got off easy, by the way—for trying to lasso me with her stupid whip. Lucas got what he deserved for hurting Charleen and for trying to kill me even after I tried dealing with him in the same way Oswald would have done."

"What, with diplomacy?" Victor joked.

"Precisely. And the same can be said for whenever I find Nygma—"

"—He's in hiding—"

"—and I will find him. I can't guarantee that I won't do the same thing to him. Who knows? I might just tear his head off his body. I've honestly thought about giving that one a shot, especially now that I can." Sylvia said with a malicious smile, wiggling her fingers.

Victor stepped back to allow her some space. He held up his hands in obvious surrender as he said humorously, "You know, I get it. Whatever you have to do in order to get it out and work through whatever you've got going on, I'm on board. I just don't want you to lose yourself in the process."

"It's sweet that you care." She licked her bottom lip. "And you know how much I care for you. But let me just say this: If you get in my way again…" She bounced her back off the wall, and her hand caressed Victor's face with the palm of her hand. "…We'll be doing more than just talking about me 'losing myself'."

Victor smirked at her: "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in seeing what that would entail."

She lowered her hand and walked around him, saying, "What happened to you dating my bartender? Is that still not going on?"

"Actually…"

She looked over her shoulder inquisitively.

"What? Is he too submissive for you?" She joked, pouring the rest of her wine in a glass.

"No. Apparently, I'm not the dominating type he thought I was."

Sylvia looked at him, again with surprise. Victor shrugged nonchalantly.

"So, you two…?" She pointed at him and moved her finger between his direction and the living room to indicate Marcus.

"It was a mutual parting of ways."

"Aw. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Don't be." Victor said easily. "It just frees up my time that could be spent getting threatened by you."

Sylvia rolled her eyes playfully, smiling at him, "You are tweaked, you know that, don't you? Well, either way, I'm sorry to see that relationship go South. That just means that Marcus will be hitting on every Regular that comes within a herculean inch of his proximity."

"That'll bring in customers."

"No doubt about that." She gave him a once-over and said smoothly, "You don't sound too phased by it, at least. Since you seem in high spirits about all of that, you want to drink the other half of the bottle?" She held up the bottle of wine, respectively.

"I don't drink wine."

"Says the fancy pants wearing a black, shiny vest."

"It's a palate thing."

"Of course, it is. Of course, it is. I think there's beer in the fridge if you prefer that."

"I'm not drinking with you, Liv."

"Why?" Sylvia said innocently. She took the glass in hand and breezed by him, not before she kissed him on the cheek. "Professional relationships, and all that? What could change between us if you didn't keep up with your high standards 24/7."

Victor smiled modestly at the pass she made at him. However, he took her shoulders and moved her, so he was granted a little bit more breathing room.

"You can kill anyone you like, take your anger out on the whole city if that's what it takes for you to stop feeling angry for what happened to Penguin. I don't care if you do. But trying to find someone for a night, I don't think that's smart," said Victor calmly.

Sylvia looked injured by his words, but she said with a small smile after, "Who said I was trying to use anyone to fill the void?"

Her voice broke in mid-sentence.

Victor didn't answer. He didn't have to. When he didn't say anything, her face became flushed as if with embarrassment.

Her impulse-control problem apparently extended past homicidal tendencies; they seeped into her emotions, even the ones that the injection tried to diminish. Even with everyone in the mansion at a time, there was one emotion that she hadn't been able to repress, and the Virus had amplified tenfold.

Sylvia was lonely.

Victor pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapped around her back. She placed her glass of wine on the kitchen table, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her face nestled into his chest.

"I just miss him a lot." Sylvia mumbled.

"I know. I miss him too."

"You do?"

"Yeah." Victor returned. "He paid me a lot more than these other hacks do."

Sylvia let out what was a combination of a half-sob and a snorted laugh.