You talk lots about God
Freedom comes from the call
But that's not what this bitch wants
Not what I want at all
Money, Power, Glory / Lana Del Rey
Three Months Later
The man's shrill screams cut at my ears most beautifully, as I removed his fingernails. The restraints holding him were strong, but he still pulled at them, desperately trying to escape the slow, methodical work of the pliers. The nail gave way, revealing the viscera beneath for just a moment, before blood overtook it, hiding the stunning framework we each were comprised of.
When I finished with his left hand, I sat back with a soft sigh, using a nearby piece of fresh gauze to clean my tool, before placing it back on the tray. The pitiful addict before me heaved, spilling the nearly bare contents of his stomach onto his wife beater. The unforgiving lights of the refrigerator unit buzzed as he shivered in the cold room, shaking and sobbing.
"Stewart, you know I like you. You know I do." I sighed again, leaning back to examine him. "You're good muscle, obedient, and you love what you do. If I didn't like you so much, I would have torn your throat out with my teeth. Do you understand?"
He trembling, nodding slightly, though he knew better than to answer verbally.
"So, I'm going to give you one more chance." I intoned. "Where are the drugs?"
He sobbed again, looking down to his chest, and shook his head.
"Where are the drugs, Stew?"
"I… I used them, Miss Quinn."
I sucked my teeth, releasing with a thunk, nodding solemnly. "Well, I suppose that's what they're for." I offered. "Fine. Where is the money?" When no answer was forthcoming, I reached out to slap him. "Where is my goddamn money, Stew? I am not a patient woman. You did the drugs, now you pay for them."
He sobbed. "I don't have any money, Miss Quinn."
"Of course you don't. Would you like to know why you don't have any money you pathetic fucking stain?" I grinned, though the show of comradery was marred by his blood still lingering in my teeth from the bite he had received as I subdued him. "You don't have any money because you're nothing. No one. You're barely a named character in the play of life, and you fail at ever being goddamn set dressing." I spat, before standing, running my hands through my hair.
The amount he had stolen was negligible. It was clear to me that he was testing the waters. Trying to see if I would notice if he took just a little. But it didn't matter. It was the principle of the thing. He could not steal from me. No one could steal from me.
I took a breath, before turning back. "However. You play the muscle-bound freak well. So, I'm not going to kill you." He looked up, blinking finally, with hope on his tear-stained face. "You still must be punished, of course." I shrugged. "But you'll leave the room with your life, how does that sound?"
He nodded, vehemently. "I understand, Miss. Quinn. I am so-"
"Shut the fuck up, before I change my mind," I snarled again, feeling very much like a lion, locked in a room with my dinner. His mouth shut, eyes lowering to the floor quickly as I stood, pacing the wall of tools in the cool, yet well let refrigeration unit with a speculative look. I wanted to make this fast, have Sam take him, and drop him off at an emergency room on his way to retrieve my lunch.
I settled on a Viking wood splitter. I enjoyed the tool because though it was wickedly sharp, I still got to treat it like a blunt force weapon. "Do you know what they did to thieves in the Old Testament, Stew?" I said, serenely, and the moment his horrified eyes met mine, I swung, severing the arm at the wrist, as he screamed for only a moment, before blacking out from the pain, and shock. I quickly bandaged the wound to the best of my ability, grateful to see the bleeding slow as I tourniqueted it and called for Sam, who entered the room with a grimace but worked to keep his expression neutral. He had come a long way since I met him, huddled in the corner of the hotel, drinking only barely decent liquor among friends. Now he stood tall, wearing clothes that fit, and with a bit of weight on his frame. I gestured for him to remove the man, shouting my dinner order after him as he hauled the man over his shoulder, and out of the building.
I wiped my hands on a clean towel by the door, sending a message to Jessie to get one of her sparse cleaning crew into the refrigerator. Never know when you need it. Giving her control over keeping the building clean was the right move. She cried the first time she cleaned up the blood, but grew used to it quickly, with the pay increase, and her own bedroom to decorate and keep as she wanted- a luxury she had only ever dreamed of. She had taken to me as a kind of… not mother, but perhaps eccentric aunt figure. She invited me to her room, grinning at the new additions each time there was one. Flowers, and fairy lights, and tapestries, and more.
In the hall, I stopped by The War Room, my affectionate nickname for where my higher-ups packaged their deliveries for the day and dropped off the funds from those deliveries at the end of the day. No one would suspect any of them of dealing, too strung out, too pathetic looking, even with three months of living decently. I preferred to send the elders of my little group, knowing their strengths came from their weaknesses. Who would suspect an old man with the shakes of working with Gotham's newest drug Queen -pin?
They smiled, though they looked slightly nervous. They knew my moods, though I worked to hide them. I approached the table where one of the elders with bad knees, unable to do drug runs, counted the cash, using her years of experience as a bank teller (Visible in the pain in her wrists, and the knots in her knuckles) to count, sort, and bind it all at the speed of sound.
Satisfied that the machine was well-oiled and running as designed, I left, peeking into the welcome area of the hotel, where many of the young ones, normally around fourteen to nineteen, congregated, some of whom I didn't recognize, making me smile. The youth's main job was to find new customers, and they did it beautifully. I left quickly, not wanting to spark any alarm. I used the newly renovated elevator to make it to the top floor. Using Pamela's new identity- Paula Irving? I believe it was?- to quietly purchase the property was a fabulous idea, though we were sure to leave the outside looking abandoned, going as far as to board up the windows, so the light inside could not give us away. Though I did invest in a new fence, much stronger than the last and electrified, irritating J. So is that for me?
My response had been to roll my eyes, and not much more.
The door dinged, opening, and I stepped towards Jervis's room. Inside he was working with two rail-thin men.
"Anything new for me?" I asked, making him jump. "Sorry."
"Well, it isn't ready yet, but… I have a prototype."
"Of?"
"You remember when you said you wanted a hallucinogen?" He lifted a tiny dropper of red fluid. I snapped it from his hand, eying it. "What will it set me back?"
"Base cost is around twenty-five per unit, not including labor."
I sucked a breath through my teeth. "Higher than I'd hoped."
"Hallcinagens tend to be higher cost."
"Fair enough. How many doses per bottle?"
"Three."
I considered. "Hm. We'll start it at fifty bucks, and once demand kicks up we'll bump it up to seventy-five."
He nodded, "I'm going to test it tonight if you'll send up one of the kids, and if all goes well, we'll begin bottling it."
I nodded, shrugging, stepping away. "I'll have Sam pick one of the older ones."
Inside my bedroom, I stripped out of my still-bloodied clothes, and drew a hot bath, pouring a rock's glass too full of whiskey before I slipped beneath the bubbles that redded considerably fast as I let the Epsom salts work their way into my damaged muscles.
Soon, Sam would return with my lunch, and I would be meeting with an arms dealer for dinner. I hoped the first meeting would go well of course, but I did not tolerate disrespect, regardless of hopes. If I needed to, I would kill him with my teeth as the whore he would no doubt bring, draped over him, begged for her pathetic life.
It was all so… mundane. I hated it. I missed spontaneity, and I promised myself that soon, I would have it again. I was surprised Roman hadn't attacked yet, and I wondered if J's bomb had wiped out his reinforcements entirely. As soon as he was dead, I would get to go home. Probably. J and I would most likely fight again before that happened, as he's been a real dick recently, but that was something to worry about later.
My phone beeped on the side table, near the clawfoot tub I soaked in, and I lifted it seeing that Eddie had messaged me with an update on his newest update on the security questions I had had. Half the City had gone dark for the police, after the public cameras were down, he began working on the private ones, dismantling them from the inside, if the cameras and footage were ruined, the Bat had no way of knowing our base of operations. Eddie quickly became my highest-paid employee, an impressive distinction for someone who had never even set foot on home base.
I placed the phone back down, submerging beneath the soapy water, letting it soak into every part of me but my lungs, uncaring of the damage to my already fried hair.
And then I screamed, bubbles escaping with no sound attached, as I released my frustration into the comfortable prison.
The dealer was a goddamn stereotype, covered in tattoos, everywhere not hidden by his thick leather jacket. The thick accent was ridiculous, making me roll my eyes, as he sat down at my dinner table, in the modified restaurant of the Hotel, our food being brought in by two tall young women, who plated the take-out prettily enough to make him believe the Italian food was made here, rather than down the street.
Sam poured all of us wine, before coming to stand behind me, next to Baby, who flanked me along with her sister. The dog's eyes begged the man to step out of line or to not mind his tone.
The meeting was going well, with dull business discussions, and bulk pricing on untraceable weapons and munitions. I wished privately that be would become rude- to make my night. He had brought me such a bounty, and yet his manners prevented me from partaking in the bloody feast.
By the time he left, I was sighing under my breath at the tediousness of it all. Ridiculous. I began to wonder if I could request a kill before a business meeting- like a bottle of wine at a friend's dinner.
But I couldn't. It would be unreasonable. It would be… like him. The only reason I had come as far as I had is because I had repressed those urges, and fought through them to only let the beast out of the bag when absolutely necessary. And it often was.
As Sam led them from the building, and back to his car, I sipped the last of my wine, gesturing for another of my people to refill the glass, not for the first time. Eventually, I made my way back upstairs, where I changed into a silk nightgown, tucking myself between the sheets, before calling for my dearest friends, who slept at the foot of my bed, one facing the locked door, the other the boarded up window, ready for anything.
My sleep was restless, and I tossed and turned all night.
The figure watched from inside her closet- entirely unmoving, not wanting to alert her oh-so-obedient and ferocious guard dogs to his presence. Soon, he would slip away, back out of the building, into the sewers, where he was most comfortable now. But he had to see her- and see her he did. She was even more stunning now than she had been before- other than the hideous scar covering her left thigh- making his lip curl, blatant disgust at the mark the beast had left on her perfect, beautiful flesh. He would get rid of it, fix it. He had to do it, to take her- to make her his, finally.
He would burn it off of her if he had to.
His time watching and waiting had taught him so much. Much more than he had ever expected to learn, horrified and aroused by each of the new and disturbing revelations.
She was a monster, a beautiful, terrible monster that he worshipped at her altar of blood and evil daily. He would transform. Be what she wanted, be what she needed- Be everything.
Even if it killed them both. Even if it killed everyone.
Across town, the thick suit sat on a dummy as the teen painted it with an aerosol can. The red and deep green stained the black impressively, needing only two coats to get the color where he wanted it.
He would need to modify the mask as well, but that would come at a later date. For now, he worried about ensuring the suit wouldn't be connected to his new guardian's own vigilante. He hadn't told him about his project- his idea, because he knew it wouldn't do anything but start a fight that would not end happily. He would find out when he saw the news. When he couldn't stop Grayson. When he couldn't stop him. Dick was going to be everything that Batman couldn't be. What Batman wouldn't be, more like.
If he was confronted with The Joker, Harley Quinn, or any of the other monsters in this town, he wouldn't be like Bruce- he wouldn't be weak. He wouldn't stop until the clowns were dead. For my parents.
Johnny smoked outside the storage container, shivering not from the wind, but from the laughter coming from inside, as Joker did god knows what inside. Since Harley had been away, longer than ever, he had gone back to his more creative endeavors. Something that Johnny had hoped wouldn't happen.
Inside the shipping container, Joker stood on a makeshift stage, three deck boards, stacked and nailed together, and he paced it, imaginary mic in hand, as the hostages looked on, mouths frozen in wide grins, forced back with thick fishing line, holding it in place, and tears streamed down their faces uncontrollably, the saltwater burning the splits on the sides of their lips, as he told his jokes, most of them off the cuff- holding for laughter that wouldn't- couldn't- come.
Eventually, he tired of the performance- thanking the audience for coming out to the last show, and bowing lowly, waving to imaginary applause, before turning the light off, and walking out, waving the entire way to a stadium the crowd couldn't see, before tossing back in another canister of paralytic gas before closing the heavy door, and padlocking it, cutting off the sounds of desperate moans, and frantic shaking within their restraints.
"Let's go. I have an idea, and I wanna get started on it tonight." He said without breaking stride and Johnny jogged to keep up, sliding into the driver's seat as J opened a bag of snacks in the passenger.
"I need something stronger than fishing line, but it can't cut too deep on them either."
"I'll look into it."
"And call up that Wesker douche-bag."
"The puppet guy?"
"I'm not above asking for insight on the craft," J giggled, turning eyes full of gleeful violence to his friend, who kept his eyes on the road as he swallowed thickly, wondering what fresh hell Joker intended to inflict on the populace.
AN: Please Review!