It was finally time. Finlay hated waiting for his talents' turns, but that was just how things went. Fuck, he really wanted to bury himself in one of those whores they kept in the compound.
Still, there was no time to fantasize about free pussy. Viktor was already in the pit as Finlay and crew sat among the crowds, moving towards the center to be put in the cage. Finlay's expression hardened when he finally saw his boy's opponent—Victor Zsasz. Them having the same name aside, it finally dawned on him who that was.
He was familiar with the name, of course, but he never cared much for what happened outside the station. Now though... he wished he was more careful. Zsasz was known for torturing and crippling his opponents before going for the kill. Viktor was tough to the point of being unreasonable, but he only ever had his guys beat the kid up. Zsasz used knives unlike them, which he always snuck into the pits somehow.
'Let's just hope the kid pulls through... I mean, there was that deal I made with the organizer, but I could've at least made this easier on him,' he thought.
"'Ey, boss...?" One of Finlay's guys spoke up. "How'd your talks with the organizer go?"
"Bastard hid this from me," he replied. "Don't get me wrong, I won't be out for blood because of this, but... damn. They could've at least held back a little."
"What exactly happened back there?" asked another of Finlay's men.
He explained that the Penguin sent an offer down the command chain after learning what Viktor was: just the right fit for the lounge's Menagerie.
"You sold the kid off?" the second man remarked, indignant.
Finlay shrugged. "They wanted him and offered me some good money. We'd be eating good and buying up high-end girls for weeks."
Shaking his head, the second man groaned, "Fuck's sake, Finlay..."
"Hey, come on, man," said the first. "We haven't even known the kid long. Besides, he'll survive, won't he? Penguin wants him. I'm sure they'll call off the fight before Zsasz actually kills him."
'I made the right call getting Grant here,' thought the second.
...
The atmosphere swirled, thick and heavy. Viktor's blood thumped in his ears like war drums. Heat welled up from deep within, and the air flowed frigid all around.
Across from him, on the other side of the pit, was Zsasz. His expression was neutral, but there was glee in those eyes. Viktor could tell. Just looking at his opponent made his hair stand on end.
From beyond the pit, the announcer bellowed. Her voice carried the crowd's collective enthusiasm as she dictated the combatants' names. Wandering spotlight beams converged towards the center, all pointing to the rusty, grimy cage that hung from the ceiling. As the fighters were urged forward, it slowly descended from the thick cage that suspended it.
"Well?" Zsasz grinned at Viktor once the cage slammed down around them. The expression drew slowly over his face, striking that primal part of Viktor's brain that signaled 'danger.' "Come now," Zsasz continued. "You really don't like me, do you?"
Viktor refused to humor him. Instead, he began to circle near the cage's boundaries, tamping his instincts into settling down. To his relief, Zsasz played along. The announcer built off their little display, fostering anticipation in the crowd.
Out of nowhere, Zsasz drew a knife. It was against the rules. Then again... who in their right mind would obey the rules in a place like this?
Viktor showed his own weapons, baring his fangs and claws to the world. A camera zoomed into him, showing his visage through a massive screen that gave the crowd a closer look. They howled and hollered, little phrases like "Kill that animal!" and "Eat that psycho alive!" rang out with intermittent clarity.
"Oh, goodie!" Zsasz exclaimed. "I've never killed a kitten before..."
Viktor snarled, then sustained a low growl. It was something he learned during his compulsory training under Finlay's people.
Wasting not a single moment further, he charged ahead. His body leaned forward, staying low. His arms swung close enough to the ground that he could effortlessly duck into a roll if his attack failed.
Zsasz met his charge, throwing his knife ahead as he ran. Viktor rolled to the side and used that momentum to keep running, but something sharp caught his side. A knife had embedded itself into his abdomen.
"Come on, kitty... you have to know how humans fight," Zsasz taunted. "At this rate, you're just giving me target practice."
Viktor feigned weakness, 'tripping' and ending up rolling out of control. This jostled the knife's blade inside him, tearing up more of his insides. He bore with the pain even as it worsened when he crashed against the cage. Both his hands went to the knife to put pressure on it and stop from losing too much blood, but more of them sank into other parts of his body. With every hit, he pulled them out, feigning dwindling stamina.
'Come on... come up close, you nasty bitch...'
Zsasz wore a disgustingly lopsided grin as he approached, drawing one more knife from who-knew-where. "Well... I enjoyed our time together, but it's time to put you out of your misery."
All around, the crowd roared. Some jeered at the fighters while others cheered in either encouragement to the underdog or early celebration of victory.
Taking one last look past the cage, Zsasz stopped walking and knelt beside Viktor. "I'd say this isn't personal, but... well, you were rude to me. You can still talk, right? If you have any last words, say them now." He then leaned over, bringing his ear close to Viktor's mouth.
He coughed before speaking. "Oh, God above," he rasped. "I hope the psycho killer has spare change so I can afford laundry and a new shirt."
He took the briefest moment that followed to savor the look of confusion on Zsasz' face just before it warped into panic. As his blood had stained his clothes, they easily concealed the fact that his wounds sealed themselves rapidly. With that information hidden and Zsasz too close, he was free to lunge forward with his claws.
The prey was too slow. Viktor grabbed both of Zsasz' wrists, digging deep into the skin and scraping along the bone. Like a cat sliding down a curtain, he tore those wrists into pieces, leaving Zsasz permanently crippled at the arms.
He ignored the bloodcurdling wail that escaped the enemy's throat. He lunged again, this time digging his claws around the head. Four of his claws tore at both sides of Zsasz' skull, and as for his thumbs, they dug right into those squishy eyeballs.
Viktor roared, coming very close to how an actual tiger would sound. The crowd roared with him in the upset, and even the announcer was screaming. Zsasz pounded at him with his useless arms and kicked blindly with his legs, but he remained undeterred and drew close with his open mouth.
Blood sprayed.
Though he loathed the taste and textures that covered his tongue, Viktor bit deep, tearing out a huge chunk of Zsasz' throat. He let go so he could minimize how much splatter would fall on him, and Zsasz was left to stumble backward. Clutching at his neck, he could only writhe voicelessly as he drowned in his own blood.
Seconds stretched to minutes. Everyone watched—including Viktor—as Zsasz' flailing was reduced to a mild twitching, all the way until he went completely still.
Celebration followed. The announcer declared 'Claw's' victory as the cameras zoomed in on his blood-sprayed face. He shook his head and retracted his natural weapons, spitting out the blood and viscera that had gotten in his mouth. With a sigh, he walked back the way he came in as the cage lifted.
...
Finlay and the others left as soon as Viktor's fight ended. They were collectively relieved that he didn't suffer too much at the hands of Zsasz. At the same time, they were astonished by the sheer brutality that the kid displayed. He'd never been that violent before—most assumed that he finally let all of his frustrations explode in the face of true life-threatening danger.
"Come on," Finlay barked. "Let's grab our money and skip. The P— I mean, Mr. Cobblepot will handle the kid."
They rushed to and out of the organizers' office to collect their winnings. It didn't matter to them that Viktor would be pissed that he was sold off, but they'd rather not bump into him if they could help it. Soon, they exited the lounge, beelining for their subway station with fat stacks of money hidden in various hand-carried objects.
Most of them whooped and cheered, not caring about the racket they made. Only one of them remained alert. Vigilant. He was also the only one that didn't carry anything with him, instead keeping his hand on the firearm at his waist.
One of Finlay's followers clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on Mack, cheer up! Loosen up a little. No need to be on guard; there's a lot of us here! Too many for anyone to wanna fuck with."
Mack sighed. "Doesn't matter. Never hurt anyone to be cautious." His voice was shaky, but that just made the performance more believable. He wasn't really worried about anyone attacking him... he just wasn't fully ready to leave the life he'd been leading until that night.
A few more blocks later and he saw it. A shadow on a rooftop. He wasn't sure who it was, but Grant told him to wait for it.
When his gaze locked with the figure's white eyes, he stiffened. That was the moment. His head swiveled, body turning on his heel. He pulled his gun and pointed it at nothing, startling everyone who was with him.
"What?! Mack, what is it?!" asked someone from his group.
"Sum'n," he replied, hands shaking as he clicked off the safety. He took several steps forward, separating from the group. "I swear there was someone following us."
"Stay alert," Finlay barked. "Whoever it is, we'll fuck 'em up—"
A loud pop interrupted him, followed immediately by three more. Smoke exploded around them, leaving only Mack outside of their range. He turned on his heel again, aiming at his former friends and allies. His gun was trained low to shoot at their legs, but he didn't fire while they were still in the smoke.
From above, the shadow he'd seen earlier fell into the commotion. Loud blows rang out from within the smoke cloud, and people screamed or groaned as they fell over. Within moments, everyone that Mack was with had been knocked out, viciously injured.
When the smoke dissipated, the only one still standing was a slight and feminine figure. Clad in dark clothes and armor, the shocks of red from her hair and gold from the emblem on her chest drew all the attention.
"Take whatever you can carry and go," said the woman, her voice distorted behind her face mask. "I'm confiscating the rest for the rescue."
Without any words or hesitation, Mack did as he was told and left as quickly as he could.
...
Chaos erupted in the Iceberg Lounge. The hallways were filled with screams and gunfire, people running to and fro. Visitors and clients ducked and dashed out of the way as a veritable beefcake of a man barreled on through. On his back was the slight figure of a boy, bloodied with his black hair in a slick mess.
Oswald Cobblepot's enforcers chased after those two. They shot tranq darts from custom-built firearms to avoid unnecessary deaths among their boss's clientelle should they miss. However, once their targets had left the lounge, all bets were off. They discarded their non-lethal weaponry and switched back to tried-and-true lead ammunition, firing away into the night.
Sadly, none were fast enough. Even if they mounted vehicles, once Wildcat had left the building, there was no hope of catching up.
—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—
Hiiiiiii
It me again :3
Sorry this took longer than I wanted... it's been kinda busy for me. I got commissioned last week, then I got commissioned again, and I had to focus on those.
On a more positive note, DC:SR next week! This fic won't be shelved, but it's definitely not gonna be weekly.