Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

True or False-Face

As I leave the apartment building and venture out into the street, I turn around to make sure he isn't following me. Not that it would help, even with his stiff suit Oswald still manages to sneak up on me. I know him so well now, for better or for worse, I've even had a look into his most private dreams. There are times when I think I can truly change him, that my love will somehow be enough for him to make a u-turn in life, to retreat into the life of an average citizen, instead of a crazed mobster. But no...he needs to make that choice for himself, all I can do is encourage him, and, if the situation calls for it, leave him.

But, with Fish Mooney’s demands, is leaving him an option anymore? Sure I can still spy on him even if we were to cease dating, but I would no longer have his trust, or have access to his private thoughts, although whether I have either right now is certainly up for debate. Oswald, Oswald...if only…

   I precariously stroll into Zsasz's little hideaway, a warehouse on the edge of town, fully clad in my disguise. Should I copy Sydney's mannerisms as well? I didn't know her very well, and there wasn't anything very particular about her that stood out to me.

My heels pound against the concrete floor, as I simply focus on remaining calm. Zsasz and Ann stand in the center of the warehouse, surrounded by various weapons, construction equipment, and power tools. Victor Zsasz, part time torturer, part time renovator.

“Good, you’re here. I don’t like tardiness,” Zsasz snaps, looking down at his pockets.

He suddenly whips out a pistol from behind his back, firing a single shot. The bullet whizzes past my shoulder, and I instinctively duck for cover, pulling out my own gun and training it on him.

Zsasz smirks, putting his gun away, “Lesson number one: you will not...fear...anything.”

He gestures for Ann to go forward. She slowly walks toward me, until she ends up directly next to me, Zsasz aims his gun at our heads, his finger twitching on the trigger.

“When I fire, you will not duck. You will stand your ground and not...even...flinch.”

Ann glances over at me, is he trying to kill us?! What will standing vulnerable and out of cover do in a real life scenario? We’d all be shot in seconds.

Nevertheless, I ground myself, preparing for him to shoot. Ann attempts to remain cool as well, but her nervousness plays out in her expression. Closing one eye, Zsasz cocks the gun forward, and fires.

Ann dives down at the sound of the bullet, I flinch, but I remain relatively still.

He sets down the gun as she gets up from the floor, “We...have a lot of work to do.”

   Strapped to a spinning wheel, Ann is spread out in an X shape as the wheel endlessly turns her up and back. Holding a loaded gun in my hand, I take aim at the spinning wheel of misfortune. Ann’s eyes are tearing up, as she clenches her fists that are clasped to the wheel. Closing one eye, I focus...steady...steady…

A shot is fired, then two, three, and finally, four. Zsasz’s hand stops the wheel, and he glances over at the wooden death machine.

“Impressive...all four spaces. And you didn’t even make her lose a limb!”

Bullet holes have surfaced in every space on the wheel in between Ann’s spread legs and arms, the one just above her head still steaming from the bullet. Zsasz undoes the clamps, and Ann hurls herself to the ground, panting from the rush of shock and adrenaline rushing through her.

“Your turn,” he gestures to me.

I pause, “Am...am I going to have to get on the wheel?”

He shakes his head, “No, just stand in front of it.”

I comply, walking over to the wheel and pressing my back against it, standing up straight. Zsasz takes out an apple, “This one’s a classic.”

Placing the apple on my head, he hands Ann a knife, and places his hands behind his back, still remaining close to her, “...you could hit the apple, I know you can,” he whispers into her ear.

“But she just tried to kill you, didn’t she? That bullet came very close to your head, didn’t it? A centimeter closer, and that bullet would’ve blown your brains out.”

He places his hand on the handle of the knife, “Now, you can play nice and hit your target...or...you can make her pay.”

I do my best to stay still, but my building anxiety makes it harder to do so. Ann’s eyes are unflinching, determined. Is she inhuman enough to actually make that decision? Or is she human enough to understand my dilemma?

Winding her arm back, Ann takes aim, and sends the knife sailing toward me.