𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 ━━ 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐙𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐳

t w e l v e

Soren laid there in the middle of the abandoned Cathedral. Blood dripped from her arm onto the creaking wooden floorboards, pouring from the wound on her shoulder. Anger welled inside her, burning like a flame inside her chest. She wouldn't let anyone decide her future for her.

"Kill me if you want, but I will never give you what you want."

"One way or another, Al Shaitan, I will get what I came for."

4-HOURS EARLIER

"This is honestly the worst sandwich I've ever had."

"And yet, it's still the best sandwich you can get on the east end." Victor tossed the remaining half of his sandwich on the ground as he and Soren crossed the street.

"It makes me feel like I need a shower." Soren scowled. "How can a sandwich make me feel dirty?"

"Oh please," Victor shoved his hands in his pockets, "you wear the smell of blood and death like perfume."

"You still haven't told me what we're doing here." She raised her chin.

Kill, Kill, Kill.

The pair of assassins had been walking around the notorious region of Gotham City for nearly twenty minutes. Despite the fact that the two of them certainly would be considered scum by many, they stood out. People in the east end tended to be dirty, tweaked out, or visibly poor in some way.

However, Victor Zsasz and Soren Striker wore expensive, clean, well-fitting clothing.

"Just a little game. See that guy there?" Victor pointed to a man standing on the corner near a deli shop. He wore a black suit and carried a briefcase.

"What about him?" Soren asked, noticing he stood out just as much as she and Victor.

"He needs to die, and it needs to look like an accident." He crossed his eyes, glancing at Soren in his peripheral vision.

Soren nodded, observing the target a little longer before adjusting her jacket and crossing the street. Victor leaned against the wall, watching her with his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips.

Oh, what fun. Blood, Blood, Blood.

Soren silently moved a trash can into the road and waited until finally, she saw a car driving in her direction at a high speed. She kicked the can over and disappeared behind a corner. The car, likely driven by someone under the influence, showed no signs of slowing, and instead, swerved to the right side of the road and directly into the man standing on the corner. His body went flying before coming back down and hitting the concrete with a deep thud.

The man's body lay there unmoving, blood pooling out around him.

Bask in the blood.

Soren ignored the voices and returned to Victor. "Good enough?"

Victor nodded and they walked away from the accident, stopping a couple of blocks away.

"Looks like we've got company." She motioned her head down the road at the two detectives approaching them.

"Soren Striker." Harvey Bullock aimed his gun at her. "You're under arrest for the murder of Ayman Torres and seven of his men."

"Am I?" Soren smirked and shifted her gaze to the other detective, Jim Gordon. "You might want to rethink that decision."

"Why's that?" Jim asked, handcuffs in his hands.

"Because, Jim," Soren took a step toward him, "if I spend more than 48 hours in police custody, every single employee of the GCPD and your girlfriend will receive a copy of the photos of our night together."