Tug-of-war

"What is affinity, anyway?"

Before William could get an answer, the door opened from outside.

Zsasz came into view, naked except for a pair of bloodstained gray boxer shorts, scattered knife scars covering his exposed skin.

The wound at his waist had already been bandaged, but there was still a gunshot wound in his leg. The flesh gaped outward, and the dark brown crust of blood had yet to fully congeal. That was why his lips were deathly pale and his whole body trembled.

"Little cop, your time is up."

Zsasz leaned against the doorframe and waved the gun in his hand.

"Move farther inside, over by the sink. That'll make it easier for me to wash away the brains and blood."

But in William's eyes, five hollow, pixelated hearts had appeared above Zsasz's head. One was a third filled with red.

They represented the meager amount of affinity he felt toward William.

A white, cloud-shaped speech bubble had also appeared to Zsasz's right.

William was very familiar with this sort of thing. In comics, it usually represented a character's thoughts.

And that was exactly what it did. At that moment, every detail of Zsasz's thoughts was laid bare before William.

Tremble. Beg. Only then will this slaughter become delicious. My only regret is that I'm too badly hurt to slit your throat with a blade!

Well, it seemed this mismatched system wasn't completely useless.

In the comics, Victor Zsasz believed life had no value and dedicated himself to freeing souls trapped within their fleshly shells. That was the cornerstone of his sick philosophy of life.

Accordingly, if William could convince Zsasz that he was worth more alive than dead, he would have a chance to survive. Or, to put it more plainly-

-make Zsasz see him as a kindred spirit.

With his goal established, William took a deep breath, stared straight into the dark muzzle, and pressed his fingers against his Adam's apple as he cleared his throat.

"Are you sure you want to kill me with that thing? A handgun, with its crude design and deafening noise? It's an insult to the very art of killing."

His very first sentence struck right at Zsasz's heart.

Of course, it also carried an enormous risk. Zsasz's brows knitted together, and the affinity above his head instantly dropped to zero.

"Heh heh heh. I suppose you people must have carefully investigated my movements and habits. I hate firearms, yes, but I never object to using them when necessary. Rather than provoking me, perhaps getting on your knees and begging would improve your chances of survival."

"You're right. I want to live. But that doesn't contradict my contempt for killing with guns."

William spread his hands and backed away, one step at a time.

"Bladed weapons are the culmination of humanity's history of killing. A thrust slices through the tendons, the blade passes between the third and fourth ribs, pierces the heart through the fibrous pericardium, and sinks deep into the ventricle."

"The muscles spasm and contract, clamping tightly around the blade. Then you pull the knife out with all your strength..."

Zsasz froze. William's description reminded him of the homeless man he had killed at twenty-five-the first person he had ever murdered.

Blood had sprayed like water from a broken pipe, splashing across his face and the collar of his white shirt before the pouring rain washed it into an enchanting pink.

He would never forget that day. Death had turned him into what he was now, into the true Victor Zsasz.

And that was precisely William's aim. He needed Zsasz to relive that scene. Only then would the man believe they were alike.

The affinity above Zsasz's head jumped by two hearts. He lowered the muzzle, though his index finger remained on the trigger.

"It sounds like you're more than just a cop."

"Victor, I'm just like you. I only feel alive when I'm facing a corpse. My favorite thing is taking a blade to a body, cutting open its cold skin after it's lost its elasticity."

That was what William said.

In a sense, he wasn't lying. Before transmigrating, he had been a forensic pathologist.

And his misleading declaration successfully piqued Zsasz's interest.

"Working on corpses? That's far too dull. Have you never thought about trying your hand on someone alive?"

"My job is what it is, buddy. I can't do anything too outrageous. But I swear, I've always looked forward to that day. I'm just waiting for the perfect opportunity." Seeing Zsasz's affinity soar, William gradually relaxed his tone.

Zsasz laughed too, the knife scars on his face twisting together like centipedes.

But unlike his earlier sinister sneer, this smile held a warped sort of goodwill.

"Come on, do me a favor. If you really can do what you claim, I might consider letting you go." I've always wanted to preserve her organs in formalin. I hope this kid can help me.

As the affinity continued to rise, the bubble also displayed Zsasz's thoughts.

William could already see hope of survival.

"You want me to help you deal with a corpse? That's my old line of work. I'll make sure you're satisfied."

Perhaps he had relaxed too much. As he walked forward, he spoke in a half-joking tone.

The next second, the cold muzzle pressed against his forehead.

Zsasz narrowed his eyes, his pale face resembling a plaster bust beneath the light and shadows. Above his head, his affinity was plummeting visibly.

"What did you just say?"

"I... I'm sorry!"

William had no idea what he had said wrong. All he could do now was apologize.

He clenched his fists, cold sweat soaking his collar.

The sound of his own swallowing thundered inside his head.

Fortunately, the affinity stopped falling and began a slow climb.

That meant Zsasz had accepted his apology.

"Remember, never call her a corpse. That's blasphemy!"

They entered another room, and Zsasz opened a freezer.

Cold air spilled out, revealing a naked woman's corpse.

"Cut open her belly and take out her organs. If you're really as good as you say, that should be easy enough, right?"

Of course it would be. This was a forensic pathologist's bread and butter. He just didn't have a suitable tool at hand.

A Scalpel, for instance.

Zsasz dragged a box off a nearby storage cabinet. Inside were all sorts of bladed weapons he had collected.

"Pick something that suits you?"

William began rummaging through it. There was no Scalpel of the kind he wanted, but several blades had a similar shape and weight. The Miniature Dagger he now held was one of them. He pulled off its cowhide sheath, and the sharp blade reflected the light.

But what truly caught his attention was a black throwing weapon lying at the bottom of the box.

To be precise, it was a Batarang.

"Where did you get this?"

"I knew you'd be interested. One of Batman's little gadgets."

Zsasz leaned against the windowsill, fiddling with his gun as he casually began telling a story.

About a year earlier, while searching for prey at the Port late at night, he had encountered an orphan girl. Before he slit her throat with his dagger, she had nearly put out his eye with a Batarang.

Zsasz had offered the girl a chance to live in exchange for the truth.

An unconscious Batman had drifted down the Gotham River to the Port, where several homeless people had pulled him out of the water.

They had divided up all his equipment, and the girl had been one of them.

"I asked her, 'Where did Batman go?' She said they'd dumped him beside a trash can, but when they went back the next day, he was gone. Maybe he's still alive, maybe he's dead, but I'm leaning toward the latter. I haven't heard anything about him in almost a year!"

Zsasz sounded excited. He hunched over, the creases on his face coming together into the kind of crazed grin that only too much snorting could produce.

"That's happy news, but I don't see a smile on your face."

"Yeah, it's pretty funny."

William forced a perfunctory smile.

"By the way, you promised to spare that girl. What happened to her?"

"I slit her windpipe."