Meanwhile, at the old apartment on Bowery Street.
William waited for several agonizing hours. Only when dawn began to break and his eyelids started drooping did an impatient knock finally sound outside.
Deathstroke came in with Zsasz's head tucked under his arm and let go the moment he entered.
"What a rabid dog!"
That was no figure of speech. Zsasz's arms and legs had been broken, and his white hospital clothes were covered in filth and blood.
Even so, his urge to attack remained fierce. His face twisted viciously as he bit down on Deathstroke's arm, his body bobbing up and down whenever Deathstroke raised or lowered it.
He looked like a strip of duck intestine being swished through a hot pot.
"This guy's seriously sick. One second he was howling for mercy, and the next he lunged at me. The good news is, he bit down tight enough to save me the effort of carrying him back."
Deathstroke offered the explanation casually, then slapped the rabid dog against the wall.
After that slap, clarity gradually returned to Zsasz's eyes.
"Where... is this... oh, right, you're a killer... hehehe... never thought I'd die at the hands of someone in the same line of work."
"Don't lump me in with you, weakling."
Deathstroke pulled the tooth embedded in his flesh free and flicked it into Zsasz's face.
William stepped forward and crouched down. The moment Zsasz recognized his face, his contemptuous expression crumbled, and tears instantly filled his eyes.
"It's you... my dearest friend... have you come to save me?"
"Answer whatever I ask. Tell the truth, and you'll live."
William had sensed something seriously wrong the moment Deathstroke described the job. What asylum hired someone to silence escaped patients instead of calling the police and Batman? He was almost certain