[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/uG7WxAV.jpg[/img] [img]http://i.imgur.com/iQVA87F.png[/img]
Left to Right: [i]Stefano Calabria[/i] [b]FC:[/b] Adrien Brody; [i]Joseph "Joe" Miller[/i] [b]FC:[/b] Joseph Gordon-Levitt[/center]
[b][i]Something's Fishy[/i][/b]
Tricorner, Decommissioned Naval Yard
Gotham City South, 0405

     Flash. A bright glaring light engulfed Stefano, stirring him from his slumber as his hand rose to his face to shield his eyes. He squinted through his fingers at the flood light and the four shadows around it. One of the shadows strode toward him and swung a tin pail in his direction. Cold water slapped against his body, startling him into alertness. The other two men approached, grabbing him by his wrist and leg. A fist slammed into his face. His nose went numb as a sharp pain passed through it. Instantly, Stefano began to squirm, crying out in horror as he was dragged to the floor. He curled into a ball as he was kicked and stomped. A hand snatched his hair and raised his head as another fist slugged him in his right cheekbone.

     A hand was raised, and the three thugs immediately stopped, looking back at the fourth man who sat in a steel chair behind a canvas and easel. The room had gone eerily quiet. Stefano remained hidden behind the arms that protected his face and his curled legs that protected his stomach. He was shaking all over, peeking through his forearms with horrified eyes. Was he still in the hideout? Where was Joe? Stefano cautiously raised his head and peered up at the men who stood around him like feral dogs. They were wearing nice suits, similar to the group that had attacked the docks. Oh no; had they been caught? Joe! What happened to him?

     Stefano sat up further, using his forearm as support as he raised his hand before his eyes, squinting through the glare of the lights.

     “Who’s there? What do you want with me? What have you done with Joe?” Stefano shouted.

     The floodlight was turned off. The abrupt change in lighting caused Stefano to grasp his eyes against the darkness that dance before them in the form of black spots. When his eyes had a moment to adjust, the only light in the container was the white light cast by the lantern on the desk. The man behind the easel was completely obscured by the large white canvas. He saw a pair of long legs and a hand holding a palette of paints. Stefano’s brown eyes shrank, face paled, and a chill skittered across his skin. It couldn’t be. His jaw clenched tightly. The soft patter of brush strokes was the only sound that managed to wade through the thick silence.

     “D…Dante?” Stefano wondered aloud with uncertainty.

     The man’s second hand came into view slowly lowering from the canvas clenching a paintbrush. Stefano didn’t receive an answer. Again, silence. It was driving him insane! It was Dante! It had to be! Walking over to stand to the painter’s right was Joe, gazing down at Stefano like a saint did a damned sinner.

     “Joe! Joe, what’s going on?” Stefano questioned. Joe would answer him!

     Joe just stared at him as though he didn’t even know him. The painter finally spoke and his voice had been from a man he had once served. It was different. It was deeper and darker. It made Stefano uncomfortable:

     “I’m surprised that I still remember your face. Do you know what I’ve been working on?”

     The voice was nonchalant and empty. Stefano was immediately overwhelmed with grief for it was the voice of Dante Marconi. The Guilt and shame overcame him, causing him to weep pathetically instead of answer the mafioso’s question.

     “Dante forgive me please!” Stefano exclaimed. On his hands and knees, he started to crawl pathetically toward Dante. “I regret leaving the family! I regret it!”

     “Of course you would beg for forgiveness now, chickenshit!” one of the thugs growled before he kicked Stefano in the ribs. The attack triggered a series of assaults. Stefano curled into a ball once more, weeping as the thugs started beating him again.

     “Stop!” the painter bellowed.

     The three thugs quickly stopped and stepped back from Stefano nervously.

     Dante asked again, “Do you know what I’ve been working on Stefano?”

     Stefano shook his head as tears continued to roll from his eyes and strings of snot mixed with blood from his probably fractured nose. Dante stood, the tall six-foot-four man was dressed just as impressive as he remembered. Black suit, wine-red undershirt with a black satin tie. He had a silver tie clip, a nice watch on his wrist, and his suit was so crisply-pressed that his pants legs were like the edge of a blade. His eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses. He was bigger than what Stefano remembered. Had he put on some muscle?

     Dante grasped the sides of the canvas and picked it up. He walked over to Stefano and stopped before him, holding the canvas parallel to the floor as he looked it over. After he gave the painting one last inspection, he flipped it over so Stefano could see it. There was a man in the picture with his wrists handcuffed to the faucet of a white porcelain bathtub. The man’s mouth was agape with agonizing screams for from the faucet spilled blood and it was on fire. The surroundings about the tub were an inferno. The man was him; and even after having not seen Dante in months, it was terrifying how well his boss remembered his face. He had captured every detail.

     “No; no please!” Stefano cried.

     Dante dropped the canvas on him and stomped his shoe against the painting. He smeared the painting all over Stefano with his foot as the man squirmed and continued to cry “No!”

     “That’s exactly how you’re gonna die, Stefano!” Dante snarled. His lips rolled back as he bore his teeth like fangs in his anger. “You cowardly piece of shit! You would abandon me for The Penguin! The Penguin who tried to murder my family when we were starting out. Surely, you could have picked someone else to disgrace yourself under!”

     Stefano slid out from under Dante’s foot and wrapped his arms about Dante’s other leg as he groveled, “Please forgive me! Take me back! Please! I won’t leave again!”

     Dante gazed down at Stefano as his lips pressed into a straight line. “I never abandoned you, Stefano. But you abandoned me when I needed you.”

     “I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” Stefano wept, burying his face into the cotton material of Dante’s pants leg.

     “Do you know what kind of Hell I had to go through to come back here?”

     Dante glanced to his left and right at two of his thugs, giving them a silent command. The thugs nodded and quickly passed Joe as they left the container. Dante’s hands went to the first button of his suit jacket and descended, undoing each one. He rotated his shoulders, muscle shifting beneath the red material of his undershirt as he shrugged free of his coat and handed it to the third thug. As he started unbuttoning his cuffs, the low heavy grind of what sounded similar to a cement block being dragged across asphalt was heard. The two thugs returned dragging inside the container a white porcelain tub similar to the one Dante had painted. The thugs kicked the easel aside and stopped the tub in its place.

     Dante had rolled up his shirt sleeves, exposing his wide forearms and the red, pink, and yellow scars that made up his flesh. The scars were thick and wavy, and though the rolls of his sleeves stopped at the crook of his elbows they went all the way up to his shoulders. The backs of his hands were similarly scarred. Stefano turned his head to peek up at Dante with a single eye as he continued to cling to the mob boss’s leg. He saw the scars where layers of his flesh were melted and stripped away.

     “I’m not the same man you remember,” Dante told Stefano as his hand rose to the leg of sunglasses and removed them.

     Stefano recoiled in fear when Dante presented his large, cybernetic spheres. They jutted from his head, the red pupils whining as they darted down to peer like lasers at Stefano. Stefano screamed in horror, crawling back away from him and earning himself Dante’s rage. The corner of the mob boss’s lip raised in a nasty glower before he reached down, grasping Stefano by his collar and effortlessly dragging the man across the floor toward the tub.

     “No; no; no!” Stefano shouted over and over as he kicked and clawed at Dante’s hand.

     Dante’s fist twisted into the material of Stefano’s shirt, his knuckles pressing against Stefano’s windpipe. Stefano rasped, choked, and kicked. Dante released Stefano’s collar once he slid him violently into the tub. Stefano’s back met the porcelain wall, and he rocked forward in a poor attempt to escape only for Dante’s hand to lock about his throat. Gasping again, Stefano felt the weight of his body pulling on his neck when Dante lifted him and choke slammed him into the tub. Stefano laid there winded, his legs sticking out of the tub. Two of Dante’s thugs reached into the tub to grab Stefano’s wrists as they yanked him into an upright position. They stretched his arms out toward the faucet and a third thug crossed the chain of the handcuffs around it before snapping them onto Stefano’s wrists.

     “No! Let me go!” Stefano shouted, jerking back on the cuffs. He pressed his feet against the wall of the tub and pulled back, trying to yank the head of the faucet free to free himself. Dante’s thugs just socked him in the face to discourage him. They grabbed him by the hair and hammered his face with vicious punches until Stefano’s head dangled with ropes of blood leaving his nose and lips. The salt of his tears began to cause the wounds on his face to sting.

     Dante had reached into his pants pocket to remove a cigar case and popped it open to retrieve a cigar. He slipped the cigar between his teeth as he returned the case to his pocket. He removed a cutter next and removed the rounded end from his mouth to give it a cut before returning it to his mouth. One of his men walked over to Dante to set a red gas can at his side. After returning his cutter, Dante removed a flip-lighter and took the cigar from his lips.

     “I’m gonna send you to Hell, Stefano,” Dante muttered as he rolled the end of his cigar over the lighter’s flame. Once the cigar was lit, he returned it to his mouth and bent over to pick up the gas can. He began slowly pouring the gasoline over Stefano as the cigar-less corner of his mouth unzipped in a lopsided grin. A grey plume left his teeth on an excited hiss as he doused Stefano’s head.

     Stefano coughed and kept his eyes tightly closed. The fumes of the gasoline were asphyxiating and he shook his head to hopelessly rid his hair of the liquid.

     “Don’t kill me please! Take me back! I’m sorry!” Stefano screamed on strangled coughs. “Joe! JOE!”

     [i]Ah, shit[/i], Joe thought as he watched Stefano. He didn’t want to be the last person on Stefano’s mind just before he died. The man was screaming his name as though he was his lifeline. He felt the eyes of the other thugs on him, but he never looked their way. Dante was going to light Stefano up. Even if he did try to save him, he didn’t know if he would be successful after Stefano had recoiled at the sight of the boss’s face.

     Stefano was vomiting. He was hunched over in a puddle of vomit and gas. His mind was swimming. He was dizzy. The fumes would probably kill him before the fire did, Joe mused.

     “Joe; Joe please. Joe,” Stefano begged.

     Joe bowed his head. [i]God damn it...[/i]

     “The Penguin found Stefano to be useful,” Joe spoke. Joe peeked up to see Dante still pouring away. He continued, “You might be able to use that boss.”

     Dante lowered the can, dropping it at his feet and grasped the fat cigar in his fingers, giving it a few puffs before he removed it from his mouth. “Has Stefano been sucking your dick, Joe?”

     Joe continued to casually gaze down at the floor with his hands in his pockets. “You could still use him. He’s your best inside man.”

     “I got you on the inside, Joe. I don’t need a fuckin’ rat.”

     “I’m a nobody on the inside. Stefano was runnin’ the show at the docks when I picked him up. He’s still loyal to you.”

     Stefano was no longer moving, and Dante suspected the fumes had caused him to faint. It was always better to burn someone while they were conscious. It wasn’t long before Dante’s thugs were dunking Stefano into the river with his handcuffed wrists still bound to the tub faucet that Dante had kicked free. Despite having rinsed the gasoline from his body, when they tossed him flat on the bank, Stefano still wasn’t moving. Dante leisurely sucked on the end of his cigar, his red eyes gleaming in the twilight. One of the thugs nudged Stefano with his foot before looking over at Dante and shrugging.

     Slowly Dante’s eyes rolled over to Joe as a grin crept onto his face. “Go give your girl a kiss.”

     Joe’s eyes widened momentarily before he sighed in exasperation. Was that what they thought?

     [i]I should have let him burn,[/i] Joe thought, but he hadn’t wanted his name to be on Stefano’s dying lips. It had just irked him.

     Joe walked over to Stefano and crouched next to his head. He pressed two fingers to his neck, and then gazed down at the unconscious man. As much as Joe wanted him to wake up then and there, he knew it was too good to be true.

     “You said I needed him alive, right?” said Dante still wearing a smile.

     Joe looked back at his boss and then the three other thugs. One of them had a Polaroid camera and was waiting to take a picture. Joe scowled at the guy. The camera flashed and the thug grinned in amusement, snatching up the photo that came out. He delayed long enough. If he didn’t do something, then Stefano would surely die. Joe tilted Stefano’s head back and pinched his nostrils together. He then leaned down, paused for a moment over Stefano’s lips to whisper, [i]fuck my life[/i] before he pressed his mouth against his.

     [i]Ooooooo![/i]

     The thug took another photo while they all chuckled away. The first breath hadn’t been enough and Joe was starting to get pissed off. He continued to give Stefano mouth to mouth until finally after the fourth breath, he coughed. Joe stood dragging his jacket sleeve across his mouth. Stefano coughed and wheezed, rolling over onto his side. His lungs were on fire and his head felt like someone had drove a nail into it. He pressed his forehead against the cool wet mud as he continued to gasp and suck down fresh breaths of oxygen.

     “He’s yours now Joe,” Dante told him. “If he betrays me again, then you will have betrayed me as well.”

     The mob boss swiped the cigar ashes away with his thumb before pressing it against the end. Whatever heat was absorbed by the rough callous on his thumb and he pocketed the cigar before he turned to head back toward the naval yard. Joe just stared irritably down at Stefano. What a thorn in his side…he hadn’t expected to really get stuck with him. The act had become a curse.

     The other thugs grinned at him as they turned to leave. The one with the camera waved the photo and him giving Stefano the kiss of life.

     “Yeah, you go wank to that,” Joe jeered. He then nudged Stefano with his foot. “Let’s go. Walk it off. You’re lucky to be alive. I thought I was gonna burn with you, and let’s get something straight. Next time you’re at Death’s door, don’t say my fuckin’ name. Call for God, Jesus, your mother, whomever, just don’t call me, got it? I only saved your ass because I thought you’d be useful to the boss and apparently, he thought so too.”

     “My throat and lungs are on fire, and my head feels like it’s splitting,” Stefano groaned. “I think I would have rather burned than feel like this.”

     “Oh don’t worry; I’m sure that’s still an option. You know, I’m responsible for your ass now. So if you fuck up, we’re both fucked!”

     “I’m sorry, Joe.”

     Joe bent over to grab Stefano by the arm and help him to his feet. He slung his arm across his shoulders and supported him as they both returned to the naval yard.