"Rivals"

Baby loved the sound of a body dissolving.

He'd toss one into a bucket, hear the jovial splash, then let the fizzle prick his ears.

"Hey, Psycho," a muffled voice rang out behind him. Psycho Baby turned his head to see the soft, frail figure in the doorway. He'd recognize that flimsy silhouette no matter what it wore. Behind the respirator and beneath the hazmat uniform Hansel van Vuuren was still the small maid waiting to be turned into a pincushion.

Yet despite that, he still snuck past Baby's traps.

"How'd you get in?" Baby asked. Really. He'd trapped the whole tenement from top to bottom just to keep the Syndicate off his back, yet here the violet maid stood as though the door were left wide open.

"We're more observant than you are," Hansel said plainly.

Baby scoffed. Hansel's hand reached to his own back. Baby crouched to grab one of the acid buckets beside himself. Hansel drew a pocket knife.

"Approach," said Hansel.

Baby stood in place.

"Approach," Hansel repeated.

Baby's ears exploded. A blast rang through the room. He felt his leg collapse from under him.

As Baby squealed like a stuck pig, he threw the bucket at Hansel. Its acid only splashed onto the floor between them, collecting into an impotent puddle. Fire ate at Baby's now-ruptured kneecap, and as he looked to his left Asher stepped into view with a pistol in hand.

"Throw him into the tub," Asher told Hansel, "While he's still conscious."

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