Scarface repeated the name several times.

"Peytonnnnn~" Scarface's voice rang through Azrael's head, each repetition of the name sending a jolt through his already disoriented mind.

"Stop it!" he screamed, clutching his head in agony, his newly manicured nails digging into his scalp. "I am Azrael, Jean-Paul Valley! Not... not Peyton!"

His voice was filled with confusion and desperation. The pain in his head was growing, and along with it, a sense of dislocation, a sense of slipping away. He could feel his memories starting to fray at the edges, old familiar faces and places replaced by unfamiliar sights and sounds.

"Don't play dumb, Sugar! Ya know who ya are! Who would name their kid that, anyway?"

"S-Sugar?"

He frowned, gritting his teeth, his head pulsating. Sugar was Scarface's nickname for her-him! Azrael is a man! Not some... busty... hot... broad...

"Get out of my head!"

"What? I always call ya Sugar, Peyton!"

Memories of being created by the Order of Saint Dumas, molded to be their perfect child soldier until his father, the previous Azrael, saved him from the Order all swapped out. His dad wasn't Jean-Paul Ludovic Valley, no, that name sounded made-up! Her dad was Sean Riley, one of Gotham's most notorious Irish gangsters!

Growing up with a normal life with his father, hiding from the Order, attending college, all washed away. Normal? No, she lived in the lap of luxury! None of her peers respected her! They saw her as just another entitled mafia princess. She'd show them. She'd show all of them.

"Ugh! This isn't... this isn't me!"

At this point, he didn't even know if that was true. What was real and what wasn't.

"Course it is! Don'tcha remember that Elliot fella? Ditched ya as soon as ya helped him get his ma's inheritance? Real piece of work, that prick!"

Scarface recalled, Jean cringing further.

The vision of Jean-Paul Ludovic dying at the hands of the Order faded. Instead, she vividly recalled the night she met Thomas Elliot, falling for him. Later, him abandoning her once she helped him fabricate his mother's will and kill her.

"N-no! That's... that's ****! D-dishonorable... I'd never..."

"But you did, Peyton!"

"No! Stop calling me that! I'm not Peyton! I'm not even a woman!"

Azrael shouted back. To anyone else, they'd just see a blonde woman in a red dress screaming her head off at a lifeless dummy.

"Coulda fooled me with tits like yours!"

Faster now, the burning clawed through his hippocampus. Donning the title of Azrael and working with Batman became being married off to one of Sean Riley's enemies, Johnny Sabatino, and suffering an abusive, loveless marriage. The Bat's back being broken by Bane and Jean assuming the mantle of Batman became Sabatino murdering Sean Riley and killing Arnold Wesker, the first Ventriloquist.

Being defeated by Batman after taking his vigilantism too far became Peyton Riley being shot by Sabatino's thugs numerous times, damaging her right eye. Scarface began talking to her as she dragged herself and the dummy to the hospital. From then on, she smelled the scent of gunpowder, the taste of expensive lipstick, the feeling of silk gowns on her lovely physique.

"Who am I?"

Azrael whispered, tears in his eyes. Looking back, all he could recall was a life as Peyton Riley, stuck-up mafia princess. The face in the window looked back at him, so alien and yet so familiar. He recognized those eyes, but they weren't his. They were Peyton's.

"Ain't it obvious, dollface? You're Peyton, how many times do I gotta say it?"

He stumbled back from the window, a strange feeling washing over him. His body felt wrong, like it belonged to someone else. But at the same time, it felt right, like slipping into a well-worn glove. He felt light, feminine. That was normal, wasn't it? She was a woman after all.

"This... something feels... off? Wrong..."

She looked down at the ventriloquist dummy, Scarface, lying on the ground. An old friend. A partner.

"Ya better get used to it, sweetheart," Scarface sneered. "You're Peyton Riley. And we've got business to attend to."

"No," she groaned, her head pounding. "No, I'm not Peyton. I'm not. I'm... someone else..." but she couldn't remember who.

But the voice in his head was insistent, relentless, wearing him down. She could feel the last vestiges of her old identity slipping away. Her hands went to her face, feeling the unfamiliar features, the soft skin, the full lips. Peyton's face. Peyton's body. Peyton's mind.

"I am... Peyton," she finally whispered, a sob catching in her throat. The words felt strange and yet somehow right. The face in the window smiled back at her, and she knew it was true.

"You got it now, toots," Scarface said, a note of triumph in his voice. "Now, hurry your blonde ass up! Let's go! We've got a city to run."

Peyton's eyes went wide, and she stumbled to her feet, a strange energy coursing through her. She stood confidently in the high heels, placing a hand on her hip and shifting her weight to one leg. Now it was coming back to her. She was Peyton Riley. The Ventriloquist. Scarface's right-hand lady. And together, they were going to take Gotham City by storm.

"Now how 'boutcha make yerself useful for once and pick me up!"

The dummy commanded.

Azrael was no more. Jean-Paul Valley was gone. There was only Peyton now, and she was ready to make her mark on the world.

"Yes, Mister Scarface!"

Peyton answered obediently.

As she picked up Scarface and looked out over the dark streets of Gotham, a cold smile played across her cherry red lips. Gotham would never know what hit it.

END.