Pyg hummed as he worked, an intense opera song playing on his handheld radio. Lazlo's hand halted above the unconscious female on the metallic medical table, a scalpel delicately held between his forefingers. He could've sworn a small creak from behind him sounded over the melody. With a small click of the radio, the music died down. Sharpied lines dotted her face, betraying Pyg's intentions of removing it. Pretty faces were always on the market, after all.

His eyes flicked around the underground infirmary, scanning the alabaster surroundings for the disturbance. Lazlo knew, of course, it was you; his nemesis, a consistent bother in his longtime career. It seemed Valentin could only hide for so long before you found him and threw him back in Arkham, but he wasn't scared. He could handle a drop of blood -- yours or his.

"Come out, little piggie," the maniac drawled almost sweetly, clutching the scalpel firmly in his hand. Pivoting, the surgeon stepped away from the female, still blissfully unconscious and unharmed for now.

"You can't hide for long," Pyg sang, eyes viciously darting about the infirmary in search of you.