Gotham Suburbs, Underground
The Batmobile's engine roared, its wheels spinning at high speed as it sped through the tunnel beneath the waterfall. It raced into the Batcave and came to a steady stop on the transport platform.
Batman stepped out, removing his helmet to reveal the sharp, resolute features of Bruce Wayne. Alfred, clad in his usual black formal suit, approached with a frown.
"Bad news, Master Bruce. As per your request, I reviewed every detail of last night's operation. The so-called anomaly—"
"I'm not crazy, Alfred!" Bruce interrupted, his voice edged with frustration.
His expression darkened. Patrol officers were dead—an undeniable fact. Someone else had been in that cabin. He had to find them, no matter what it took, even if it meant hypnosis or truth serum.
Bruce didn't mention the other peculiarities—the museum break-in, the two million dollars vanishing from Wayne Enterprises' accounts. He had spent hours interviewing witnesses, but no one recalled anything unusual. Even his memories showed no gaps, yet something felt undeniably off.
Every safeguard he had against psychological manipulation had failed—no alarms, no disruptions. Others might dismiss it as paranoia, but Bruce Wayne never ignored a potential threat.
Alfred, ever loyal, didn't doubt his master's instincts. But he also knew how elusive the unknown assailant was. The old butler was about to speak when a voice cut through the Batcave's comm system.
"Bruce, I just received an encrypted file—it's connected to the League of Assassins."
"Received, Oracle," Bruce responded, his voice all business.
He and Alfred moved swiftly to the central platform. The large monitor flickered, displaying a single ominous message:
'Penguin's allies are the League of Assassins.'
Bruce's brow furrowed. "Oracle, who sent this?"
Barbara Gordon's fingers danced across her keyboard. The map on the screen shifted. "I traced the file's upload origin. The device used matches one of ours."
Bruce immediately recalled Gordon borrowing equipment from Lucius Fox—but the commissioner hadn't reported anything unusual.
Batman hesitated, his eyes fixed on the words 'League of Assassins.' After a moment, he turned sharply. "Contact Nightwing. I need his help tracking Penguin."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "And your mysterious informant?"
Batman's expression hardened. "For now, the League is the greater threat. The informant hasn't harmed Gotham. The League, however, is always trying to destroy it."
Paranoid? Perhaps. But Bruce's mind was sharp—he knew who his real enemy was.
Without another word, he strode into the elevator, returned to the Batmobile, and roared out of the Batcave.
Penguin Hotel, Gotham City
Martin stepped into the hotel's grand lobby. Outside, the sky had turned from dark gray to pitch black, swallowing the last remnants of daylight. Yet, inside, the luxury was blinding—high-end cars pulled up in an endless stream, and the elite of Gotham drifted in and out, clad in tailored suits and sequined gowns as if the city's shadows could never touch them.
As he approached the entrance, a sharp voice called out.
"Mr. Martin! Ms. Candy has been expecting you."
A Penguin Hotel staff member—one of Oswald Cobblepot's men—stepped forward, bowing slightly. His posture exuded respect, but Martin detected the underlying wariness.
"Lead the way," Martin commanded, maintaining his air of superiority.
The man obeyed immediately. Martin followed, noting how the hotel's goons watched him warily, remembering the morning's brutal encounter.
They arrived at the top floor. Martin pushed open the ornate doors to find Candy, Penguin's personal assistant, stepping forward in her high heels, her professional attire immaculate.
"You're late," Martin said coldly, his displeasure evident.
Candy hesitated, sensing his mood. She quickly followed him as he turned to leave. "Mr. Martin, have I done something to offend you?"
Her voice trembled slightly. Penguin had entrusted her with this meeting, and if things went south, she knew she'd end up in the meat grinder—literally.
"Where is Penguin?" Martin demanded.
Candy flinched. "Mr. Cobblepot isn't avoiding you—he just can't appear in public right now. He sent me to escort you to the meeting location."
Martin folded his arms. "So, he expects me to play along with this little game? There's more than one crime boss in Gotham, Candy. If he doesn't respect my time, I'll take my business elsewhere."
He turned to leave.
Desperate, Candy hurried after him. "Please! If you're upset, blame me. Just meet with him, and I'll make it up to you however you like."
Martin paused mid-step and stared at her. His black eyes were as cold as a storm cloud before lightning struck.
"Loyal secretary, aren't you?" he mused.
Candy let out an awkward laugh—she just wanted to stay alive.
Martin exhaled sharply. "Fine. For your loyalty, I'll forgive Penguin—this time."
Candy visibly relaxed, s if she had just escaped a death sentence.
But before she could fully exhale, Martin grabbed her throat. His grip wasn't crushing, but the pressure was enough to make her pulse hammer.
"There better not be another 'accident' next time," he said softly, his voice like a blade pressed against her skin. "Understood?"
Candy's breath hitched. She raised her trembling hands in surrender. "I swear. There won't be."
Martin held her gaze a moment longer, then released her. She stumbled back, coughing slightly but making no move to resist.
"Good," he said, adjusting his coat. "Now, let's go."
Candy rubbed her neck, her fear now absolute. Wordlessly, she led him toward the garage.
Martin glanced at the black car waiting for them, spotting the blindfold and noise-canceling headphones on the seat. He smirked.
"You want to blindfold me?" he mocked. "Fine, I'll save you the trouble."
Without hesitation, he put them on himself.
Candy swallowed hard and started the engine, her hands trembling slightly as she thought, Why didn't I just take a job in Metropolis?