40 The Penguin

So fast. So quick. So ruthless.

The League of Shadows were efficient in the past but in recent weeks it was on a whole new level. It was like someone was coordinating them with tight-nit efficiency rivalling the Bat Family itself. No, it was as if whoever was commanding them had commanded the Bat Family and was familiar with how they operated–with how Batman operated. They knew of his timings and when he was and wasn't available. His mind was being read before it could even think.

Kate Kane, Barbara Gordon, and Julia Pennyworth…but they couldn't possibly be in leagues with Lady Shiva, could they? They were his friends. Students. Comrades. Family. None of them would betray him or the side of the heroes for a group of mercenaries.

Would they?

In his Batmobile, Batman skidded as he stopped at the Iceberg Lounge. If his network was anything to go by, it was being attacked. Nobody was entering and exiting. Nobody's phone was recording whatever was going on inside. There was only word going around town–that someone had attacked the Iceberg Lounge and everybody had ran away from the ensuing gunshots.

The car roof slid open and Batman leaped out. Before he could so much as take a step, he heard a gunshot going off and leapt back on top of his Batmobile to dodge it. The smoking mark left the ground narrowed his brows as he found the ballistic markings to be familiar. It was a round from a customized AR-15. There was only one marksman on Earth who carried that kind of gun.

"Deadshot…"

Batman glanced up and there he was: the world's greatest marksman was on the highest point of the glacier-like structure, crouching down and observing him with a red eye piece. There was no mistaking it. The gun, the steely attire, and the accuracy in his shot. Batman's white lenses turned blue and he zoomed in on him. Hooked over his shoulder was his esteemed AR-15 assault rifle, modified with an ACOG scope and vertical foregrip.

'If Floyd had wanted to, that shot would have hit. In other words, that was a warning shot to keep me away.' Behind his mask, he scowled. 'That also means something IS happening in there and it's his job to prevent me from seeing. Or go to jail trying, I suppose.'

His com link suddenly buzzed with interference. His vision zoomed onto Deadshot again and saw that he put a finger to his earpiece. Batman tapped on his gauntlet's interface and accepted his link.

"Batman," Deadshot greeted, voice slightly muffled. "Sorry, but I can't let you inside."

"Why are you working for the League of Shadows, Floyd?" Batman pressed. "You have a family, don't you? I can accept you doing typical mercenary work but the League of Shadows and Lady Shiva are a whole other matter."

"Can't say," Deadshot replied. "Maybe with this job, I'll finally be able to retire. I'll finally be able to live life without having my daughter threatened at every turn."

Batman didn't reply at first. Deadshot was a troubling and skilled mercenary but he always had a code. In the beginning of his career, he had a death wish but that started to change when he discovered he had a daughter. He certainly wasn't a hero but he grew to care about other people, and his suicidal tendencies disappeared from that love. He was forced to continue his mercenary work because someone, the Penguin or Amanda Waller, would have his daughter in their custody. They would threaten him to do dirty work.

But…at the end of the day, he was a murderer who had killed tens of thousands of people in the name of money. Batman doubted they could come to an agreement.

Batman's cape billowed behind him as he stood atop his Batmobile, surveying the towering structure of the Iceberg Lounge. Deadshot was perched like a deadly predator, armed to the teeth with his custom AR-15 assault rifle and wrist-mounted machine guns. The marksman that never missed.

Batman's gloved fingers danced across the controls of the Batmobile hovering on his gauntlet. Indeed, through them, he could control the Batmobile as he saw fit. Deadshot held the high ground, and his custom AR-15 assault rifle was pointed directly at the Dark Knight. Batman knew that one wrong move could be fatal.

'Think, think,' he told himself. He had faced deadly foes before, but Deadshot's precision made him a unique challenge. Especially in this situation where he was exposed and at a massive disadvantage.

With a quick calculation, Batman fired a series of grappling lines to nearby buildings, creating a network of lines above Deadshot. At the same time, through the Batmobile, he activated a thick smoke screen that engulfed the area in a thick cloud.

Typically, Deadshot would be able to see through the smoke with his monoscope. But this was no ordinary smoke. The chemical composition was this smoke was a quarter kryptonite and quarter Nth metal.

As the smoke billowed, Batman used the cover to drive the Batmobile forward and crashed into the Iceberg Lounge. Boom! The Batman's tank went inside the Penguin's hideout and there was nothing Deadshot could do about it. He had already done a heat scan. Nobody was close to the front entrance. Therefore, he could destroy it all he liked.

But that wasn't his goal and Deadshot recognized it. He was going to come here on the highest point. It was only a matter of time–

"Surprised, Deadshot?"

The Dark Knight's voice was coming from multiple directions, disorienting the marksman. This wasn't their communication link, this was something else. He was here. Somewhere, Batman was here.

Glass shattered.

Behind, high above, was the Batman, gliding down towards him with his cape fully flexed out. It was fast. It was explosive.

Deadshot managed to shoot the Bat emblem on his chest. A mistake.

That was where his armour was at its strongest.

Batman somersaulted forward, landing with a crouch. The platform was compact, barely ten feet wide. He immediately deployed his smoke pellets to obscure Deadshot's line of sight. Deadshot was no amateur, however. His keen senses allowed him to track Batman's movements through the smoke, and he adjusted his aim accordingly. But instead of his AR-15, he began to use his wrist-mounted guns.

Bam! Bam!

His shots connected.

Luckily, each bullet had struck the Bat symbol.

Batman was, like always, one step ahead.

In a split second, Batman knocked Deadshot's wrist-mounted guns away, sending them clattering to the ground. The assassin's eyes widened in shock, but he recovered quickly, lashing out with deadly precision. The smoke started to dissipate and their movements became clearer by the second.

Their hand-to-hand combat was intense, every move calculated and strategic. Batman was faster and more skilled, but Deadshot's deadly eyes kept him on his toes. The assassin seemed to anticipate every move, forcing Batman to adapt and improvise.

As they closed in on each other, the space between them narrowed. Closer and closer, they fought and swapped hands, until Deadshot weakly blocked a heavy kick that sent him skidding backwards. Space was suddenly created. But the weakness in his defences was a calculated move, which Batman realized too late as Deadshot dived for his wrist-mounted guns again and managed to fire a single desperate shot.

Batman's reflexes kicked into overdrive, and he evaded the heavy bullet from striking his arm. "Ngh!" Actually, he had been presumptuous. The bullet grazed his arm, penetrating his armour, and Batman winced in pain. He couldn't afford to make any more mistakes.

With a surge of adrenaline, Batman closed the distance between them and while Deadshot was still on the ground sent a powerful kick to the sniper's stomach.

"You're good," Batman admitted, his eyes narrowed behind the cowl. Deadshot writhed in pain yet aimed his gun at Batman again as he rolled over and panted. "But I'm better."

Before Deadshot could pull the trigger, Batman activated the electric current in his suit's systems and kicked his shock-heavy boot into Deadshot's stomach. Bzzzzzt! Deadshot was smoking. Batman pulled his boot back. It was over.

Batman glanced at the wound on his arm. It was much deeper than he had anticipated. Forget graze, the bullet might as well have gone through him. It was like a hole on the edge of his arm. Blood bubbled and the pain fueled his rage.

***

Bodies, unconscious and dead, were sprawled throughout the Iceberg Lounge. Specifically, the Penguin's men who carried guns of a particular marking. Batman made sure to memorize each of their faces as well as their wounds.

'There's no doubt about it. This is Lady Shiva's doing.'

He headed to the Penguin's office upstairs, stepping and leaping over bodies. The Penguin's office, once an opulent space adorned with his signature penguin-themed decor, now lay in disarray after a brutal invasion. The large fish tank that used to elegantly grace the wall was shattered, its glass shards scattered across the floor like twisted reflections of the past. The cozy fireplace, once roaring with warmth, now lay dormant.

The room's ambiance was marred by overturned furniture, papers strewn everywhere, and broken ornaments that once symbolized the crime lord's power and influence. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Batman's nose twitched.

The Penguin himself lay unconscious against his desk. His usually immaculate suit was torn and dishevelled, and the usually smug expression on his face was replaced by a bruised and battered visage.

Batman rushed over. "Cobblepot," he called out. The Penguin rolled his neck and with lidded eyes looked at him.

"Huh…it's the Bat. Finally." The Penguin cackled but his amusement was interrupted by a fit of bloody coughing. A sigh left the near dead man. "Too little, too late, Bats. You know, heh…I knew this day would come."

"Who did this to you?" Batman asked.

"Not much of a mystery, detective. Lady Shiva and her gang of merry muppets. Why, I couldn't say. Maybe they just did it for the hell of it." The Penguin put a hand in his pocket and pulled something out. A cigar. "Although I bet, hah, it's not that much a mystery for you, eh…Bruce?"

Batman frowned. The Penguin's obsession with Bruce Wayne had led him to figuring it out. Strangely enough, he never told anyone. Not his men, not his friends, and not even his fellow villains and crime bosses. The Penguin kept Batman's greatest secret all to himself.

The Penguin was a prime example of a victim turned bully. Like Batman himself, he had become the embodiment of his childhood trauma. His beak-like nose had terrified his father and led him to abuse him daily, and the only person he grew to care for was his mother. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot was mocked everywhere he went. School, home, his brothers, and his classmates. Every single one of them saw him as a freak.

"But ya know…" the Penguin said, chuckling. "I've killed so many people. So many. Every single person that hurt me in school. Everyone who turned their back on me. You know, I would have been fine living a normal life but this fucking city…it changes you, man."

"...it does."

The Penguin laughed and blood seeped down his lips. "It's been a fun ride, Bats. I'll…see ya…in the next…life…."

The light in his eyes died.

"Cobblebot…Cobblepot…" There was no use shaking him. He was dead. Batman gently closed his eyes and backed away. A deep, twisted anguish took hold of his heart. A stab of sorrow and rage.

The Penguin might have been evil but he was sane. There was a chance for him to change. But now…it was taken from him.

Lady Shiva, the League of Shadows, Deadshot…this attack was too well-thought. He would have been able to make it on time if he hadn't been busy with acting as Bruce Wayne. If Jaina Hudson hadn't invited him to a charity…

If Hadiyah hadn't distracted him with the future prospects of her company…

The gears in his head started to turn. Ideas and people connected. Threads were formed.

Police sirens could be heard in the background. Batman snapped out of his thoughts. How long had he been standing here, staring at the Penguin's body? No, rather, just how long had he been thinking?

How far deep did this rabbit hole go?