Plan

To be honest, this was Penguin's first visit to the Batcave.

In most previous encounters, his interactions with Batman followed a two-step process:

Step 1: Batman would burst into his office and, without a word, beat him senseless. The process was brutal, the methods cruel, leaving his terrified subordinates as witnesses.

Step 2: Upon regaining consciousness, Penguin would typically find himself tied up at the Gotham City Police Department, with a file folder beside him brimming with incriminating evidence gathered by Batman.

This isn't to say that in Batman's decade-long career, he hadn't occasionally been tossed into the Batcave for temporary detention before proceeding to Step 2. But usually, he was left bruised and disoriented, with no time or inclination to examine his surroundings.

Damn it, just thinking about the past made this accursed Batcave feel even more ominous.

Penguin gripped his umbrella tightly. It was his weapon, equipped with deadly mechanisms, poisons, and even a hidden submachine gun.

But when facing Batman, it served mainly as a psychological comfort.

This was precisely why, when Batman politely invited him to the Batcave half an hour ago, he readily agreed.

Though he had to be blindfolded, ears plugged, and carried through the city like a sack of potatoes, he had finally entered the Batcave fully conscious, hadn't he?

"What are you waiting for, Oswald?" Penguin turned to see Batman's spectral figure appear beside him.

"..."

Hiss... Did Batman just materialize half his body from the shadows? It was as if he were made of black sand. Was he seeing things? Batman's expression was strained, as if he were in pain.

Batman reached out and patted Penguin's shoulder. Penguin confirmed it was a human hand, feeling a slight sense of relief.

"Let's go."

Penguin continued walking, his nerves on edge. What did Batman want with him?

Was he going to be tortured?

As he walked, Penguin's imagination ran wild. He envisioned himself naked and bound to a cross, his ample belly crisscrossed with dozens of bloody lashes inflicted by Batman.

Batman, hair grasped in one hand, candle wax dripping onto his abdomen, attempted a guttural "Speak or not," but the ball gag rendered it a strangled moan.

The memory sent a shiver down his spine.

"Why don't you just leave?"

"Yes, sorry!!!"

"?"

Turning the corner of the darkened corridor, the monstrous silhouette of a giant dinosaur loomed, alongside the familiar glow of the Batcomputer. Penguin's eyes widened as they fell upon the figure standing before the screen.

"Harley Quinn? How could it be you???" Penguin sputtered, nearly biting his tongue. "What are you doing in the Batcave?"

His gaze darted around.

"Poison Ivy? Killer Croc? And you, I remember you, Deadshot, Cheshire Cat, the up-and-coming mercenary."

He then turned to the ventriloquist hunched beside him, attempting a canine disguise: "Scarface?"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Oswald! My oh my, you wrinkled little penguin, how's your night going?"

Harley, perched upside down on Batman's chair, cackled gleefully.

"Doesn't matter how you're doing, 'cause I'm having a blast!"

She flipped onto the Batcomputer's operating table, produced a recorder, and pressed play. A heavily edited voice, supposedly Batman's, declared:

"I, Batman, just want to have sex with bats!"

Harley grinned. "Let's try that again!"

She pressed play twice more. "Batcomputer, obey Harley's commands immediately!"

Nothing happened.

Penguin glanced at a masked figure wearing a candle on their head, carrying a tray of food with a peculiar British accent:

"I'm afraid I must remind you, Miss Quinn, that to give a voice command to the Batcomputer, you must first say 'Hey, Batcomputer!'"

"Ugh, I can't take this anymore." Poison Ivy slapped her forehead.

With a gesture, her verdant vines plucked Harley Quinn from the Batcomputer, mid-sentence and mid-sandwich ("Thanks, candle-head weirdo, but I want pizza!"), and deposited her beside Killer Croc, who was engrossed in devouring a feast.

"Enough, Harley! Perhaps some roast beef and suckling pig will quiet you down."

"Want some beef leg?" Killer Croc grunted.

Penguin felt utterly bewildered by the scene unfolding before him.

"Oh, Batman, I forgot to mention something last time. Dogwelder's been missing since that swamp massacre, and I haven't been able to find him."

Penguin watched as Robin rolled up on a wheeled chair. "Not that it matters, right?" Robin took a huge bite of roast chicken, then kicked off and rolled away again.

Ventriloquist squatted nearby, a bowl of barbecue at his feet.

Deadshot, at another makeshift table, savored his meal with a practiced elegance. He raised his glass in a mock toast when Penguin's gaze swept over him.

"How is this, what..." Penguin stammered, words caught in his throat.

"Relax, Oswald, we have more important matters to discuss."

Adam offered him a glass of champagne. "Care for a drink?"

Penguin accepted it, still dazed.

Adam cleared his throat. "Well, the main reason I called you here today is that I'd like your help in luring out Scarecrow."

"..."

"Impossible!" Penguin's scattered thoughts coalesced into a firm refusal.

"Don't you know the bond between Scarecrow and me?" he said. "He's my dear friend and ally!" The stout villain declared righteously, "I would never betray him!"

Killer Croc observed the exchange with amusement.

Three minutes later.

"Your bank card has been credited - 500 million~"

Penguin calmly read the notification, then cleared his throat as if nothing had happened.

"I can help you trick Scarecrow," he conceded. "But Scarecrow is no fool, and he's not someone I can simply summon at will."

"Batman, why are you so confident that I can lure him out?" He questioned, "After all, Crane is a cunning lunatic. Approaching him without a good reason will only raise his suspicions."