Dear Mercy #50

"I didn't expect you to know so much about me..." I said, genuinely surprised. "Should I be flattered or on guard?" I added, my eyebrows doing a little dance between suspicion and amusement. 

The fact that the Penguin knew more about me than the average Joe on the street threw me off. I mean, sure, I guessed he might have some intel to spare since he sent his personal welcoming committee, but diving into my multiverse journey? That's like knowing the color of my boxers. 

As I pondered the mysteries of Penguin's intel sources, his voice chimed in, snapping me back to the present. "A blend of flattery and suspicion is the Gotham way," he mused, strolling toward his opulent desk. 

"But I doubt you're here for a crash course in city life. So, once more, I ask you-- what purpose brought you knocking on my door?" he inquired, taking a seat and casting me a look that hovered between curiosity and mild amusement.

"That's a pity... I reckon any 'crash course' you offer would be a masterclass," I commented, settling into the chair across from the Penguin. Flattery might be a dime a dozen, but it never hurt to sprinkle a little when dealing with the city's mastermind. 

Not that I was fibbing, mind you; the Penguin's knack for business and cunning was second to none, even if his genius wasn't of the mad scientist variety.

Penguin shot me a skeptical glance, but I caught a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes, even if he played the stoic card. "Flattery will get you nowhere, kiddo," his expression seemed to say.

"Anyway, I'm on the hunt for Mr. Freeze. You know, pale, about yay tall, and the reigning king of ice-related puns," I added, lifting a hand slightly above my head for emphasis. 

The Penguin interlaced his fingers, leaning forward with intrigue. "Ah, a chilly rendezvous. And may I ask what's your business with Mr. Freeze?" he prodded.

I met his inquisitive gaze with a deadpan expression. "Private matter," I replied, the unspoken message clear; don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong. 

"Well, it was impolite of me to ask. Do forgive me." Pneguin said with a slow nod, taking a step back. "Still, Information like that isn't free. And in this city, it certainly doesn't come cheap," he countered, a challenge lingering in his eyes. 

"Good thing I didn't roll in here expecting a charity session," I quipped, flashing a grin as I rose from the chair, casually resting my hand on the desk. 

The Penguin observed with a mix of intrigue and caution as shadows converged around my palm, conjuring an alien gadget shaped like a cylinder adorned with flashy dials. 

"Behold, an Apokoliptan shield generator—a little something for your tech-savvy endeavors. Reverse engineer it, add it to your collection, or sell it off. Either way, It's worth a whole lot more than Mr. Freeze's hideout location," I tossed in.

"Interesting..." the Penguin mused, his fingers tracing the gadget's surface. "Knowing it's more valuable than what you're asking for... you're still willing to part with it?" he inquired, fixing his gaze back on me.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "You can pick and choose your customers. Me? Not so much. Reliable information sources aren't growing on trees these days," I explained. "Consider it my membership fee; the right to be your esteemed customer," I added with a casual demeanor.

The Penguin eyed me for a beat before cracking a wide grin. "Well, kid, you've won this round...." He proclaimed with a chuckle. 

"Keep your little toy. This one will be on the house but don't get used to freebies... you won't last long in this city if you do..." he declared, nudging the alien gadget back toward me as if it were yesterday's leftovers.

...

Shortly after Micah sauntered out of the Penguin's office with a satisfied expression, the Riddler slipped in through the half-open door, a confident swagger accompanying his entrance. 

The Penguin barely spared him a glance, engrossed in scrutinizing some paperwork on his desk.

"What's this, Cobblepot, old chap?" the Riddler jeered, circling the room. "Playing the generous benefactor now? Offering freebies to every Tom, Dick, and Micah that walks through your door?"

The Penguin let out a derisive snort, not bothering to lift his gaze. "Our business has already concluded despite the interruption, Nygma. If you're not here to offer something of value, kindly take your leave."

The Riddler chuckled, leaning against a bookshelf. "Oh, I am offering something, alright. Just a piece of advice—don't let Gotham's finest start thinking they can freeload off the notorious Oswald Cobblepot."

The Penguin sighed, finally looking up to meet the Riddler's gaze. "You really should get your nose out of other people's affairs, Nygma. It's unbecoming." 

A sly smile played on his lips as he reached beneath his desk, retrieving a concealed device—the bug the Riddler had planted earlier before their meeting was interrupted by Micah's appearance at the door of the Iceberg Lounge. He crushed it between his fingers with a satisfying crunch.

The Riddler raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just dropping by to give you some friendly advice."

"Don't play games with me..." Penguin retorted, tossing the ruined bug aside. "You're the one who said the kid was interesting. You practically insisted I meet with him, and so I did."

The Riddler's confident smirk wavered briefly, a hint of surprise tainting his expression. "Maybe... but I didn't expect you to serve up the information he sought on a silver platted... somewhat anticlimactic, wouldn't you agree?"

Leaning back, the Penguins spoke with a hint of amusement. "Usually, this is the part where I tell you to scram and set my hounds on you. However, today seems to be a day of rare benevolence for me, so I'll let you see yourself out..."

The Riddler shot him a skeptical look. "You're feeling generous today, Cobblepot? Giving out freebies like candy on Halloween?"

The Penguin scoffed. "Generosity is subjective, Nygma. And you would do well to remember where you are and who you're talking to..."

"If you'd go this far, then I can only take a step back, but I still gotta ask..." The Riddler's eyes glinted with mischief. "What's the catch, Oswald? Planning a grand scheme that involves your newfound 'charity'?"

The Penguin chuckled, a sinister edge to his amusement. "Oh, there's always a catch, and that's all I'm willing to say. Now, if you're done meddling, I have more pressing matters to attend to."

The Riddler flashed a wicked grin. "I'll just have to wait and see just how long your good mood lasts, Cobblepot." 

With that, he exited the office, leaving the Penguin to his machinations and the remnants of the listening device squashed beneath his fingers.

...

In the opulent surroundings of Lex Luthor's office, the man himself was engrossed in some elaborate holographic schematics displayed on his desk when Mercy Graves entered. 

She approached with a professional demeanor, not wanting to interrupt unnecessarily. Clearing her throat, she finally spoke, "Mr. Luthor, the funds for Livewire's parole have been successfully transferred to Jean-Paul Valley."

Lex Luthor nodded without taking his eyes off the hologram. "Excellent. Keep me informed of any developments."

However, as Mercy turned to leave, there was a pause, an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Lex, sensing her hesitation, sighed, finally acknowledging her presence. "Spit it out, Mercy. What's bothering you?"

She shifted uncomfortably, the worry etched on her face. "Is it wise to invest so much into Livewire? Pouring money into her release just in the hope that she continues to badmouth Superman on her talk show? It seems like a hefty price for a dubious outcome."

Lex Luthor looked up from his work, a cunning smile playing on his lips. "The cost is irrelevant when the objective is to put Superman in his place. No price is too high for that satisfaction."

Her doubts lingered, and Mercy Graves couldn't hold back her concerns any longer. "But is that all, Mr. Luthor? Something feels off about this entire affair."

Lex leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Ah, the subtleties are never lost on you, I see. Livewire is just a pawn in a much larger game. I'm intrigued by a certain young man, an outsider from a parallel universe who claims to know nothing about the League's affairs. However, his actions suggest otherwise."

A furrow appeared on Mercy's brow. "Did you hack into the League's database again, Mr. Luthor?"

Lex met her gaze with a knowing look, neither confirming nor denying. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that the young man's presence could unveil opportunities that transcend Livewire's petty vendettas against Superman. We must keep a close eye on him; he might prove to be a valuable asset."

Mercy Graves pondered Lex's words, her suspicions lingering in the air. "And if he turns out to be a threat instead?"

Lex Luthor's smile widened. "Well, then, my dear Mercy, that only makes him more intriguing, doesn't it?"

...

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