Nicholas was sitting at a café trying some pie. While reading the paper he saw that Farmer Brown took a plea deal. Technically since he modified his daughter his lawyer argued that she was an unwillingly participant. He plead guilty and she got a suspended sentence.
Nicholas looked at her picture. Emmylou Brown, quite the looker, more impressive muscle definition than the cartoon let on, and also more well-endowed. Thinking on it, he guessed it made sense, since technically it was a "kid's show."
He had been in Gotham now for four days. His days spent enjoying random restaurants he happened to stumble across, his nights more or less have been letting some of the killers off their "leash" so to speak. Every night a different group if killers. However, there been no mentioning of the deaths in the paper, or anywhere for that matter.
While he wasn't expecting front page news, he figured they would be mentioned somewhere. Just then one of his crows showed him that the GCPD were investigating, they had however, ordered a media blackout.
Annoying, but not wholly unexpected it still allowed him make the local collection without being noticed. But if he wanted access to the out of town list, then he would just have to pick a target no one could ignore. Why was he doing this, risking exposure, some might ask. In truth he was bored. Plus there were individuals he really wanted but wouldn't come to Gotham without some manipulation.
Suddenly he was interrupted by a voice saying, "Excuse me mister, can you help me?" Nicholas looked around for a few seconds before he noticed a little girl, with blonde curls standing right next to him. She seemed familiar, he motioned her to take the across from him and asked, "What do you need from me?" Then he finally remembered who she was and reflexively added, "Baby Doll."
Hearing her stage name caused her to speak as the adult she truly was. She said, "I'll get to the point. I heard you're a deal making demon. Is that true or was Luther lying?" While Nicholas's face showed nothing his thoughts were frantically trying to make sense of what he just heard.
He let out a sigh, and then he said, "First, referring to me as a demon is beyond insulting. Second, my specialty is in arranging death and disappearances, but I can make some special exceptions in terms of alterations. Third, how did you even figure out I was here?"
Baby Doll bluntly said, "Lex Luther." And then she said, "Listen, I'll get straight to the point, I want to be in my own adult body, can you make it happen?" Nicholas closed his eyes and pondered for a moment. Then he said, "Like I said before it's not my specialty, but I see no harm in trying." Then he stood up and said, "Follow me." Baby Doll asked where and why? Nicholas responded, "Whether this is a failure or a success, I rather not have an audience." She agreed and decided to follow.
...
Mary Dahl, aka Baby Doll, was visibly nervous. This whole ordeal represented essentially her last chance to grow up and have a normal life. With Batman being understanding of her condition, as well as the judge ordering therapy instead of actual jail time.
She had used her second chance to try and find a cure for her illness. Most labs gave the excuse it wasn't in their area of expertise, Lex Corp straight up said it wasn't worth the cost of research, only Wayne Tech actually tried. Unfortunately, according to them it would take at least fifty years of dedicated research to find a cure with today's technology.
When Lex told her about the deal making "demon," she immediately knew she was being used as a sacrificial pawn, but the possibility that it was true was to good to pass up. She supposed it was the same for Calendar Girl.
They crossed paths numerous times trying to solve their prospective issues. Both envious of the other, neither understanding what the other was thinking. Mary found herself in front of a very infamous theater. As well as the area known as Crime Ally. The theater had been closed since the incident that made Bruce Wayne an orphan.
They entered, and on the stage she saw a mirror with no reflection. She reflexively asked, "What's with the mirror?" The man stopped for a moment and looked at her then at the mirror. He answered, "That is complicated, however, let's just say if someone else were to look they wouldn't see a mirror." Soon she found herself in front of the mirror. First he placed his hand on the mirror, then he placed his other hand on her.
She suddenly felt a surge of energy, and just as quickly she felt tired. She struggled to stay awake. As the world faded away she heard the man say, "Looks like it was a success."
Mary immediately opened her eyes, she couldn't move. Her entire body was in pain, and she felt famished like she hadn't eaten in a week. Standing over her she saw the deal maker, the pain throughout her body was briefly suppressed by embarrassment when she realized she never asked his name.
He said, "Welcome back, your assistant brought you some food as well as a change of clothes. Tell me how do you feel?" She answered, "In pain." He smiled and then said, "Well that is to be expected when you experience twenty years worth of your bones, muscle, and flesh stretching in just eight hours."
Hope surged fourth as she asked, "It really worked!?" He actually laughed and then he said, "Yes, now you body will be sore for the next couple of days and you're going to need some help getting use to your new body. Now if you'll excuse me I have another appointment to keep." With that he left.
Her assistant later told his name was Nicholas and he left a note detailing the price. Of course none of that concerned her, the moment she could see herself in the mirror and saw the adult she always wanted to be looking back. She would pay that price a thousand times over. Her new body was similar to the one she saw at that house of mirrors. So many things she could do now, she didn't know where to begin, but she did owe a few people some phone calls, so she decided to start there.
...
Oswald Cobblepot, aka The Penguin. He was sitting pretty in his luxury office at the Iceberg Lounge. On his left, a beautiful woman, brown hair wrapped up in a bun, and smooth dark skin, the very capable Candy. She was in charge of handling the books. On his right, another beautiful woman, bleached blonde hair, and a pale white complexion, the tough as nails Tracey Buxton. She handled the guards whenever he was otherwise preoccupied.
Unfortunately Penguin was in no position to appreciate any of the beauties in his establishment. The reason, there was a possible new crew in town. The police had done wonders in making sure the public were unaware, but hiding such brutal murders from the Gotham Criminal Underworld was another matter. Especially since all the victims so far were apart of that community.
Penguin had many side hustles outside the Iceberg Lounge, his most profitable were brokering deals between other parties and selling information. Usually selling information on deals he had just brokered. So Penguin knew immediately that people would be showing up at any moment to ask for information. Are they a vigilante group, are they for hire, or are they here doing a job.
The door opened and one of his many nameless flunkies stepped through. As the man approached, Tracey raised her arm and with her usual brand of "subtlety" made clear that if the guard didn't have a good reason for intruding, he would not like the result. The guard apologized and said that he tried to call it in but that none of the radios were working.
Penguin stopped what he was doing and immediately checked the cameras and found that they were also not functioning. Just then, almost immediately after he realized what was happening, the lights went out. Everything was dark, and for some reason the emergency lights didn't kick on. Panic began to creep into Penguin's mind as none of his security measures were activating. His sole comfort was that it wasn't pitch black, he could see but his vision was limited. As if for the sole purpose of adding terror to an otherwise annoying situation, gunfire and screaming could be heard throughout the building. The people on the main floor were panicking climbing on top of each other trying to escape.
Penguin fervently searched for a weapon. But they all appeared to be missing. Even his umbrella weapons were gone. He couldn't understand what was happening, nor did he understand why Candy and Tracey were shouting to give them a gun. That was when he noticed small sparks floating near his feet.
That's when the door burst apart. Two of the all time ugliest creatures walked through. He couldn't help but think how they made the Killer Croc look like a model. One was dressed like a doctor while the other had a face that was both glowing and melting at the same time. At that point as if to show how screwed he was, the light came on.
Candy and Tracey were gone. No traces as to what happened. Penguin tried to reach for an umbrella any umbrella with hopes to at lest defend himself. Before he could grab even one, a pair of hands grabbed his head. Searing hot pain shot through him, as he felt his nerves shut down. It stopped and a puff of black smoke left his mouth. Then it started again, and everything faded away.
...
All of Gotham was talking about the events last night. Commissioner Gordon was sitting in his office. He just came back from the crime scene at the Iceberg Lounge. Oswald Cobblepot was counted among the confirmed dead. Civilian casualties were surprisingly minimal, plenty of injuries, but only a few deaths. Still too many deaths for his liking, but a lot less it could've been.
A few of Cobblepot's associates were missing. Tracey Buxton and Candy, both were integral to Penguin's criminal network. As well as some of the staff. However, his detectives couldn't come up with a theory that made sense of the situation. The Batman suspected that the whole incident was a preview, some was showing off what they could do, and did it in a way that couldn't be ignored.
A chill ran down his spine as he considered the consequences if Batman was right. If they could do that just to show off, he hated to think what they do if they had a real target. He received an email from his daughter, saying that she was still good for lunch tomorrow. With everything that was probably going to go down soon, Gordon accepted that he would need to spend time with his daughter while he still could.