Chapter 54: Court of Owls
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Late at night, after finishing his job on Gotham TV, Penguin returned to his office, exhausted from a long day's work. His mind and body were both drained, and he felt an urgent need for comfort. Wasting no time, he instructed his secretary to call for two young women, both possessing the figure and appearance of supermodels, as a way to indulge himself after another tiring day of business in Gotham.
Penguin had worked tirelessly for most of his life, all in pursuit of a comfortable existence. Though he enjoyed his pleasures, he was never one to overindulge in excess, which is why, despite practicing martial arts and maintaining an active lifestyle, he remained as round and stocky as ever. His figure had never changed, always retaining that same well-fed and plump appearance that made him instantly recognizable.
Just as he was about to treat himself to a well-deserved meal, taking a bite from his sandwich with a sense of satisfaction—
"Bang!"
A dark shadow burst through the window, shattering the glass as it swooped into the room, circling twice around Penguin's head. The sudden intrusion startled the two young women, their faces turning pale, but unlike ordinary people, they remained composed and did not scream. They were well-acquainted with Gotham's dangers and knew better than to panic.
Penguin, however, had a different reaction. The moment he heard the crash from the window, his instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, he grabbed his iconic umbrella and rolled off the bed in a practiced motion. With one hand, he used the umbrella as a shield, opening it defensively, while his other hand swiftly pressed his fingerprint to unlock the secret passage hidden beneath the floorboards, preparing for a quick escape.
"Plop-plop-plop."
At that moment, the dark shadow landed, gripping the bird stand tightly with two sharp talons. Its dull, unblinking eyes locked onto Penguin, who had been moments away from entering his underground escape route.
"I***" Penguin directly burst into Gotham swear words.
Poor Mr. Cobblepot nearly had a heart attack. After all, whenever someone broke in like this, it was usually Batman, and whenever that happened, it meant one thing—trouble. And more often than not, it also meant getting punched in the face.
Batman was notorious for his reliance on brute force, especially when dealing with criminals, and Gotham's villains had learned this the hard way. The Dark Knight had been deceived by the city's underworld too many times, and now, he rarely wasted time on words when fists could do the talking.
Penguin, unfortunately, had been on the receiving end of that treatment more times than he cared to count.
The older of the two women, with sharp intuition and high emotional intelligence, immediately grasped the situation and chose to ignore her boss's embarrassing moment. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the bird perched confidently on the stand, admiration glimmering in her eyes.
"Wow, I've heard that the boss has trained many raptors as pets. Now that I see them in action, they truly are as fearless as the boss himself."
Her quick thinking was immediately backed up by the younger woman, who chimed in enthusiastically.
"Yeah, yeah, exactly!"
However, their attempts to flatter him did not have the desired effect. With a dark expression, Penguin adjusted his posture and spoke through gritted teeth.
"I didn't raise this one."
At those words, the color drained from the women's faces. They had already guessed that their fates were about to take a grim turn. Yet, rather than panic, they silently clung to each other, accepting their doom with quiet resignation. They understood that screaming or running would only make things worse—not just for them, but for their families as well.
Penguin's sharp eyes swept over the two women, his expression unreadable. Seeing that they had witnessed his moment of vulnerability, he couldn't simply let them go without consequence. He pressed a hidden mechanism on the handle of his umbrella, causing a circle of razor-sharp blades to extend from its edges, the weapon gleaming under the dim light of the room.
At that moment, an image flashed through Penguin's mind—Dean's calm, unwavering gaze.
Two seconds later, Penguin exhaled sharply and retracted the deadly blades with a flick of his wrist.
"Get out. And don't breathe a word about what you saw here."
The two women, stunned by this unexpected mercy, hurriedly gathered their things and bowed deeply to him before making their exit.
Now alone, Penguin leaned back, stark naked, and lit a cigar, puffing out a slow, thoughtful cloud of smoke.
"That old ballad turned out to be true after all… You and I have had a long-standing business relationship, yet the moment my attitude shifts even slightly, you jump out of the shadows like this, huh? Hah… figures."
---
Penguin took slow, measured steps toward the bird stand, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor. As he walked, he hummed an old tune—one that had been passed down through Gotham's underworld for generations, a song known only to those who had been in the city long enough to hear its whispered warnings.
"Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time,
Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.
They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,
Speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head."
This eerie ballad carried a chilling weight, its lyrics laced with Gotham's most deep-rooted fears.
Damian, having spent most of his childhood outside Gotham, had never heard it before. And Dean, being an outsider altogether, was even less likely to be familiar with its sinister meaning.
As Penguin continued his humming, the owl perched on the bird stand gave a low, throaty "coo", a deep sound that almost seemed knowing. Then, without warning, it opened its beak and spat out a palm-sized communicator, the slick device glistening slightly under the dim lighting.
Penguin's expression remained unreadable as he reached forward, plucking the communicator from the air. He examined it briefly, weighing it in his palm before finally pressing the call button.
A few seconds of silence passed before a voice, obviously processed through a filter, emerged from the other end.
[Hello, descendant of the Cobblepot family.]
The mechanical distortion did little to hide the cold, calculating tone behind the words.
[We are very pleased that you have not forgotten the real master behind Gotham.]
As the cryptic greeting ended, the speaker was abruptly replaced by a different voice—this time, that of a woman.
Penguin's lips curled downward in irritation. He frowned, adjusting the communicator slightly before speaking.
"Don't try to play Riddler's games with me, Court of Owls." His voice carried the weight of experience, the gruff impatience of a man who had long since tired of riddles and cryptic messages. "You lot have always been rumored to be lurking everywhere in Gotham, yet no one can ever seem to find you. Now that you've come looking for me directly, I doubt it's just to deliver a midnight snack."
A brief pause followed before the woman on the other end responded.
[Of course not. After the 'Séance Ceremony' four days ago, we have confirmed that you possess the qualifications to join the Court.]
Penguin sneered at the words, his fingers tightening around the communicator.
"I don't need the help of a secret society that does nothing but skulk in the shadows," he replied coldly.
The voice on the other end remained unfazed.
[Owls are everywhere, and every transformation in Gotham's history has been guided by our talons. That includes the decline of the Cobblepot family.]
At these words, a flicker of something dangerous crossed Penguin's expression. Though his exterior remained calm, his grip on the communicator tightened ever so slightly.
This was no longer a vague offer. It was a warning—one with a very clear implication.
He was being reminded of the past.
[The old Cobblepot refused to bow to the Court. Because of that, he was erased from history.] The voice paused, letting the weight of those words settle before continuing.
[But you—now—you have the opportunity to reclaim everything that was lost. If you are willing to agree, the Court will give you everything you desire.]
Penguin, ever the businessman, wasted no time cutting to the point. His mind had already leaped ahead to the most important question.
"So, if I do as you say… does that mean I get to sit in the mayor's chair?"
A beat of silence passed before the answer came.
[As it should be.]
Penguin let out a slow exhale through his nose. His mind was already racing with calculations, weighing the risks against the rewards.
Still, there was one issue left to address. His tone sharpened slightly as he asked, "And what about Hamilton? He's your guy, isn't he? You really think he'll just step aside and let me take his place?"
The reply was swift.
[Under the Court, the truth is alone.]
Penguin narrowed his eyes. He had played this game long enough to recognize a veiled message when he heard one.
The Court was offering him something that most men in Gotham would kill for. But he knew all too well that when the Court of Owls extended a hand, it always came with unseen strings attached.
Still, he had to consider his next words carefully. Because in Gotham, saying the wrong thing to the wrong people could be the difference between sitting at the top of the food chain… and becoming the next name in an old, forgotten song.
"And what If I say no?"
The communicator was silent for a moment before finally giving a reply.
[Whoever gives you the courage to refuse will have his wings broken.]
Penguin's fingers tightened slightly around the handle of his umbrella. His expression darkened, but his voice remained calm as he let out a low chuckle.
"What if it's Batman?"
This time, the silence from the communicator was longer. The static crackled faintly, as if those on the other end were either caught off guard or choosing their words carefully.
Then, at last, the distorted voice returned.
[Batman is already in the bag.]
Snap!
Without the slightest hesitation, Penguin raised his umbrella and pulled the trigger.
A sharp gunshot echoed through the room. The owl perched on the bird stand barely had time to react before its head was blown clean off, its lifeless body slumping forward. Feathers, stained with specks of blood, scattered in the air, drifting down like a twisted parody of snowfall.
Penguin exhaled through his nose and calmly flipped the umbrella closed. He took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking against the floor, and reached down. Without ceremony, he picked up the communicator, turning it over in his fingers as if weighing his next move.
Then, without a word, he tossed it to the ground.
With deliberate force, he lifted his foot and stomped down.
Crunch.
The device shattered under his heel, its inner components crushed to pieces. Tiny sparks flickered briefly before dying out, leaving only silence in their wake.
The final verdict from the Court of Owls came through in a last, static-filled whisper.
[Your chess piece is already under the owl's claws.]
Penguin's jaw tightened slightly at those words. He knew exactly what they were referring to. His mind immediately went to the message he had sent Dean earlier.
But he wasn't worried.
Instead, he let out a slow, amused breath, rolling his cigar between his fingers before placing it between his lips.
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Dean is not my chess piece."
He struck a match, the tiny flame briefly illuminating his face as he lit the cigar.
"And he sure as hell won't be a chess player like Batman."
He took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke as his smirk widened.
"He'll just smash your chessboard, grab you by the tail…"
His eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he tapped off the ash.
"And throw you into the zoo."
The thick scent of smoke mixed with the lingering metallic tang of blood from the dead owl. Penguin wrinkled his nose slightly, waving a hand to clear the air. His gaze flicked toward the lifeless bird, his lip curling in mild distaste.
"This is exactly why I never raise owls."
---
The mist hanging in the air parted slightly, revealing a figure emerging from the frozen haze. Clad in dark blue armor, moving with a heavy, deliberate gait, Dr. Victor Fries—better known as Mr. Freeze— stepped forward. The glow of his red visor cut through the cold fog, casting an eerie light on the frozen remains of what had once been a functioning laboratory.
His every movement was accompanied by a faint mechanical whir, the life-support systems in his suit maintaining the subzero temperatures necessary for his survival.
In his gloved hands, his pulse gun hummed ominously, the barrel still radiating an icy blue light. He moved with the cold precision of a scientist, his expression unreadable behind the thick glass of his helmet.
Dean remained crouched behind the frozen machinery, his breath shallow as he tried to formulate a plan. His body ached from the chill in the air, and he could already feel the stiffness settling into his muscles.
Dean rolled over to avoid the blue ray, and the original location was immediately covered with a thick layer of frost.
"Dr. Victor, I don't remember ever offending you," Dean hid behind the instrument. "If I were hit by your pulse ray, half of my body would be declared useless."
Mr. Freeze wearing dark blue frozen armor, walked out of the white mist, like a mythical frost ghost.
"When it comes to a police officer who trespasses on a private property, according to the Law, I have the right to shoot you directly."
Mr. Freeze is indeed a genius with the title of doctor. In just a few words, he deprived Dean of his legitimacy to infiltrate. Dean moved to the left quietly to ensure that Mr. Freeze could not see him.
"I came in after the criminals. Their car is still parked outside. I have a reason to suspect that they have broken into your factory and are very likely to threaten your life, Doctor."
Mr. Freeze silently adjusted the power of the pulse gun to maximum before speaking.
"Yeah, I'm cleaning up the intruders."
Pulling the trigger, the maximum power of the pulse ray is emitted, and the place where it passes freezes into a glacier together with the instrument.
"It's cleaned up now."
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Penguin mah mannn🗿🤝
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