Chapter 2

Letting out a deep breath, I leaned back in the chair, looking up at the TV as my train made its way towards the outskirts of town, where I would pick up a bike that I would use to get the half mile or so down the road to Wayne Manor.

It was a routine by this point, three weeks of working at Wayne Manor had drilled that routine into me. Granted, I wasn't exactly giving up hope of transferring into some other position at Wayne Enterprises, but it wasn't looking very likely at this time. Perhaps I'd get a chance to talk to Mr. Wayne about it in the future; an opportunity to be fair. I hadn't seen Mr. Wayne in two weeks. Apparently, for someone who doesn't make many public appearances, he was a very busy man.

It was understandable; he had come back to a company that was barely functional and revitalized it with proper management. One of the reasons I was interested in trying to get a job at said company was that it was on the up and up, and getting in on the ground floor would probably mean that I'd get stock options worth millions over the years.

But that was a future problem. Looking up at the TV, I watched it passively, gathering information on the ongoings of Gotham. You know, it was pretty bad, but somehow it seemed to be getting worse and better at the same time. The crazed vigilante, Batman, was out there kicking ass and taking names, which was bringing a slow end to gang wars and corrupt operations, or at least putting them on the path to going underground and losing control over the police departments, which they obviously must have some control over if they were surviving as well as they were.

But there was news of strange things going on recently. Some crazy lunatic had blown up a tower on the north side of town, leaving a giant green question mark. Cops were apparently very confused, according to the news reports I'd read. And today, ultimately, the same insane lunatic had attacked Arkham Asylum and broken all the criminally insane out.

Currently, the police chief was on TV explaining how everything was under control and they would all be put back in jail soon enough. The things you would expect them to say when they didn't have the situation under control but didn't want the public to panic. At least Arkham Asylum was on the other side of town, far away from Wayne Manor. So even though I'd be riding a bike through some wilderness and alone, I'd be at least somewhat safe from that case. While it didn't make me wish I had a gun, I should probably put in my paperwork for a license. I'd been considering it for some time but had just been too busy trying to get a job to think about getting a little bit of self-defense. With the situation as it is, the city getting worse and worse; perhaps I should consider self-defense a higher priority.

Shaking my head, I reviewed today's plans. It was not a normal day by any means. Normally, I'd go to Wayne Manor and engage in cleaning. Thankfully, though there weren't that many people in Wayne Manor—just Alfred and Mr. Wayne—so the cleaning I had to do was rather minuscule. Remove some garbage, make sure nothing went bad in the kitchen, and so on. Most days, I ended up having some free time to watch TV and work on various objectives in an attempt to improve my career prospects.

Today would not be one of those days, as Mr. Wayne was holding a gala of sorts to raise money for one of his causes. I think it was the orphans of Gotham, a bit on brand for him. But I wasn't going to begrudge him if he wanted to throw a party to draw in funding for kids; let him do it.

But that meant that besides my normal duties and making sure the place was spotless, I had to contend with making sure the waitstaff brought in for this occasion didn't cause any problems. Hey, being middle management is always good, although I would prefer to be higher up in a corporation, but at least, I'm getting a little extra pay to make sure things go smoothly. Granted, I did have some mental concern about the fact that there would be hundreds of people inside Wayne Manor at once, and they'd all be in the North Hall. But still, I knew some of those strange outcomes that led to secret passages, whatever they assumed to be entrances to escape hatches in case some right or another. This building was nearly 200 years old, and the Waynes had been a major family in this city for a long time. I wouldn't be surprised if there had been one paranoid individual or another during those years who worried about the peasants burning his place down with his family inside.

A ping went off, alerting me that the TV was coming to a live segment, which drew my eyes to it since I still had an hour and 20 minutes before my stop arrived.

"Good morning, Gotham," the familiar voice of Police Chief Byrne as he appeared on screen, shuffling some paperwork on the desk in front of him as he said, "I come to you today to give you a brief summary of the ongoing situation about Arkham Asylum and the escaped individuals.

"Over 70% of the individuals from Arkham have been recaptured and taken back to Arkham; the other 30% are suspected to be captured soon. There is, though, the matter of one individual who has escaped into the sewers that we suspect will be a bit harder to bring in. Killer Croc has, of course, eluded capture. It is recommended that you avoid the riverside of the city for the next few days, as that tends to be where he goes for his hunting grounds.

"We would also recommend just avoiding going outside for a while. This character, the Riddler, I think his letter has been calling himself, seems to have a bent on causing a lot of damage, and we believe he may be planning something even more dangerous in the future than the already two acts of terrorism. For your own safety, be aware of your surroundings as much as possible."

A voice called to Police Chief Byrne, probably a reporter. He nodded in the direction that I assumed the reporter was sitting, as they asked, "Vicki Vale of The Daily Gotham, is it true that this Riddler case is connected to the death of Police Chief Sharidon on the south side of town and DA Sutton in the same district?"

"Those are unconfirmed rumors, and we have no proof that they are connected. It's believed that those might be the work of the serial killer Calendar Man."

"But sir, the death of DA Sutton was not on a day of importance," someone called, which got a look of annoyance towards that individual.

"As DA Sutton said, just because it wasn't a day of importance that we know about doesn't mean it's not one he knows about. He looks for these mundane days. Did you know there was a national boob day? I didn't until he decided to commit a crime on that day by poisoning a breast augmentation clinic's materials with cyanide."

I shook my head. Why are there so many wackos in this city? I'd heard about that case; It only happened last year. Then again, a lot of these stranger cases only started really popping up in the last year, and that was one of the reasons I wish I had magic. If I had magic, I could blow away my problems with a good old-fashioned artillery spell. But as far as I was aware, magic didn't exist in this world, or if it did, it worked on some system that was not familiar to me and possibly not within my capability to use.

This was a problem with having to readjust to a new world. In my first life, I did not have magic. In my second life, I had used it quite thoroughly and enjoyed personal flight. This life, so far, I had nothing. There was nothing of that nature to worry about, so I survived with what I had, and what I had was skills and memories from a life of fighting for my life. Granted, I didn't have the strength of an enforcement spell, but I did have training in close-quarters combat that many did not, as well as a penchant for tricks that I picked up in my last life.

That's why I kept a few items for self-defense in my purse, heavy bricks in the purse especially. Without knowing how dangerous the area of the city was that I had to pass through a few times, well, the first week I did.

Alfred had informed me of another route through the city that was a little less dangerous, a little bit slower, he admitted. But he also admitted quite clearly that he cared more about my safety than the speed of me getting to the mansion, so I took it now instead of the old route where I had to beat up a few idiot gang members now and again.

My thoughts were pulled back to the TV screen as another voice spoke up, saying, "What about the cat burglar that's been stealing stuff from Gotham museums? Have we done anything about her yet?"

"That is an unrelated matter to my department."

"You're the Chief of Police."

"And I am handling things in my district. Most of those cases have not happened inside my district and have been turned over to the higher authorities under the commissioner."

"Wow, so this will never be handled then?" someone else called.

Causing the Chief of Police to give them a look before he said, "This will be handled by the proper authorities. If you have questions about my district, feel free to inquire about them specifically, though I would prefer you to talk about the current situation the public needs to know about, not unrelated crimes by minor criminals."

"Okay… what about the story about the man-bats from last week? Some guy turned himself into a monstrosity and terrorized the park in your district."

The police chief did not look happy before saying, "Thank you for at least bringing it into things that are in my district. That situation was handled from what I recall; the scientist involved in that stupidity was arrested and taken into custody by the FBI."

"First time hearing about this," someone called from the audience. "I've been living in terror that this guy was going to gas the city with a bat transformation virus or some crazy shit."

"Language!" someone called.

"Fuck you, Steve!"

"You want to go, Jerry? Let's go!"

"Shut up, both of you," the chief of police said, standing up fiercely and causing the person behind the camera to pivot it up, making him look a little bit more imposing than he probably was with his rather rounded figure. He shook his head before saying, "I just got a report about this myself two days ago, and I haven't had exactly any time to deal with getting that information out with the whole terrorist attacks going on. I think everyone was a little preoccupied, I think we can all agree."

Various nods going on before the police chief sat back down in his chair. "Is there any other crimes that anyone is asking about that I need to know?"

"I have a question," someone called, and he pointed off to the audience.

"Hi, Billy Bow from Bowhunters Weekly. I'm wondering if there's anything being done about the vigilante who's targeting members of the mafia here in your city."

The chief cut him off, saying, "Batman is the commissioner's problem. I've asked him to go hard on him several times, and he's refused, due to the bat being rather good about not leaving anyone in too bad of a condition that they didn't really deserve."

"Not that vigilante, you know we're talking about the one who's using crossbows."

The police chief raised an eyebrow before saying, "Right, that one. The new chick. We are investigating any ties between her and possibly Batman. So far, we found nothing. We've also been trying to arrest her, but yeah, she's as slippery as Batman, except not as well, get it out from what we've seen."

"So chances of arresting her so she doesn't cause a law to be passed against archery equipment not good?" Billy Bow asked.

Police Chief Byrne sighed before saying, "Not looking great, I'm afraid. I will say though the politicians, as far as I have seen, have not taken up a notable stance against her yet, simply because, well, with the amount of weird stuff been happening in the last year, I think they prefer to deal with that over some do vigilante who's probably going to get themself killed."

"Hmm, thank you. I'll tell that to my readers, then."

"Any other questions before I can get back to work?"

There was silence for a bit before someone asked a rather interesting question in my mind.

"This Riddler fellow, the one who's causing the terrorist attacks, has he been dropping riddles for people to solve?"

There was silence before the police chief said, "Yes."

"Can we see them?"

"This is a police matter, and they will be handled by the police. We are not going to give out these riddles and risk The Riddler deciding to change them on us because that we expose them to people that shouldn't see them."

"All right, all right. I don't know, it just seems to me that if you guys can't solve them, maybe you should let the public have a chance. After all, didn't the public figure out a case back in the '70s?"

"That was California. That was a different time, and that has nothing to do with Gotham. Besides, the criminal was giving those letters out directly to the news organization. He's not doing that to you guys in this case. I assume if you happen to get a communication from The Riddler, please contact us first before publishing it."

"Is that the end, then? I think we can call this a very good meeting," the police chief got up and nodded to someone off-camera, and the camera feed died. The TV changed to some commercial about fertilizer and how it would grow plants ten times as fast.

"Crazy City," I thought, shaking my head as I watched my stop coming up. I gathered up my stuff and stood up quickly, stepping out of the train and heading towards the stairs that would take me to where I can rent the bike I have reserved. Though, as I came to a sidewall of the structure, something different was here since the last time I came through. New tagging looks a bit like a clown face instead of red hair or some sort of hat; it was like a shaggy mess of green hair.

"Strange," I thought before shaking my head, figuring it was probably some new tag or whatnot, not my problem as I made my way down the steps to the bike rental place.

"Making sure to have complete control over a party like this must be a nightmare," I thought as I watched him, ordering around maids and butlers like it was nothing to him.

To be frank, watching the way he acted reminded me that he must have had a military career. He kept silent about it, never specifying which branch he served in, which made me believe it was probably something on the top-secret part of the military.

The fact that he never talked about it at all made me very suspicious. It might be all the way to SAS or some other secret detachment of the English military, given their strict rules about not discussing one's involvement. He had control of this party, which was amazing considering how boisterous it was—drinks were flowing, people were chatting, food was being served, and there was a rather loud band at one end of the hall providing entertainment. Everything was going fine. Interestingly, I noticed one couple accidentally bump into one of the things I knew led to a secret passageway. The thing had been rather easy to open, and not opened, which told me that the fact they knew that people were coming had made them lock up most, if not the majority, of any of the passageways in the mansion. This was good; we didn't need people finding out what was down there. I assumed they didn't need people skulking around in the darkness for really who knows what was down there, who knows what they would be doing. We didn't need to have some psychopath millionaire who's been slowly losing it consider this the perfect opportunity to murder one of his comrades.

Shaking my head, I walked forward, holding a tray and offering it to some of the guests. It was a rather rich party, if you ask me. Everyone was in suits from famous brands or dresses that would probably put me in debt for years if I had one. Not to mention, it was fashionable compared to my maid dress and skirt.

Oh well, I would suffer the indignity of this party and hopefully get an opportunity to talk to Bruce, see if I couldn't talk him into giving me a more interesting position in the company.

My dreams of a profitable retirement were interrupted as I felt something bump into my rear, something that felt a little too handsy, if you ask me. Turning around, I looked for the individual behind it. Instead, I saw two mask-wearing individuals who almost looked like geishas, standing there and looking past me. I assumed so, as I couldn't see their eyes.

"Oh, sorry, ma'am. I'm sorry," gave a voice from below my vision. I looked down, seeing an individual in a top hat using an umbrella as a cane with rather sharp facial features. My eyebrows raised because, amongst the other issues that were popping out to me, this dwarf also seemed to have three fingers and a thumb on each hand.

The individual smiled, revealing sharp teeth as he said, "I must have not seen where I was going, young Miss. But since you're here, mind handing me one of those nice glasses of alcohol? I'm a bit dry right now, and I could use a little bit of drink to spruce up my mood."

"Sure," I said, not seeing the way the two bodyguards followed me as I slowly took a knee and offered the man the glass. They kept their gaze, their hands staying hidden within their geisha-like clothing.

The dwarf reached out, taking the glass and nodding, sipping out of it before saying, "Now that's the stuff. This house Master must really know how to make a good party run."

"Well, he is Bruce Wayne," I said with a smile, slowly taking a stand and stepping back a bit, watching his eyes as they seemed to watch me. He was smiling uncomfortably, and as far as I was concerned, as if he was considering impure thoughts.

"Yes, Bruce Wayne, a very rich guy. Probably half the chicks in this entire place are trying to get with him just so they don't have to worry about money issues."

He drank down a lot of the glass before saying, "Although I guess being pretty doesn't hurt." That sounded like jealousy, I thought mentally, before I saw Alfred coming with Bruce Wayne. They did not look happy as they approached.

"Mr. Cobblepot," Bruce said, coming to a stop next to me as he nodded to Alfred, saying, "We've done a quick check, and you're not on the guest list. There's also a matter of a $2,000 donation for charity that's not even listed near your name."

"Oh no, well, that's not right. I could have sworn I was already on the guest list. I mean, how else would I have found out about this?" Cobblepot said, rubbing his chin with his oddly shaved hands before reaching into his breast pocket, pulling out a checkbook and saying, "I'll make it right now."

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Wayne," Cobblepot said, filling out a check with $3,000. I noted as I had a good angle on what he was writing. He handed it to Alfred, who looked it over, sliding it into his pocket after making sure it was good, though to be fair, there was no way to be sure it was good.

"I'm pretty sure that this does not bounce, Mr. Cobblepot. We will engage legal authorities if necessary."

"Over $2,000. Maybe you should take a stick out of your ass, Mr. Alfred. Trust me, it'll pass. I'm a businessman; I have the money. Not to mention, I'm the descendant of Cobblepot's, one of the other town's most old and famous families."

"I mean, didn't me and Mr. Wayne attend the same private school for a few years?"

"Did we?" Wayne said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before blinking and saying, "Wait a minute, Penguin."

"I refuse that nickname to this day," Cobblepot said, clapping his umbrella's point on the end of the wooden floor, "just because I had a small disability with my walking and I was a fan of suits, you get the nickname 'The Penguin,' for goodness' sakes. The Blues Brothers wore suits; I thought they were cool." Bruce smiled at that, and I chimed in.

"Well, the movies are pretty good," getting the amused look from Wayne.

"I'm sorry; I'll refrain from using that name in the future, Mr. Cobblepot. I'm just—it's been a long time. I wasn't even aware that your name was Cobblepot; I just remember you as that name."

"It's understandable, I guess, but now you know I'm Cobblepot. I mean, we share a similar story, if you ask me. Your family died, my family died; you went off on some world adventure, I went off on some world adventure; you returned to the businessman, I returned to nothing and built myself a nice little club in the city."

"Iceberg Lounge," Alfred said, getting all of us to look at him. I thought I remembered hearing about something a year ago about a returning son of Gotham penniless rebuilding his fortune through the use of a club in the lower side of Gotham—Iceberg Lounge.

"Correct. I'm a bit of a self-made man, if you ask me. Sure, I may have had a good start to begin with, but I had to rebuild everything from the ground up."

"Well then, I think we don't have to worry about that check, then. I mean, if you have a prosperous club, you must be making enough money to be here—probably also how he found out about this," Bruce said," which got a grin from Cobblepot.

"Caught red-handed. A few of your guests happened to visit my place and were talking about the festivities happening today. I knew I'd be out a little bit of money because they wouldn't be there, so I thought I'd come take a look around here anyway for myself."

But that's not it I thought, before looking to his two guards as I had mentally thought of them before saying, "who are your friends there?"

"Oh, these little somethings I picked up in the Far East. Just something to keep myself protected, you know how it is. You make yourself a little bit of money, and then everyone wants to take a bite out of you. These girls make sure that anyone who tries, gets a good reminder that it's a dumb idea."

That raised my eyebrow on my forehead. He talked about them as if they weren't human, which was odd to say the least. I mean, sure, they're bodyguards, but you usually have to keep your bodyguards happy, or they'll kill you themselves. Referring to them as not human or implying that you own them is one of those ways where you end up found dead the next day, either missing or claiming that they fell asleep on the job.

But then again, there was something off about those two. They didn't speak; they barely moved. As I watched, I wondered if they were even breathing, with the tilted movements they had.

"Well, that's interesting, Mr. Cobblepot. I have to go give a speech in the next 10 minutes. Just feel free to enjoy the amenities, though try to keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Cobblepot."

"What? I'm always the perfect gentleman, of course. I'll keep my hands to myself."

"Sure, sure. Just know, though, some of my staff is trained to defend themselves, and if you engage in any behaviors that they dislike, I'm more than willing to hire a lawyer for them," Bruce said with a smile, turning his head to look at me and nodding, indicating to me that what I had felt was not my imagination; the bastard had copped a feel on my ass.

I squinted my eyes at Cobblepot in annoyance. Part of me that had spent years as a woman wanted to give him a good kick in the balls; the other part of me, the part that had been a soldier, knew that this was not worth the time, and I didn't want to have to deal with the bodyguards. So instead, I simply smiled and said, "Thank you, Mr. Wayne.'"

"Anytime, Miss Pennyworth."

"Anywhere wait, does that mean she's your daughter?" Cobblepot said, pointing his umbrella at Alfred.

"Niece, actually."

"Huh, well, I assure you, Mr. Wayne, I will keep my hands to myself from now on. From one socialite of the city to another, you have my promise."

"Good," Mr. Wayne said, nodding and stepping away as he said, "Alfred, keep an eye on the situation."

"Will do, sir," he said as Wayne left.

Taking away my chance to have a conversation with him, but at least putting us on very friendly grounds. Next time I got a chance to talk to him, maybe I'd be able to make some headway, I thought as I stepped away from Mr. Cobblepot, saying, "Well, I have people to serve drinks to. Make sure to place the glass somewhere that won't get broken, Mr. Cobblepot."

"Well, I will," the man said with an odd smile as I moved further away from him, letting out a sigh. As I gave out the last drink and then started heading towards the kitchen.

Need to pick up more drinks for the rest of the night, probably find somewhere good to listen to the speech. After all, if I was going to make good with Bruce Wayne, I needed to make sure that he saw me and assumed I was interested in what he was talking about. After all, showing interest was reliable.

I don't know, I'm just trying to network. Use all networks anyway I can because I need to make sure I have more than enough money for a good life.

I turned left and was heading towards the kitchen when I noticed a woman wearing a jeweled necklace staring at one of the paintings. She appeared to be lost, so I smiled and said, "Miss, are you lost?"

The woman, dark-haired and extremely pale-skinned, turned and smiled back at me, saying, "Oh yes, I was trying to find the bathroom, and I seem to have taken a wrong turn."

"Can you point me in the right way?" she said, scratching behind her neck.

"You've made a very bad turn," I said, taking a few steps past her, looking down the hallway to see if there were any signs she'd gone further. After all, it was my duty to make sure that nothing was stolen. In fact, I did a double-check on that necklace to make sure. I hadn't seen it in Wayne Manor; you never know when someone might sneak off to steal something. Thankfully, it was not something I'd ever seen before.

"You should have taken a left back there, not a right," I said, indicating the turnoff. "The bathroom is that way. If you kept going the way you're going, you'd just wander out into the main garden now, I'm afraid."

"Oh, thank you. I was quite lost then," she said.

"No problem," I said before adding, "By the way, nice necklace."

"Ah, thank you. It's brand new," she said with a smile before starting to walk away with a rather swaying step, if you ask me.

Shaking my head and trying to memorize every feature I could of her, if it turned out something had been stolen. I wanted to be able to give a good description. Maybe I was too suspicious of people, but as I reviewed the thoughts of that necklace, it kind of looked like something that had been shown on a report from one of those burglaries earlier in the year. Probably just my imagination. Shaking my head, I turned and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a new tray, and getting ready for the next round of drinks.