Chapter 25

When Pamela, hunched under the weight of sleep deprivation and focus on crafting new batches of antidote, entered the main control room, she didn't expect to see Alex at the terminal. But when her gaze landed on him, a faint, genuine smile of relief bloomed on her face.

"Finally," she exhaled, and before he could speak, she was at his side. A quick, tight hug, a fleeting kiss on his cheek—then her body went limp, head dropping to his shoulder. Sleep, delayed to the brink of collapse, claimed her instantly.

"New superpower—putting people to sleep," Alex quipped softly, gently catching her. He carried her to the same lounge, laying her beside Harley and covering her with a second blanket. Two furies, freed from Scarecrow's grip, now drained to exhaustion.

Alex headed to Floravita Industries' main office. Operations were in full swing per his orders: staff interviewed the few brave souls who'd come with "valuable" info on Scarecrow, collecting data, asking standard questions from Alex's prepared list. He took a position in an adjacent room behind one-way glass, observing. His gaze didn't analyze words but people: micro-movements, muscle tension, eye glints, breathing rates, subtle voice shifts. Most spoke "truth"—the kind they fervently believed, built on rumors, fears, and guesses. Useful info? Zero.

Six hours later, an urgent message pinged his personal communicator from the head of security:

> [Security]: Boss. Cobblepot. Oswald. Showed up in person. Says he's turning in Scarecrow, knows the exact base location.

Alex wasn't surprised. The Penguin always knew what stirred in Gotham's underbelly. Attention and leverage points were the keys to information in this city. But a personal visit…

He ordered Cobblepot to be received in a special interrogation room and hurried back to the base. He quietly woke Pamela. Her eyes opened, clouded with confusion.

"Need your power," he said softly but firmly. "Urgent."

She mumbled incoherently but followed, moving like a sleepwalker.

In the observation room overlooking the interrogation, Alex pointed at Penguin, seated at the table. Oswald Cobblepot looked as ever: absurd yet dangerous—a worn but expensive tailcoat, a monocle (today just for show, no lens?), a poison-tipped cane propped nearby. His small eyes gleamed with cunning and calculation. Alex whispered instructions to Pamela:

"Tell him you'll administer your 'truth toxin' to verify his statements. He won't be able to lie. Then give him this list." He handed her a sheet with questions:

1. Who are you? What do you do? (Identification)

2. Are you currently working with Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)?

3. Where is Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) right now?

4. Where did you get this information?

5. Why do you believe it's accurate?

6. Why are you sharing this information now?

Pamela, still fighting sleep, nodded and entered the room. Her voice was low, tired, but carried the unyielding authority of the Mistress of Plants:

"Mr. Cobblepot. Thank you for coming. To verify your words, I'll apply a truth serum. You won't be able to lie. Here are the questions." She placed the list before him.

Penguin scanned it, a smug grin spreading across his lips.

"Oh, the famed 'kiss of truth' from Dr. Ivy? Heard about it. Please, madam, don't hold back." He puckered his lips theatrically.

Pamela grimaced in disgust.

"Spare me." She swiftly raised her index finger to his lips. A drop of thick, jade-green liquid gleamed on her sharp nail. Penguin flinched, but too late—the toxin seeped through his mucous membranes. His eyes glazed briefly, body slumping slightly in the chair.

"Let's begin," Pamela said.

1. Who are you? What do you do?

 Answer: "Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. Businessman, florist, millionaire, widower. Ran smuggling, arms deals, until you lot showed up. Now I run restaurants and… information sales." (Truth, tinged with resentment.)

 - Alex's Observation: Voice steady, but too steady. No faint eyelid tremor typical of Pamela's toxin. Hands rest calmly on the table, no fidgeting with the coat's edge. Control?

2. Are you currently working with Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)?

 Answer: "No." (Short, sharp.)

 - Alex's Observation: Lie. Microscopic delay before answering—fractions of a second. Slight tension in the temple muscle. Pupils didn't dilate as they should under forced truth; they narrowed slightly. Resisting the toxin?

3. Where is Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) right now?

 Answer: "In the sewers under the old power plant on Industrial Wharf." (A district far from Dockers Square, where their influence is minimal.)

 - Alex's Observation: Answer given quickly. But Alex caught a subtle gesture—Penguin's thumb brushed against his index finger's pad. Classic self-soothing move when delivering rehearsed lies. Trap.

4. Where did you get this information?

 Answer: "I was there not long ago. The Joker gathered everyone to take you down…" (Truth) "…but I, as a good Samaritan, act for the city's good." (Lie.)

 - Alex's Observation: First part—truth (steady breathing, normal tone). Second part—lie (voice pitched slightly higher, forced "sincerity"). Partial truth.

5. Why do you believe it's accurate?

 Answer: "Because I saw it with my own eyes." (Truth.)

 - Alex's Observation: Sincere. He saw Scarecrow there. Saw the trap in action.

6. Why are you sharing this information now?

 Answer: "Amnesty… a chance for a new life." (Partial truth—he wanted amnesty, not for a new life but to deflect suspicion and keep playing.)

 - Alex's Observation: Too vague. Lacking specifics, emotion. Hiding true motives.

Alex saw the main questions were done, but Pamela was about to end the interrogation. He quickly scribbled an additional question and pressed it to the glass for only Pamela to see. She read it, frowned slightly, and asked:

7. Who else was at this meeting with the Joker, besides Scarecrow? Name everyone you saw or know of.

 Answer: "Bane… Two-Face… and gangs of thugs… Dark ones… those you've pissed off." (Truth, but phrased evasively with a pause.)

 - Alex's Observation:

 - Rehearsed: Answer too smooth, like a memorized line, unlike the more natural (if dishonest) responses earlier. Penguin prepared for this.

 - Tension: His fingers, resting on the table, dig slightly into the plastic. Micro-tension in the neck. Signs of fighting the toxin's effects or forcing control.

 - Evasiveness: "Those you've pissed off" was vague, unhelpful. Pamela's toxin at full strength would've forced specific names or gang titles.

 - Tactical Value: Naming real enemies (Bane, Two-Face) added credibility to his core lie about Scarecrow's location. It made the story convincing to Pamela. "Look, I'm even ratting out Joker's allies!"

Pamela nodded, satisfied by the toxin's apparent truthfulness, and released Penguin from its effects.

"Your information will be verified. We'll contact you about the reward."

Penguin stood, adjusted his coat, grabbed his cane. His gaze was slightly hazy but held a smug satisfaction.

"Eagerly awaiting, Dr. Ivy. Good day."

As the door closed behind him, Pamela entered the observation room.

"We've got them! The old power plant. Send a team?" Her voice carried relief.

Alex slowly shook his head, eyes fixed on the interrogation recording.

"It's a trap."

"What?!" Pamela frowned. "But he couldn't lie! The toxin…"

"The toxin worked," Alex cut in, "but not as it should, only visually. Scarecrow's a genius of fear and biochemistry. I'm almost certain he's developed or found an antidote to your 'truth toxin.' Something that lets him retain partial control, mask lies as truth, or recite rehearsed lines without physiological tells. Penguin was high, but not fully under. His answers to questions 2 and 4—lies. Question 3—a trap location. He saw Scarecrow there, yes, but setting a trap."

Pamela froze, grasping the depth of the failure and the enemy's cunning.

"But… then what…"

"Then we need another approach," Alex stood. "And you," he gently but firmly turned her toward the door, "need to sleep. I… need to think."