Hey folk, ShadowMajin here with the second installment of my and Anonymous Void's Batman series. Hope you enjoy it.

"Welcome to Channel 6 News with Jack Ryder. I'm Jack Ryder and here are tonight's headlines. Tomorrow marks the eighth month anniversary of the Night of Ice, when Gotham's former vigilante Victor Fries attempted to freeze the city within a block of ice. A memorial service will be held in memory of those who lost their lives, including Channel 6's own, John Baker. Donations are requested to help the families of the victims and survivors.

"In other news, the crime rate has dipped down nearly 5%, a first in forty years for the city. Much of this can be credited to Commissioner James Gordon, who has gone through a record number of police firings in an attempt to replace corrupt police officers with new policemen and women. With these new officers, a crackdown on crime has shocked the criminal underworld.

"However, others claim that this drop cannot be completely credited to the new Gotham City Police Department. Many are saying this is the work of the vigilante, the Batman, who is widely known for standing up to Victor Fries during the Night of Ice. While the number of arrests of criminals with various injuries has increased, there has been a notable decrease in the appearance of the vigilante in the last few days. This has led to some believing that the Batman has given up fighting for the city.

"In related news, a double homicide has been reported in downtown Gotham, at 5th and Chesney. According to sources, there is a strong belief that this is another in a long line of criminal activity perpetrated by the rise of a new organized crime outfit headed by a man simply known as the Penguin. Not much is known of the Penguin, other than his or her perchance for bird-related calling cards left at crime scenes. The GCPD is currently offering a $50,000 reward to anyone that has any information concerning the Penguin and his associates.

"Now onto the World of Sports, with Bruce Timms. Bruce—"

The television with Jack Rider's profile was replaced by a fellow colleague's, which was ignored by the various officers of the law as they scrambled about the station. There was an unprecedented flurry of activity, the likes of which hadn't been seen in a long time. Like the news had said, there had been changes in the department's infrastructure; there were new faces replacing some old ones, though a few of those could still be found here and there.

For example, Harvey Bullock's...area was in a perpetual mess, yet somehow it was an orderly disorder. Unless you counted all the used styrofoam cups that had the barest traces of coffee left in them and pages upon pages of papers stacked sporadically about the desk, the entire thing was a mess. Yet, in Bullock's words, they were unimportant.

Meanwhile, symbolically on the other side of the room was the more clean desk of Essen and it seemed like cleanliness was contagious—at least on her end. In the middle of it all, there were experienced and inexperienced officers, most of whom were homicide, but there were several from robbery and narcotics sprinkled about. This precinct specialized in homicide, though a portion of the building was reserved solely for organized crime.

In fact, recently there had been quite a bust. Even those words couldn't accurately describe how big it was. It was one for the record books, that was for sure, and that may have been a big reason why there was currently so much activity. Not only had they managed to grab over five hundred tons of cocaine, but they had managed to nab many of the distributors along with evidence that could be used against their bosses. Specifically, it was Stromwell, a one-time untouchable mob boss who had managed to survive Fries' vigilantism and had expanded his empire soon afterwards.

Not for long, it seemed. They had Stromwell and they had him bad. All of these officers were working to make sure that not only would it all hold up in court, but that none of of Stromwell's lawyers could get it thrown out. There were warrants being written up for everything under the sun, ranging from arrest to searches.

There was no rest for the wicked and it was up to them to keep up.

That task had become somewhat easier. The problems of corruption were not gone and probably would never be. Still, the shape of this Gotham City Police was better than it had been eight months ago. It could even be said it was in better shape than it was twenty years ago.

The commissioner was not very picky about that. Gordon cared more about the results and achieving them. So long as there was something being done, he could find some satisfaction in it. It could all be better admittedly, but he still had some time to do it.

Some time being the key words here. He didn't know how much longer he would be in this post, so he was going to do the best that he could while he was still here. Hamilton Hill had been replaced as Mayor not too long ago and his replacement was eager to put his people in key positions, which included the police commissioner. Still, even if his stint as commissioner was short-lived and everything went back to the way it was, at the very least Gordon could said he had done his best and that for a moment he had accomplished something.

It still didn't mean that he liked his phone ringing off the hook. That thing was always going off nowadays. So long as it wasn't the mayor, a sign that crap was heading his way, then he could handle whoever it was on the phone.

Ruefully, he recalled a time a few months ago when the phone rang noticeably less. He wouldn't trade for that period of time; it was considerably better that he was getting consistent calls. Made it seem like things were getting done now.

"This is Gordon," he spoke into the receiver's phone, short, to the point, but always with a tone that didn't put someone on edge. At least initially.

"Ah Commissioner, it's so nice to speak with you. It is a first, 'fraid, but better late than never, eh?"

Gordon frowned. This was someone he didn't recognize. The accent may have been a giveaway there, but it didn't get him closer to discovering the purpose of this call. "Who is this?" he asked.

"Oh, where are my manners? 'Fraid I can't give you my real name since you're more than likely tracin' this call. Word of advice, friend: don't bother. Howe'er, let me say that we happen to have a mutual interest, you and I."

"Mutual interest? I'm afraid I don't follow," the elderly man replied with feigned interest. He was involved with too much work to bother with cautious callers and riddles. "I'm going to have to ask you to get off the line. I don't have time to be dealing with prank calls."

"But you see, this ain't a prank call. Far from it. Here, have a listen."

There was a slight pause before the commissioner heard the word, "D-daddy?"

Gordon's blood turned ice cold as he bolted up straight in his seat. His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white from the strain. "Barbara?" he asked, his voice soft, but easily heard.

"I believe I have your attention, right friend?"

He swallowed. "You do."

"Then listen up so we can get down to business. I have someone that's important to you; someone you wouldn't want to see bein' hurt. Now, I'm a man that don't like hurtin' lil girlies, but if I get pushed the right way, I can't say lil Barbara here is gonna like it."

"What do you want?" He was not in the mood for this cloak and dagger shit. Whoever was on the other end was messing with his little girl. Indeed, he agreed that he didn't want Barbara hurt. But he wasn't going to talk around the issue, not as long as his daughter was in danger.

"To the point I see. Well, let's get to the point. I want some professional courtesy that your fine department once lavished on my competitors. I understand you're not a man to be bought, so I took that pesky part out o' the equation. You don't have to pay me a cent, just as long as you look the o'her way on some things."

"And how do I know you will keep your word?" Gordon demanded, his voice raising slightly. "How do I know that you won't hurt her anyway?"

"'Cause I'm a gentlemen. My word is my bond, unlike some of the riftraft in this town. For example, I promise that if you put your lil nose in my business, the next time you see your daughter will be in pieces. Catch my drift?"

"I do. That's not what I want to know." His mind was racing, trying to think of something, anything, but was constantly coming up blank. "When will I get to see my daughter again?"

"It depends entirely on you, Commissioner."

"You're not answering my question."

"Once I feel an understandin' has been reached between us and not a second 'fore. Don't worry, I'll make sure your favorite redhead is taken care of. So long as you cooperate, I won't harm a red hair on her pretty lil head."

"And how will I know what is your business and what isn't?" he asked. Even now, he could feel that he was stalling. Stalling for what remained questionable. Was it time? An idea? A solution of any kind? He didn't know…

There was a loud chuckle. "You're a sharp one, I'll give you that. It's somethin' I admire so long as it doesn't get in my way. Believe me when I say this, you'll know my business 'fore you e'er take a breath. It'll be instinct between you and I. And since we're goin' to be best o' friends, I suppose you can call me by the name the media's given me. I'm sure you know it by now."

"There's been several names floating around and none that I know of who...have your certain way of speaking."

"Careful Commissioner, one wrong word and you'll be hearin' sounds out of your lil girlie you ain't want her to make." There was pause before the voice continued, "You can call me the Penguin—e'erybody else does."

The call ended. Just like that. A simple click and all the commissioner could hear was a damning dial tone. He remained where he was for several minutes, staring straight ahead and continuing to hold the phone up to his ear in some vain hope that the call would resume.

The moment he finally placed the phone back down, he slumped back in his seat, hands over his face.

He had known taking on the criminal underworld wasn't going to be a nice affair. It was going to get dirty and so much more worse before any of it got better. Nevertheless, it had not occurred to him that Barbara would be made to face the repercussions of his actions. Maybe there had been some part of him that warned him that she would be made a target, but…

No. No, he wasn't going to take this. If this Penguin thought he was going to endanger his family and not expect some blowback, he was about to find that he wasn't the kind of man who was going to roll over.

He shoved himself out from behind his desk and stomped his way out of his office. He didn't take any note of how the department was behaving more like a police department as he called out for everyone's attention. "Everyone, listen up! Quiet down now!"

The department fell silent, one officer at a time until everyone was looking at him. Sure that he had all of their attention, he nearly bellowed out, "I want everyone tracking down the Penguin. I want him brought in cuffs and I want it done today. No excuses."

"Whoa, Com'mish, where's this all coming from?" Bullock spoke up.

Gordon glanced at the sergeant before staring out at the rest of the force. "Since the moment that bastard called me up and told me he had my daughter. I don't care if we have to turn Gotham inside out, I want him found and I want him found now!"

The familiar chirping of bats echoed against the cave walls, bouncing off of rocky surfaces and metal platforms. The light of the computer monitor cast out an eerie green glow, bathing Bruce Wayne as he sat in his chair. His armored suit was on, new and improved, and it had been servicing him well. The only thing that was missing was his mask as it laid on the computer table.

On the computer screen was the image of a newspaper, the front page of the Central City Gazette. Right in the middle of the page was a picture of a thin man in a red suit, a yellow lightning bolt logo situated in the middle of his chest. The man had his hands on his hips, a smirk on his face, looked quite proud of himself. The bolded headline above the picture proudly proclaimed FASTER THAN A SPEEDING BULLET.

There were other stories on the page, such as a lawsuit against a local business, a sex scandal concerning a teacher and a student, and a review of a magical show, but the man in red spandex was obviously the focus.

"Hero worshiping, Sir?"

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up into a smirk, followed by him saving the image to a file. "Not exactly, Alfred. Just keeping myself abreast with the latest updates."

"Of course, Sir. I believe this is the second hero to show himself?"

Bruce nodded his head. In the months since Fries' attack on Gotham, there had been sudden appearances of men with curious abilities. Take the man in red from Central City—as far as anyone knew and what the young man boasted, he had the power to run at high speeds. He could literally outrun a bullet without breaking a sweat and promptly apprehend the shooter within a second.

Then there was the many appearances of a "blue angel" out in Metropolis. From eyewitnesses, they described a man in a blue suit and red cape that could fly. Some had even claimed the blue angel could left semi-trucks like they were nothing. So far, the Metropolis and Central City heroes had been protecting the citizenry, to which each population had gratefully accepted both as their own.

Bruce couldn't say he was happy with the situation. Perhaps his view was colored by Fries' actions, but he was weary of these "heroes" as they were being called. These powers of theirs could easily create another Night of Ice in their respective cities, though how much damage they could cause was indeterminable. It would be wise to keep an eye on them for the time being.

Which was a reason—not the reason—why he had been in Central City of late. He had even been lucky enough to see this red-clad man, this Flash character, in action. He was definitely raw and very, very immature, but his heart was in the right place. Further research would be needed, but he had other matters to attend to.

Instead of answering Alfred's inquiry, Bruce decided to move the conversation elsewhere. "How has Gotham been while I've been gone?"

Alfred immediately went with the change in subject. "No worse than usual, Sir. The media has been asking where you've been, which I believe has emboldened some of the more cowardly of the criminal element."

The younger man remained stoic, though he felt the urge to wince. It had been a risk taking off as he had, but he had made a commitment that he was determined to follow through with. All this meant was that he had to make up for lost time. "What has the GCPD been up to?"

"I believe they had a major bust earlier in the evening," the butler answered. "Drugs and other various narcotics."

That was good news. Back when he had started his night-time activities, the dark-haired man doubted the police would have committed to such an operation. Gordon had been doing a good job at getting the department under his control. This was just another sign that things were beginning to turn around.

Still, that didn't mean he was completely ready to trust the new GCPD recruits. It was because of that he had taken on the endeavor of bugging each and every phone in the precinct to make sure the blatant corruption of law enforcement of the past didn't make a comeback. Accessing the computer, he checked the current activity going on in the department, finding several of the phones in use. Looking at them, it was when he caught sight of Gordon's actively that piqued his curiosity. While he was more inclined to leave the commissioner's line alone, there had been threats made to him over the line in recent months. Those were calls he took seriously and made it a point to root out the caller. Accessing the line, he waited for the audio to kick in through the speakers.

"—I have your attention, right friend?" an accented voice spoke.

Bruce frowned at that. He hadn't heard that voice before.

Gordon's then came over the speakers. "You do."

The voice came on again. "Then listen up so we can get down to business. I have someone that's important to you. Someone you wouldn't want to see being hurt. Now, I'm a man that don't like hurtin' 'lil girlies, but if I get pushed the right way, I can't say 'lil Barbara here is gonna like it."

"Computer, trace the call," Bruce instantly order, his face scowling as he did so. A normal trace by the police would take up to ninety seconds, assuming the person they were tracing didn't have countermeasures. The young man's supercomputer could do it in half the time, without running into tracing countermeasures, or at the very least overcoming them.

It took ten seconds before he hit interference, to which he instantly began typing into the computer commands to override the countermeasure. Looked like the call was being bounced around different relays and...there was a signal jammer too. The computer would make quick work of the relays, but that jammer would be a problem. First he needed to focus on the jamming signal, locate it, and then send a counter-frequency to override it.

"I understand you're not a man to be bought, so I took that pesky part out o' the equation. You don't have to pay me a cent, just as long as you look the o'her way on some things," the voice spoke, almost mockingly. The speaker seemed to like the sound of his own voice, which would definitely keep him on the line long enough for the trace to go through. Gordon just needed to keep him talking…

"And how do I know you will keep your word?" Gordon retorted angrily. His tone raised an octave. The situation was clearly stressing him, not that the vigilante could blame him. "How do I know that you won't hurt her anyway?"

A sharp beep! went off, signalling the jammar had been overcome. Letters and numbers flashed over a digital map of Gotham, a thick line criss-crossing over it. The picture would move down the line and stop at various points, usually a second before moving on. Those had to be the relays. Now where was the—

Suddenly, a red crosshair appeared on the map, a short alarm sounding off. Bruce immediately stood up from his chair, staring the icon down. There, just off the riverfront in the Narrows. Grabbing his mask off of the table, he pulled it over his head and situated it. He then hit a button on his gauntlet and the eyes lit up a blue color before turning white.

"Sir, would now be a good time to test out the recording function of the cameras we installed in the lens?" Alfred spoke up.

"I'll leave that to you," the Batman said before spinning around and walking towards his car. "Activate and begin recording as soon as you can."

"Yes, Sir. Do be careful out there."

"Don't worry about me. The only people that should be worried are the ones that kidnapped Barbara Gordon. Send Gordon the address. I'll meet him there."

Almost as if on cue, the voice announced himself to the cave. "You can call me the Penguin—e'erybody else does."

The Penguin—he had been looking into that guy for some time now. The man had appeared out of nowhere not too long ago and was dead set on filling in the void left by Falcone, Moxon, and Maroni. He was careful, always sure to use people that wouldn't reveal his true identity, mostly because they had never met him. He also had a bit of a cruel streak, leaving murdered families and broken men in his wake. So far it seemed his tactics were working and he had established a foothold in the city.

However, this Penguin man had made a huge mistake if he thought he could get away with kidnapping the Commissioner's daughter. Batman would make sure the mobster would come to regret that display of arrogance and vanity.

The voice of the Penguin is being modeled off of the one in the Arkham City/Origin games. I must admit, I hated the little guy in those, but he grew on me, especially that Cockney accent. I did my best to get the flow of it here and I think it turned out well.