ADVENTURES OF BATMAN AND ROBIN:

The Rise Of The Penguin

By Russell and Jeffery Baker

ONE.

In the beginning, there was darkness; an endless sea of inky black was all that filled Sandor's world. No sound, no lights. Nothing but total blackness. Slowly, ever so gradually, Sandor began to see colors. But they were blurry, like an out of focus photo. Then there was sound.

"Come on, Mr. Sandor, wake up," said a cheerful voice, "Rise and shine, sleepy head."

Sandor shook his head and blinked several times. His mental fog was all but gone and he opened his eyes. He found himself in a grey room that was totally empty except for a computer desk, a laptop computer, and the chair that he was sitting in. The chair was bolted to the floor in front of the computer, and—to Sandor's horror-he was strapped to the chair.

"Who are you? Where am I?" demanded Sandor, "So help me, you'll pay for this outrage!"

"Oh, I am so scared! I'm practically shivering in my boots," laughed the voice.

Sandor followed the sound of the voice. He saw a speaker hanging from the ceiling.

"Now then, Mr. Sandor," said the Voice, "Down to business. As for who I am, you may call me the Riddler. I'm a man who loves puzzles, and you my friend are in my game room."

"Game room?"

"Yes," said the Riddler, "Like I said, I love puzzles. But I hate doing puzzles all by myself, so occasionally I extend some invitations to people that I want to play my little riddles with."

"Invitation?" demanded Sandor, "The last thing I remember was having a drink with the boys at my club."

"Why yes," said the Riddler, "the drugged drink was your invitation. Now, we have quite an evening ahead of us with more than one puzzle. Here's how we play. My riddle will appear on the computer screen. For every answer you get right, one of your straps loosen. Solve enough riddles and you're free. But, the first time you answer a question wrong, you die. If you refuse to answer in the time allowed, you will die. Let the riddles begin!"

Sandor swallowed. He was strapped tightly around the chair. His chest, arms, legs, and ankles…all totally immobile. Only his hands were free to type the answer to the riddles. The screen suddenly lit up, and the riddles began.

"Riddle me this," read the computer screen, "Who in your pitiful crime family knows you're here? You have thirty seconds for your answer."

Sandor's mind raced. He'd been out drinking with the rest of the boys in Boss Thornes' crime family, when he got a phone call. The noise in the joint made it impossible to hear, so he walked outside to take the call. He remembered stepping outside, and then everything went dark. Did anyone know where he was? No, they couldn't. If the boss knew that he'd been snatched off the streets, his enforcers would already be here dealing with the situation.

"Fifteen seconds and counting," the computer screen told him.

With trembling fingers, Sandor typed, "No one." Then he pressed enter, and waited.

"BINGO!" The word flashed across the screen hundreds of times.

The strap around his left ankle opened. Sandor relaxed. Maybe he had a chance after all!

"Riddle Number two," read the screen, "What proper name that begins with B is another name for traitor?"

Sandor smiled. "Benedict Arnold," he typed.

The computer screen flashed a smiley face. "You're smarter than you look! But then, you'd have to be."

The strap around his right ankle loosened. Good grief, the man was dragging this foolishness out!

"Riddle number three," read the screen, "Have you always been a loyal employee?"

"YES!" typed Sandor angrily.

The screen went dark. After several seconds, a large question mark appeared on the screen. Then, the question mark was replaced by a single word that filled the entire screen.

"WRONG!"

The straps around Sandor's ankles tightened again.

"Wait a minute, Riddler, what's-"

"I'm sorry," read the computer screen, "Your answer was incorrect, Benedict Arnold. And the penalty for answering the Riddler's riddles wrong is death."

Sandor heard a hissing noise. Looking down, he was horrified to see a green gas coming through holes in the walls close to his feet. He tugged and pulled at the straps, but he was held fast.

"Riddler, WAIT!"

"Sorry," said the Riddler's voice, "You didn't guess my riddle. And there's no 'do-overs' with the Riddler's riddles."

The gas level was rising. The room was small and the gas was flowing quickly. Soon the green vapors was up to his chest. Sandor screamed and pounded at the computer keys. The only thing that happened was that the gas level continued rising.

A tall, skinny man watched Sandor's struggles on a television screen. The man was dressed in a green jumpsuit with a large question mark on it. His face was obscured by a purple mask that covered the upper half of his face. He watched Sandor struggle until the entire room was filled with the gas, and then he could struggle no more. The Riddler smiled and flipped open his cell phone.

"Hello?" a voice answered on the other end of the phone.

"It's me, boss," said the Riddler, "It's all done. I'm e-mailing the video to you as we speak. Another one down, and a few more to go."

"Good, good. Expect a bonus for your loyalty, my friend."

"Thanks, Penguin," said the Riddler, "I'll get started on the next one right away."

It had been a highly successful day for Eddie "the Switchblade" Conners. He had collected "protection money" from 10 business owners who knew better than to challenge Switchblade's switchblade. He had shaken down 4 drug pushers. Then, at Rupert Thorne's orders he had made arrangements for a shipment of highly illegal weapons to be brought into Gotham. Now, at 11:00 p.m., he pulled his hat down tightly and whistled merrily as he strolled down the alley close to his apartment.

A noise caught his attention. Switchblade turned around just in time to see a shadow move into the darkness. Then all was still.

"Hello? Anyone there?" called Switchblade.

Nothing. As that old Christmas story said, not a creature was stirring.

Switchblade shrugged and dug his apartment key out of his pocket. The key never made it to the door. Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, a black gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and swung him around. Switchblade found himself face to face with a sight that seemed more phantom than man. He was tall, muscular, and dressed all in gray and black. His black gloves, cape, and cowl with pointed ears hid his features, while his gray body suit was decorated with a large black bat emblem across his chest.

"Hello, Conners," growled the Batman, "You should know better than to be walking alone down Crime Alley at night. You never know what dangerous characters you might run into."

Switchblade swallowed. "Oh, hi, Batman. I was just thinking about you."

Batman smiled. It was far from a pleasant smile. "I'm sure. We can discuss that. We have lots to discuss."

Switchblade swallowed. "Yes. And about that illegal weapons shipment coming in…maybe we can work out a deal."

"Later," ordered the Batman, "First we're going to discuss the Riddler."

Switchblade's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Look, man, we can't talk here. If I get seen talking to you, I'm dead. Literally!"

Batman's wicked smile grew wider. "Anything you say."

Before Switchblade could protest further, Batman reached for his utility belt and pulled out a rather large gun. Switchblade paled and screamed. Since when did Batman use a gun? But instead of shooting him, Batman aimed the gun up at the sky. There was a slight hiss and then a grappling hook shot upwards like a bolt from a crossbow. A thick cable trailed behind the grappling hook. Before Switchblade knew what was happening, Batman shot upwards behind the grappling hook. To Switchblade's horror, Batman was holding onto him with one massive gloved hand. Switchblade was following Batman way up into the sky. And his biggest fear was heights.

Five seconds and five hundred feet later, Switchblade found himself still dangling in the air, held by the Batman, at the top of the apartment complex. His hundred dollar fedora had fallen off his head and was slowly drifting down to the pavement far below. If this nut in a fancy Halloween suit lost his grip, he'd be following his hat all the way down!

"Come on, man, have a heart! I hate heights!"

"That's a shame," said Batman, "Now, about the Riddler. Three men from different crime families have died because they couldn't solve his riddles to escape his death traps. Then the Riddler posts videos of the deaths on the internet. What have you heard?"

"Look, no one knows any more than you do," protested Switchblade, "If anyone has seen this Riddler guy, they're not talking. With those videos he posts on the web, everyone's afraid to talk."

"I bet," said Batman, "What's Rupert Thorne saying?"

"He's as mad as anyone. The last guy the Riddler killed was part of Thorne's gang, same as me. What no one can figure is that everyone the Riddler offs is the low men on the totem pole. He doesn't seem to be after any of the big wigs. And they're all from different gangs. They don't even seem to know each other."

Batman lifted Switchblade higher until he was practically nose to nose with the caped crusader. The expression on Batman's face could have made solid marble crumble to dust. Switchblade risked a glance at the hand Batman was using to hold on to the grappling hook gun. Man, Switchblade hoped Batman had a good grip on that grappling hook!

"Now, from now on," said Batman through clenched teeth, "You're my inside man in Thorne's crime family. I want to know what's being said, and I want to know everything that's discussed about the Riddler."

"You're crazy! All I need is Thorne to find out that I'm Batman's informant! I wonder how many pieces he'll have me cut into. No way, no how."

Batman grinned. "Fine. Then I don't need you."

Switchblade's eyes went wider than he thought was humanly possible as he realized what Batman was about to do. He loosened his grip on Switchblade, and then Switchblade was screaming as he shot straight down. He tried to close his eyes, but they seemed glued open. Fifteen feet, twenty, and then-

Suddenly, his fall came to a screeching halt. Something grabbed his ankle, and Switchblade jerked to a stop. Out of one terror stricken eye, he saw a green gloved hand holding onto him. He just caught a glimpse of a figure in a red and green jumpsuit and a bright yellow cape holding onto a grappling hook gun like Batman's, and Switchblade found himself being lifted straight up into the air again.

"Of course", thought Switchblade, "When Batman finds you, Robin can't be far behind. This is just not my day."

"Hey, Batman," called Robin, "You gotta watch where you throw away your garbage. Gotham has laws against littering."

Once again, Switchblade was being held 500 feet in the air. Only this time he was between not one, but two, masked lunatics. And this time he was hanging upside down, held by his ankle in Robin's grasp. He found himself wondering what the odds were of his living through the day, and decided that the answer was too depressing to figure out.

"Oh, I was just having a talk with our friend," said Batman, "And he was just volunteering to be my confidential informant inside Rupert Thorne's crime family. Weren't you, Switchblade?"

Switchblade nodded.

"Just be sure," said Robin, "that our friend knows that any double-cross or setups will result in all of Gotham's underworld hearing how he is our best friend, and that he helped us put away hundreds of criminals in the past year."

"Hey! I never—" began Switchblade.

"We know that, and you know that," said Batman, "But Rupert Thorne, the Joker, and all of the rest of the underworld doesn't know that. Your first assignment is going to be listening for information about the Riddler. Now about that illegal weapons shipment you started to talk about…"

All in all, thought the Riddler, it had been a good day. Setting back in his easy chair, he reflected on everything that had gone right. The Penguin had been extra generous with his bonus on that last job. All the right people in the underworld were running scared, wondering where the Riddler would strike next. As of yet, no one even knew about the Penguin. And Batman and Robin were so busy with some illegal arms shipment, they didn't even seem to be remotely interested in someone bumping off gangsters.

His cell phone rang, jarring him out of his daydream. He got it on the second ring.

"It's me," said the Riddler, "The Riddler."

"Well I wasn't expecting Superman," snarled the voice on the other end, "I've got your next assignment."

"Good, Penguin, and thanks for the bonus."

"Do your usual good work on this job, and your next payment will make this last one look like chump change."

The Riddler grinned. "Lay it on me, boss."

"I'm e-mailing you the name of your next target."

"What about the method?"

"Your usual Riddler games," said the Penguin, "But how much do you know about biological warfare?"

TO BE CONTINUED