The Court Rises
Time sped by. The sun had already risen from the sea, painting Gotham's jagged skyline in harsh golden light, shining down on the city's countless windows and smoke-stained buildings.
At 7:00 a.m., Gotham's morning news began as scheduled, the polished anchors delivering their reports with practiced concern. In the Gotham Police Department, still busy after a long night of emergency calls and witness statements, the voice of a news anchor echoed from the television mounted in the corner:
"Last night, at 9:38 p.m., a massive white wolf appeared at the site of the industrial fire along Gotham's riverside." The anchor's voice carried that particular mix of excitement and concern that boosted ratings. "It could breathe blue flames. Surveillance cameras caught footage of the creature."
The screen switched to a clip of the giant wolf unleashing fireballs from its mouth, the footage grainy but unmistakable. Even through the poor quality video, the terrifying power that casually blew apart walls was enough to instill fear in viewers across the city. Several officers who hadn't been at the scene stopped their work to stare.
"We cannot rule out the possibility that the wolf started the fire," the anchor continued gravely. "Several other industrial area cameras also recorded sightings of the creature. Citizens nearby are urged to stay safe while traveling through the affected districts."
The camera panned to show the co-anchor, ready with the transition. "Next up, a new self-defense product from Wayne Enterprises that can effectively protect against wild animal attacks…" The shift from terror to commerce was jarring.
Inside Gotham PD's headquarters, newly promoted Commissioner Jim Gordon sat in his office chair and turned off the TV with a frustrated jab of the remote.
After watching the broadcast, Gordon grew increasingly agitated, his weathered face flushing with frustration as he slammed his desk. Coffee sloshed from his GCPD mug, staining case files. He could already imagine which mad scientist was behind this latest mess.
He pictured tomorrow's newspaper headlines with grim certainty:
"WHAT IS GOTHAM PD DOING? ARE WE STILL SAFE?"
"TERROR! GIANT WOLF ON THE LOOSE!"
"SHOCKING! HOW TO DEFEND YOURSELF FROM A GIANT WOLF!"
The thought alone gave Gordon a headache that throbbed behind his eyes. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling every one of his years on the force.
"Dammit! Gotham just keeps getting weirder!" he growled. "Now we've got giant wolves? What's next, a wizard to fight it? Has to be some lunatic experimenting with monster genetics again!"
In Gotham, mad scientists were far from rare—and the city had quite the rap sheet. From Hugo Strange to Pamela Isley, brilliant minds with dangerous obsessions seemed drawn to the city like moths to flame.
Gordon had every reason to believe that wolf was the creation of another deranged genius with access to too many resources and too little oversight.
"Dammit, are we going to have to rely on Batman again?" He voiced the question that haunted the department. "If we depend on him for everything, what's the point of the police force?"
He turned to his longtime partner who slouched in the visitor's chair opposite his desk. "Harvey, any ideas?"
Harvey Bullock, slumped nearby with a bitter expression, took a long sip of coffee from his stained mug and shook his head. His rumpled suit bore testimony to the all-nighter he'd pulled.
"This city…" Bullock muttered, gesturing vaguely. "Gangs and psychos were bad enough. Now we've got monsters crawling around? Feels like Gotham's cursed. Even I barely recognize it anymore, and I grew up here."
He sighed, the sound of a man carrying too much weight for too long. "We're gonna be swamped. I just took some time off, too. Now that's gone."
"Ugh, don't remind me," Gordon muttered, reaching for his own coffee. "You think you can rest with man-eating beasts running around the city? We need to catch that thing—fast!"
But aside from cursing their luck, there wasn't much they could do. Until the beast was caught, nobody could afford to relax.
These creatures always vanished in surveillance blind spots—just like the mysterious ones before.
Just then, a young officer knocked on the office door. Gordon called, "Come in," and the nervous rookie stepped inside, clutching a folder.
"Commissioner! We've got an update!" The officer was fresh out of the academy, his uniform still perfectly pressed. "At the factory that burned down last night, forensics found several corpses that didn't belong to the staff. Turns out they were Penguin's men!"
"Cobblepot?!" Gordon straightened in his chair. "Him again?"
Gordon and Bullock exchanged a glance loaded with years of shared experience. Years of partnership let them instantly read each other's thoughts: if Penguin was involved, something bigger was going on.
"What else?" Gordon asked, leaning forward.
The officer leaned in and whispered, as if the walls themselves might be listening. "The Dark Web's 'Cleaners' received a rush order to handle bodies—at the chemical plant. Our cyber unit intercepted the communication."
These "Cleaners" were corpse disposal specialists who operated in Gotham's shadows. The police tracked them specifically to gather intel on murders that would otherwise go unreported.
After all, this was Gotham. Dead bodies were a daily occurrence.
Local mobsters and corrupt elites all needed these services. The Cleaners thrived off their support.
"Got it," Gordon nodded, his mind already racing through the implications. "Tell our people to keep eyes on Penguin. If he moves—report immediately!"
"Yes, Commissioner!" The officer nodded eagerly.
As the officer left, Bullock muttered, "Big trouble…" He drained the last of his coffee.
"Yeah, Harvey. Cobblepot only went quiet recently. Now he's back to his old tricks? Doesn't fit his usual behavior." Gordon stared out his window at the Gotham skyline, wondering what new storm was brewing.
Iceberg Lounge – Penguin's Restaurant
Officially, one of Gotham's most exclusive dining spots, with its iconic ice sculptures and arctic-themed décor drawing the city's elite. In reality, its basement led to a dark, expansive underground—Penguin's true headquarters, a lavish criminal lair.
But now, the luxurious space was littered with corpses. Blood soaked the imported rugs and stained the marble floors. The stench of death hung thick in the air.
Ten assassins in tight black suits, wearing white owl masks with reflective lenses, surrounded Oswald Cobblepot. They stood perfectly still, like statues.
Their eyes were cold and unblinking as they stared down the squat man with the hooked nose.
Calm as ever, Penguin swirled his wine in a tall crystal glass and took a sip—completely unbothered by the carnage around him. His bodyguards lay dead on the floor, their final expressions frozen in surprise.
He said coldly, "You Court of Owls folks are pushing it. This mess has nothing to do with me." His voice carried the distinctive nasal quality that had earned him his nickname.
"Do you really think I, the Penguin, am so easy to threaten? Don't forget—you get your weapons from me."
The ten Talons didn't react. Understandable—they were bio-engineered enforcers who existed only to obey their masters.
The lead Talon activated a speakerphone. An ancient voice crackled through, electronically distorted:
"Oswald Cobblepot. Descendant of the Cobblepot family. Mind yourself." The voice was dry as autumn leaves. "If you ruin another deal, we'll find a more cooperative merchant."
Penguin's grip tightened on his glass, but his expression remained neutral.
"You've always been under our control," the voice continued. "Don't forget that. There won't be a next time."
A pause, heavy with threat. Then: "One more failure—and we take your Penguin head."
Click… Beep…
The call ended. Without a word or wasted movement, the ten Talons vanished into the shadows as silently as they had appeared, leaving behind only the grim-faced Penguin.
Penguin was furious.
"This had nothing to do with me!" he growled, his composure finally breaking. "Just a normal arms deal. Same as the last dozen. Who the hell set me up?!"
He paced the room, careful to avoid the pools of blood soaking into his expensive carpet.
Fuming, Penguin pulled out his phone and called his driver Jack. "We're going to Arkham. I need an old friend's help." The implications made even Penguin uneasy.
While the Talons carried out more blood-soaked missions across Gotham's criminal underworld, their actions were being live-streamed to a secret hub.
Deep within the sewers, beneath the city's surface, was a vast underground chamber supported by 18 concrete pillars. Each pillar bore a stone owl, its gaze fixed on the center of the room. The chamber predated modern Gotham, its architecture blending colonial craftsmanship with old-world grandeur.
A massive table carved from black marble sat in the middle, surrounded by men and women in elegant clothes and ornate masks.
This was the Court of Owls—Gotham's secret elite. Families with generations of wealth and influence, pulling the city's strings from the shadows since its founding.
To them, the city's petty gangs were child's play. Disposable pawns. Weeds to be trimmed endlessly while the true game played out over decades.
Elsewhere…
On a rooftop, a man with paper-white skin and a wild, manic grin cackled uncontrollably.
"Hehehe… Gotham's getting more and more interesting, ahahahaha!" The laughter built from a giggle to a howl that echoed across the abandoned district.
The Joker laughed harder and louder, mocking Batman's incompetence and the secret darkness hiding in Gotham's underbelly.
He'd escaped Arkham a month ago, swapping himself with a decoy from his gang—a poor fool altered to resemble the Clown Prince of Crime. The doctors hadn't noticed the difference.
Now the real Joker moved freely among the crowds, preparing a "grand surprise" for the Dark Knight.
During his infiltration of Penguin's crew, he'd uncovered Gotham's deepest secret—the Court of Owls. He'd heard whispers all his criminal life, but dismissed them as fairy tales. Now he had proof.
To a mad genius like him, the idea of an ancient shadow group pulling strings in secret? Delicious.
The Joker was intrigued. Very intrigued.
Now he was investigating them.
And scheming his next masterpiece—
A true surprise for Batman.