Target: Penguin. We Need Weapons and Cash!

The campfire in the warehouse slowly died, leaving only a few crimson embers flickering in the faint light of dawn.

Harley hugged her knees in the corner. She hadn't slept all night.

Her damp hospital gown had long since dried, but the cold, unsafe feeling had burrowed into her bones like insects.

She watched Link resting with his eyes closed across from her. He was like a statue that never tired; his posture had barely changed since last night.

"Hey, Your Majesty." Harley finally spoke, her voice hoarse with self-mockery. "Your kingdom has nothing. We can't even find a slice of bread without mold on it. How are you planning to rule Gotham? Charm everyone with that handsome face of yours?"

Link slowly opened his eyes. There was no trace of fatigue in them, only unfathomable calm.

He ignored Harley's jab. Instead, he took a stick and drew a crude map of Gotham City on the dusty concrete floor.

"You're right. We have nothing." He drew a circle around the abandoned factory in the East End where they stood. "We're the GCPD's most wanted, with no money, no weapons, no people, not even food or clean clothes."

With every item he listed, Harley's face grew paler.

It was the brutal truth.

"But," Link said, jabbing the stick into the center of the map, "we do have an advantage."

"An advantage? That we're poorer than sewer rats?" Harley scoffed.

"No." Link looked up and met her eyes. "Our advantage is that nobody knows who we are. Nobody knows what we can do. And nobody would ever imagine that our target is all of Gotham."

He stood and marked several large areas on the map.

"Harley, tell me everything you know about Gotham's underworld. Especially the ones with plenty of money, not much sense, and too high an opinion of themselves."

Harley froze.

She hadn't expected him to be thinking about who to hit next. Not when they had nothing left, and not without the slightest hint of discouragement.

His calm confidence somehow settled her restless heart.

She rose and walked over to the map, her gaze turning professional.

"Gotham's underworld is a mess. Since the Falcone Family fell, nobody's been in charge. Of the biggest players left, there's Black Mask—a sadistic psycho whose men are all lunatics. They're tough and dangerous."

"Two-Face is half crazy, half rational. He makes every decision with a coin toss. You never know what he'll do next. Too unpredictable."

"And then..." Disgust curled Harley's lip. "There's Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot. A short, fat man who thinks he's some high-society aristocrat. Greedy, vain, and arrogant. His business reaches across Gotham. Guns, smuggling—he deals in everything. He's spread himself so thin that, despite all the men he has, most are street punks who bully the weak and cower before the strong. They look tough, but they're useless."

As soon as she finished, Link tapped his stick on the name "Penguin" without hesitation.

"Him."

"You want to go after him?" Harley was startled. "His Iceberg Lounge is one of the most heavily guarded places in Gotham."

"We're not going to the Iceberg Lounge." Link shook his head. "That's his showpiece. Of course it's heavily guarded. I want one of his warehouses. One he's forgotten about, but that's still packed with 'good stuff.'"

He looked at Harley, his gaze sharp as a blade.

"You know a place like that, don't you? Somewhere we could solve our weapons and money problems overnight."

Harley's heart lurched.

She had never felt anything like this before.

With Joker, she had only been a doll who handed him jokes and tools.

But in this man's plan, her knowledge, her experience, even her shady past had become vital intelligence.

For the first time, she felt less like an accessory and more like a real partner.

Excitement surged through her.

"I know a place!" Harley's eyes lit up. She snatched the stick from Link and marked an X by the docks on the map. "Ice River Pier. Number Three Freight Warehouse. They used to smuggle frozen fish through it. Then Penguin took it over to store 'imports' he couldn't keep out in the open. He thinks it's too smelly and out of the way for anyone to notice, so security's lax."

"How many men? What weapons? When do they change shifts?" Link's questions were brief and pointed.

"About twenty, split between two shifts. The night-shift boss is a drunk who loves playing cards in the guardroom. They've got ordinary pistols and shotguns, nothing heavy." Harley answered without hesitation. The details were etched into her memory.

In an instant, Link matched the information to his abilities, and a bold, precise plan took shape in his mind.

He looked at Harley, a cold smile curving his lips.

"Good. We don't need to force our way in. We just need to make them turn on each other."

He laid out the plan for Harley in detail. She would make noise on the far side of the warehouse and draw away some of the guards. Meanwhile, he would use the Chaos Force to make the guards at the main entrance hallucinate an attack by a rival gang, sparking a fight among them.

Once everyone was drawn outside to fight, the two of them could slip in and head straight for the heart of the warehouse.

"A diversion, followed by... a psychic attack?" Harley stared at him, dumbfounded. The plan was wilder and more ingenious than anything she'd imagined.

This wasn't the logic of a street brawl. It was more like a carefully calculated psychological operation.

"Tonight, we'll pay Mr. Penguin a visit." Link tossed the stick into the embers. Sparks flared again, lighting the ambition burning in his eyes.

"We're going to claim the king's first fortune."