A Hefty Haul and the Penguin's Fury!

The thick smell of blood and gunpowder still hung in the warehouse.

Link stood before mountains of weapons and cash, his expression calm, as though he had just finished a simple moving job rather than a bloody raid.

Harley was like a mouse that had fallen into a grain bin. She rolled through the piles of money, grabbed fistfuls of bills, and tossed them into the air, laughing in a shrill, gleeful voice.

"We're rich! We're rich, sweetie!" she shouted at Link, her face flushed with feverish excitement.

Just then, sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer and more numerous.

The GCPD had responded faster than expected.

Harley's laughter cut off. She sprang up from the money, a flicker of nerves crossing her face.

"The cops are here! We're surrounded!"

"No. They're just flies that smelled blood," Link said without looking back.

He walked to a corner of the warehouse and pulled away a huge waterproof tarp, revealing a modified heavy truck that looked as if it had power to spare.

"Load the money and the weapons we need. Move fast."

There was an unquestionable calm in his voice that instantly steadied Harley's nerves.

They moved as fast as they could, throwing several crates of assault rifles, ammunition, and at least a million in cash into the truck's cargo bed.

Link jumped into the driver's seat and floored the accelerator.

VROOOM!

The engine roared like a beast. The truck smashed through the warehouse's roll-up door and charged into the Gotham night.

The moment they left the warehouse, glaring headlights hit them from every direction.

At least six police cars had blocked the main exits from the docks. Flashing red and blue lights lit the area as bright as day.

"Slow down! Stop! You're surrounded!" The warning over the loudspeaker was cold and stern.

Harley gripped the door, her palm slick with sweat.

Link did not even look at the blockade ahead. He wrenched the wheel around.

The tires shrieked. In a ninety-degree skid that seemed impossible for such a bulky vehicle, the truck shot into a narrow alley piled with trash and abandoned shipping containers.

"You're crazy! You're crazy! That's not even a road!" Harley screamed.

The truck tore through the cramped space, smashing everything in its path.

The police cars behind them tried to follow, but their size and limited turning room left them jammed at the alley entrance.

Link's face remained blank. His mind worked like a high-performance computer, and the crude map he had drawn in the warehouse had become a three-dimensional model in his head.

Every turn, every shortcut, was perfectly clear.

The truck burst out of the alley and turned onto an abandoned railway. It raced along the tracks, leaving the police cars, confined to the roads, far behind.

Harley's initial terror gave way to wild excitement.

She climbed into the cargo bed, pulled back the canvas cover, and mounted an M60 machine gun they had just acquired. Then she opened fire on the scattered police cars still trying to follow.

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Muzzle flashes danced through the night, and bullets sent chips of stone spraying from the ground.

Harley did not care whether she hit anything. She reveled in the thrill of doing whatever she wanted and trampling every rule underfoot.

With Link's uncanny driving and Harley's relentless gunfire, they shook off every pursuer and vanished deep into Gotham's maze of industrial districts.

Meanwhile, at the Iceberg Lounge.

It was Gotham City's most exclusive private club, and the kingdom of Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin.

Beneath crystal chandeliers, elegantly dressed guests sipped champagne and chatted to the strains of classical music.

The Penguin sat on his enormous throne-like sofa in a ridiculous tailcoat, a smug glint in the eye behind his monocle.

With his signature jewel-studded umbrella, he elegantly speared a bite of expensive caviar and was about to put it in his mouth.

Just then, the restaurant doors flew open.

One of his men stumbled in, covered in blood and missing an arm. His terrified cries shattered the elegant atmosphere.

"Boss! It's bad! It's bad!"

The music stopped abruptly. Every guest stared at the intruder in horror.

The Penguin froze. His smile vanished, replaced by a dark look at having his evening interrupted.

"Barney? Who gave you permission to come in here shouting?" His voice was low and raspy, like rusty blades scraping together.

"The warehouse... Warehouse Three at Ice River Pier..." The man named Barney knelt on the floor, shaking violently from fear and blood loss.

"It's... it's been hit! Everyone's... everyone's dead! The money and the merchandise... it's all gone!"

The Penguin slowly lowered his umbrella. He rose from the sofa and walked, one step at a time, to Barney.

"What did you say?" His voice was frighteningly calm. "There were twenty men there, with twenty guns. Tell me, how many did Black Mask or Falcone's remnants send?"

"It... it wasn't them..." Barney sounded close to tears. "Just... just two people! A man and a woman!"

"Two people?"

The Penguin repeated the words. The muscles in his face twisted with a mixture of humiliation and rage.

Who in Gotham's underworld did not know the Penguin's reputation?

And now two people had dared to raid his armory?

This was no longer a robbery. It was a slap in the face before the whole city!

"Two people?" the Penguin asked again, his voice as cold as the sea outside the Iceberg Lounge.

Barney nodded, trembling.

The next second.

SHNK!

The Penguin jerked up his umbrella, driving the blade hidden in its tip straight through Barney's thigh!

"AAAAH!"

Barney screamed like a butchered pig and writhed on the floor.

The Penguin did not spare him a glance. His face, purple-red with rage, turned toward his silent, terrified lieutenants.

"Two nobodies! One man! One woman!"

He roared and slammed his umbrella into the floor, tearing a hole in the expensive carpet.

"I want them dead!"

"Spread the word! Search the entire city! Dig them up for me! Alive! I want them alive!"

"I'll show all of Gotham what happens when someone crosses Oswald Cobblepot!"

The Penguin's furious roars and Barney's agonized cries were the only sounds left in the Iceberg Lounge.

A storm was about to sweep through Gotham's underworld.