A Charge Through the Night, Prelude to the Final Battle!

Gotham's night lay under a torrential downpour.

Cold rain washed over the city's sins, but it could not douse the fuse about to be lit.

In the west of the city, inside an abandoned auto repair shop.

Spike stood atop a rusty oil drum, looking down at dozens of men whose eyes held both fear and excitement.

"Listen up!" Spike's shout echoed through the bare workshop. "Our job isn't to fight to the death. It's to start fires! Wreck things! Make as much noise as we can!"

He drew a deep breath and raised the Molotov cocktail in his hand.

"The boss and Ms. Harley are drawing Penguin's strongest forces away for us. All we have to do is make this act look real!"

"For the new king!"

"Raaah!"

Dozens of desperate men let out a low roar and charged into the rain.

A few minutes later.

Boom!

The first explosion erupted at a smuggling-vehicle modification shop owned by Penguin.

Flames tore through the rainy night, turning half the sky orange-red.

That was only the beginning.

Next, a warehouse full of bootleg liquor caught fire. Violent explosions shattered the windows nearby.

Several bars frequented by Penguin's crew leaders were left in ruins by Molotov cocktails and stones.

Spike and his men were like a pack of well-trained hyenas. They used their knowledge of the terrain to strike and withdraw, never lingering to fight.

On the city's west side, they set chaos ablaze.

Inside the Iceberg Lounge, beneath its lavish crystal chandeliers, the music and revelry went on.

Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot, held a glass of expensive champagne and chatted amiably with a City Councilor, paying no mind to the "little trouble" in the west.

As far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than a few wounded rats making one last desperate struggle.

"Boss!" An aide hurried over and whispered a few words in his ear.

"Useless fools! They can't even catch a few vermin!" Penguin's face darkened as he cursed under his breath. "Send Fang and his men! I want every one of their heads twisted off and hung from the streetlights at the docks!"

"Yes, sir!"

The aide left to carry out the order.

Penguin did not know that his order had pulled away the last of the mobile defenders near the Iceberg Lounge.

The palace he thought impregnable now stood naked in the night, opening its arms to the hunters.

Outside the lounge, rain poured down.

Two black-clad figures moved silently along the building's shadows like ghosts.

Link wore a black combat suit. Rain ran down the hard lines of his face, and his gaze was colder than the night.

Harley moved like a cat playing in the rain, light on her feet and deadly. A sickly, excited smile curved her lips.

"Three at the entrance, two in the side alley, and a sniper on the roof." Link's voice was quiet, but Harley heard him clearly.

"I'll take three, you take three. See who's faster?" Harley licked her lips and gave the Rhino pistol in her hand a little shake.

Link did not answer.

He moved.

He shot forward like an arrow from a bow, leaving a blurred afterimage in the rain.

One guard at the entrance never saw what happened. He felt a chill at his neck, then lost consciousness.

Link did not pause. He tapped a foot against the wall and twisted at an impossible angle. Two military knives appeared in his hands and swept across the other guards' throats with the precision of a snake's fangs.

The entire attack was silent. It took less than three seconds.

Harley, on the other hand, made far more of a show of it.

Whistling, she sauntered out from around the corner.

The two guards in the alley had barely raised their guns when Harley flicked her wrist. Two razor-edged playing cards spun through the rain in eerie arcs.

Thwick! Thwick!

The cards sliced into the arteries in their wrists. The pain made them drop their guns.

Before they could scream, Harley flipped forward and landed in front of them. She swung the grip of her new pistol to either side, smashing it into their temples.

As for the sniper on the roof, the instant he spotted Harley through his scope, a wire looped around his neck from behind.

Link had appeared behind him without warning, like a true ghost.

"Shh."

That single cold word was the last thing the sniper heard.

With every outer sentry dealt with, Link led Harley past several surveillance cameras that looked well concealed but were riddled with blind spots.

With Mastery of Traps and Mechanisms, he saw the lounge's security system for what it was: a child's toy.

Their ultimate destination was the lounge's kitchen.

The kitchen bustled with activity.

The chefs were busy preparing food for the banquet, unaware that two bringers of death had slipped past them.

Link and Harley slipped into a huge walk-in freezer.

Link went to the back of the freezer and stopped before a wall hung with frozen meat.

He felt along the wall, found a tiny protrusion, and pressed it hard.

Click.

The entire wall slid silently inward, revealing a deep passage that sloped downward and gleamed with metal.

A cold draft carrying the smell of machine oil and the stale scent of money blew from within.

At the far end of the passage, they could make out a huge circular alloy door, like the entrance to a bank vault.

From above the passage came the faint strains of music from the banquet hall, along with Penguin's distinctive hoarse, ducklike laugh.

Link and Harley exchanged a glance.

Each saw a glint of bloodthirsty excitement in the other's eyes.

The prelude to the final battle had begun.

The storm was about to break.