Two months later
The rain pounded against the windows of the small apartment like impatient fingers. Arthur stared at the damp-stained ceiling, counting the cracks. Forty-three. He'd counted them so many times he could trace them with his eyes closed.
Two months.
Two damned months since he'd woken up in a Gotham alley, wearing clothes he didn't recognize, with a single golden sphere in his pocket. One of seven.
He laughed humorlessly. The sound was harsh, broken.
This was supposed to be different, he thought, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes. He was supposed to have a chance.
His "rebirth" had been anything but magical. No ID. No money. No clues as to where to find the other six spheres. And worst of all: no way to search for them. The sphere in his possession emitted some kind of energy, he knew that instinctively, but how to track it? With what? With prayers and hope?
The first day had been the worst. He sprinted out of the alley like a madman, deluding himself into thinking he'd find the orbs simply by walking far enough. People shied away from him, their eyes a mixture of disgust and fear. In Gotham, a desperate man was a sign of danger.
He ran until his legs gave out, until his lungs burned, until he collapsed in a forgotten corner of the city. And there, sitting in his own helplessness, Arthur understood the truth.
He was screwed.
A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Arthur! I need your help with the shipment. The Penguin wants the delivery done quickly, before the Bat screws us over." Tommy's gruff voice came through the door.
Arthur closed his eyes. This was his life now: a truckloader for organized crime. Not that he had many options. Legitimate jobs required ID, references, things he didn't have. And he needed money. Money for materials. Money to build something, anything, that could detect the orbs' energy. It was a pathetic plan. He didn't even know where to begin.
"I'm coming," he replied, his voice flat.
Penguin Warehouse - 11:47 PM
The truck was almost full. Arthur lifted another box, his arms protesting the repetitive effort. Beside him, Tommy whistled off-key, seemingly happy to be involved in criminal activity on a Tuesday night.
"Hey, Arthur," Tommy said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Want to grab a drink afterward? Our part's done. The others handle the delivery."
"No, thanks. I've got things to do."
"Tsk, you always say the same thing." Tommy shook his head. "Man, you're more boring than watching paint dry. Fine, don't say I didn't invite you."
Arthur banged on the side of the truck, signaling that it was full. The driver nodded and started the engine. Job done. Another day of his life wasted moving boxes for criminals.
He wondered, not for the first time, how he'd gotten to this point.
Ah, yes. Desperation.
The next day - Gotham Bank - 2:34 PM
Everything went wrong from the moment they walked in.
"Faster! We're running out of time!" Marcus yelled, brandishing his weapon as Arthur and the others stuffed bags with cash. The silent alarms had already been triggered. Arthur knew it. Everyone knew it.
The Penguin had promised a distraction, he thought bitterly, tossing another wad of bills into the bag. He said the bat would be busy.
Lies. All lies.
They ran out of the bank, jumping into the waiting car. Arthur hit the gas pedal before everyone was even inside.
"Move it, move it, move it!" someone yelled from the back seat.
Sirens were already wailing in the distance. Arthur swerved sharply around a corner, the tires screeching on the wet asphalt. His heart pounded like a war drum.
This is stupid, he repeated to himself. This is so fucking stupid.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Marcus leaned halfway out the window, firing at the police cars. One crashed into a lamppost. The others slowed down momentarily.
Arthur took advantage of the situation, making random turns, zigzagging through streets he barely knew. Gotham was a labyrinth, and for once, it worked in his favor.
After a fifteen-minute chase, they lost the police.
"Ha! We did it!" one of the guys in the back seat cheered.
Arthur didn't reply. He had a bad feeling.
Abandoned Warehouse - 3:15 PM
"Don't you think it's too quiet in here?" Tommy muttered, looking around the empty warehouse.
He was right. Too quiet. The Penguin should have sent someone to collect the money. Instead, there were only shadows and the steady drip of water from the crumbling roof.
The men drew their weapons, aiming into the dark corners.
"Let's go," Arthur said, moving toward the car. "Now."
But before he could open the trunk, something fell at his feet with a metallic clinking sound.
Arthur looked down.
A small, bat-shaped object.
"Shit."
The smoke bomb exploded.
Batman POV - Same Timeline
Bruce watched from the upper rafters as the criminals coughed and fired blindly into the shadows. Amateurs. All of them.
He threw his cable, wrapping it around the ankle of the nearest one and dragging him into the darkness. A quick blow to the temple, and the man collapsed.
One down.
He moved through the smoke like a ghost, his movements precise and silent. Another criminal fell. And another.
The last one—Arthur, according to his records—tried to fight back. He threw a clumsy punch toward where he thought Batman was.
Admirable. Useless, but admirable.
Bruce easily blocked the blow and responded with two quick punches: one to the stomach, one to the jaw. Arthur collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
"Four criminals. Money recovered," Batman mumbled into his communicator. "Gordon, send patrols to my location."
"On their way," the commissioner's tired voice replied.
Batman was preparing to leave when something caught his attention. He had called the Bat-family earlier, thinking the operation would take longer. But these guys were so incompetent he didn't even need their help.
The Penguin is losing his touch, he thought. Or something else was going on.
He decided to wait for the others to arrive. There was something strange about all of this, and Batman didn't believe in coincidences.
Gotham Police Station - 6:00 PM
Arthur woke up in a cell with a throbbing headache and the taste of blood in his mouth. Around him, his fellow criminals muttered complaints and insults.
"Damn bat..."
"The Penguin dumped us, you son of a bitch..."
Arthur sat up, leaning his back against the cold wall. The officer taking his statement had paused when Arthur said he didn't have a last name. The man looked at him as if he were a particularly annoying cockroach, but said nothing more.
In Gotham, nobody asked too many questions.
This can't be happening, Arthur thought, closing his eyes. Everything I try to do goes wrong. Everything.
"It's not our fault," one of the other prisoners said. "It's the Penguin's fault. He said he'd give us enough time to escape without any trouble."
The sarcasm in his voice was palpable. Arthur felt his own anger bubbling up.
"Yeah, right. And look at us now. Locked up like rats." Arthur laughed bitterly. "The Penguin used us as bait. I'll bet you anything."
The others were silent. They knew he was right, but speaking ill of the Penguin out loud was a death sentence. Their eyes said it all: fear, resentment, helplessness.
Arthur didn't bother to lower his voice. He didn't care anymore.
An hour later, Tommy received a text message. "An intermediary is arranging everything. We'll be out in a few hours."
And so it was. A legal technicality—the officer hadn't followed proper protocol with Arthur, since he didn't have a last name—and a few calls from "above," and they were all free.
Commissioner Gordon clenched his teeth so hard that Arthur could hear the grinding from across the room.
Alley near the station - 7:30 PM
Arthur was walking toward his apartment when Tommy caught up with him.
"Hey, Arthur. Wait."
Arthur stopped but didn't turn around.
"Look, this is more advice than anything else," Tommy said, his voice unusually serious. "You're new in Gotham. Maybe you don't know how things work around here. But don't you ever mention the Penguin again. Ever."
Arthur turned slowly. "What?"
"The Penguin has ears everywhere. And we're not going to get in trouble because you won't keep your mouth shut." Tommy stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Look, no one's going to say anything about what you said today. But if someone else does... you'll be on your own. Completely on your own. Understand?"
Arthur clenched his fists. "Understood."
"Good." Tommy nodded and started to walk away. "We're just pawns, Arthur. The sooner you accept that, the easier it'll all be."
Arthur watched him disappear into the Gotham night.
Pawns.
That word echoed in his head all the way home.