INTERLUDE: THE UMBRELLA’S AWARENESS

In one of his dimly lit offices, Oz Cobb—better known as the Penguin—sat behind his polished mahogany desk, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth. Smoke curled lazily through the air, mingling with the amber glow of the desk lamp, which cast shadows across the room’s lavish decor—velvet drapes, antique furniture, and the faint gleam of weapons mounted on the walls. A crystal decanter sat on a side table, half-empty, the faint scent of whiskey lingering and lending the space an air of indulgence.

Before him, one of his enforcers stood stiffly, though his hands twitched at his sides—as if they might somehow deflect the full weight of his boss’ glare. The man’s unease was palpable, his breath hitching each time Penguin’s beady eyes narrowed.

“A girl?” Penguin repeated, his voice deceptively calm, carrying the sharp edge of restrained fury. He tilted his head, the tip of his signature umbrella—resting casually against his leg—tapping softly against the floor. “You’re telling me some nobody waltzed into my operation, made off with one of my toys, and none of you chuckleheads managed to stop her?”

The enforcer swallowed hard. “She was fast, boss. We didn’t see her coming—she slipped in and out before we could get a good look. And that tech she grabbed—it was unstable, we couldn’t risk—”

The sudden crack of Penguin’s fist slamming onto the desk silenced him instantly. The enforcer flinched as the cigar rolled out of Penguin’s mouth, landing in the ornate ashtray with a soft hiss.

“I don’t pay you to make excuses,” Penguin snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “I pay you to make damn sure things like this don’t happen.”

He leaned back in his chair, his narrowed gaze never leaving the enforcer. The veneer of calm returned to his tone, but it was the kind of calm that made men squirm. “A girl,” he mused, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the umbrella’s handle. “What kind of girl walks into my warehouse, in the middle of my business, and thinks she can walk out with my property?”

The enforcer stammered, trying to find the words, but Penguin cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t care who she is. I don’t care where she came from. What I do care about,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl, “is that she learns. Nobody meddles in my business and gets away with it. Nobody.”

He jabbed the tip of the umbrella into the floor with a deliberate thud, the sound reverberating through the room like a final verdict. “Find her,” he ordered, his gaze as cold and unrelenting as ice. “I don’t care how long it takes, how far you have to dig, or how many heads you have to crack. You bring her to me.”

The enforcer nodded quickly, his eyes wide with barely concealed fear. “Yes, boss. Right away.” He turned on his heel and hurried out, the sound of the office door closing behind him echoing in the tense silence.

Penguin exhaled slowly, reclaiming the cigar and tapping the ash into the tray with measured movements. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. “Troublemakers,” he muttered to himself, rolling the cigar between his fingers. “This city’s full of ’em. But they always learn—one way or another.”

He leaned forward, reaching for a nearby phone. With a few clicks of the rotary dial, he made a call, his expression darkening as he waited for the line to connect.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said the moment the call was answered, business-like. “Some little pest is sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Start pulling strings—I want her found yesterday.”

He hung up the phone with a satisfying clatter, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he reclined in his chair. “Oh, little bug,” he murmured, staring at the smoldering tip of his cigar. “You don’t know it yet, but you’ve made a very big mistake.”