Chapter 22

Black Mask had escaped, but aside from the Penguin’s indignant fury at being outmaneuvered and left behind, his departure stirred no further ripples within Arkham. The other inmates had long since grown accustomed to such disparities; while almost all of them dreamed of escaping Arkham Asylum, only a handful of "lucky" ones succeeded each time. To attribute their success merely to luck, however, would be to disrespect their cunning and strategic prowess.

After all, criminals worship absolute power. If you possess exceptional talent, strength, and intelligence, you need only raise your arms to have others flock to your banner. Often, there is no need to even call out; people will naturally gravitate toward you, offering their allegiance and assistance.

Beyond the few who are truly mentally ill, Arkham is filled with those who used various means to evade Blackgate Penitentiary, only to end up here as "patients." Their records are far from clean—robbery, murder, kidnapping, extortion, arson, drug trafficking, human experimentation... they are dregs of a failed society who naturally subscribe to the doctrine that might makes right.

This was why, upon escaping Arkham, Black Mask was able to assemble a new gang with incredible speed. For the Penguin, this only added to his irritation, leading him to blame the Riddler for his predicament.

The Riddler, having no desire to be held a grudge by a crime lord, bluntly dumped the child Megan onto him, hoping to dampen the Penguin’s temper. To extract Megan from Killer Croc, he had even sworn on his life to oversee her studies, so he left her schoolbooks with the Penguin as well.

This shameless maneuver shocked the Penguin, but the Riddler had fled too quickly for him to vent his rage. Left alone with the child already settled in his cell, the Penguin fell into a pensive silence.

The Penguin still possessed a shred of moral fiber, and he saw no point in bickering with an ignorant child. Sitting at the table, he gulped down his tea. Seeing Megan still clutching her books, her head bowed and her expression lost and uneasy, he softened his tone. "That piece of trash's actions have nothing to do with you, Megan."

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Come, sit down. Finish your homework."

He was used to speaking in commands, but Megan, unable to grasp such nuances, sat down obediently. For once, she turned her gaze toward the Penguin, resting her eyes on his lapels. Though she still avoided direct eye contact, the Penguin could tell she was trying to express something, hindered only by her timidity and her refusal to speak.

That, however, was a minor issue. The Penguin scanned the items in front of her and asked, "No pen? Figures. I knew those morons were useless! Can't even get a simple thing right." He grumbled, proving that while he was still angry, he wasn't about to unleash it on the child.

After cursing his incompetent fellow inmates, he reached into the pocket of his coat and produced an expensive, exquisite fountain pen for Megan. He watched as she began to write in silence.

The Penguin sat for a while, still feeling irritable. He paced his cell, but there was no solution to his current predicament. Black Mask had escaped, and in doing so, had blocked the only loophole they had found. He was stuck! And the wretch had even cruelly killed the birds he kept to carry messages!

Being outplayed by Black Mask was humiliating enough, but he was also vexed by the state of his business outside. Black Mask would certainly not miss this golden opportunity to cannibalize his enterprises and manpower. The Penguin could not tolerate this; although his loyal subordinates wouldn't let it all fall apart, he simply couldn't swallow his pride.

Pacing back and forth like a caged beast, he nearly raised his cane to smash the contents of his cell, but catching a glimpse of the child doing her homework, he finally lowered his arm.

Feeling restless, he stood beside Megan’s seat and looked at her work. It wasn't bad.

The Penguin nodded. She was a good child, and didn't seem dim-witted. Although her progress was merely that of an average child, the fact that she could focus on her studies rather than on terrible things and skills, despite being raised by the Joker and growing up in Arkham, was heartening enough.

He watched as Megan finished her copying and then her math assignment. There were no other subjects; her little head had limited capacity and couldn't hold much more.

Learning is not an overnight feat, but a slow, day-by-day process. As for Megan’s mental state, the Penguin turned to gaze at her. She was a child fearless because of her ignorance; she did not yet understand the world, and her pace of acceptance and comprehension was far slower than others. As for whether being brought to Arkham by the Joker was a blessing or a curse...

A hint of kindness surfaced on his crowded, pudgy face. His anger and impatience faded away without him realizing it. The Penguin murmured, perhaps to himself, "The things in this world aren't clearly divided into absolute good or evil, child. Did you know that?"

"Damp, rainy weather and bouts of hysteria... they forge a twisted individual. Perhaps those experiences seem unbearable at the time, even enough to drive one mad, but in the end, they all pass..."

"They all go away, leaving only me behind."

One madman cannot comfort another, especially when he is a criminal himself. He knew this truth all too well, fully aware of the path he walked. Yet, just as he had waded through his past, those experiences had shaped him, and he could not overturn his former self. It was a problem without a solution.

When Megan finished her homework, the Penguin slowly poured her a cup of hot tea and offered some small biscuits, made by the cook he had bribed within Arkham. After all, he was not a fool like Two-Face, who would suffer through the terrible food here. Naturally, the specialized cook provided these extras only for him.

His cell was quiet, the white steam rising from the teacup easily capturing the child’s attention. Her clear, emerald eyes stared at it, unmoving and silent. Her presence was faint, yet as the Penguin sat opposite her, he did not ignore her.

Watching the child slowly drink her tea and eat the biscuits, he stood up, picked up his cane, and meticulously adjusted his clothing, ensuring every edge was perfectly aligned. His perspective shifted, and he suddenly found the poorly made, makeshift prison clothes Megan wore to be an eyesore.

Whose handiwork could be so wretched? Probably the Joker, having his underlings alter his own prison uniform, but the sewing skills of the average person were so abysmal that it was hard to look at—just a few pieces of cloth stitched together, and even that was a stretch.

Thus, Megan, with her black hair and green eyes—not exactly beautiful, but young and cute—was dressed in rough, orange prison garb.

His gaze was strange, heavy with contemplation. After a long moment, he said to Megan, "Let's go. I'll take you back to your daddy."

The Penguin walked in front, but he was certain Megan would follow. She lacked initiative and subjective will, needing someone to set requirements and arrange everything for her. He knew her sense of self was pathetic, just as the Joker had described her: a "clockwork doll."

He escorted Megan to the entrance of the Joker’s cell block and waved his cane to signal her to return on her own. Even if he felt a glimmer of kindness, he was no one’s bodyguard!

Megan was still processing, her bangs growing long. Sometimes, when the wind blew, the strands would prick her eyes, making her blink incessantly.

She tilted her head, and suddenly, accidentally, her gaze met that of the Penguin, who was not much taller than she was.

She froze.

The pudgy, peculiar, and short-tempered criminal, his reflection caught in the monocle perched on his nose, realized what was happening. He fell into a moment of reflection, ultimately suppressing his cruelty and malice, and curled his lips into an expression that could perhaps be called gentle.

Under Megan’s blank yet helpless gaze, the Penguin said, "There is nothing to fear, child. You should be grateful that your backer is the Joker, even if... at the very least, he provides you shelter."

Would the Joker be moved by a child’s trust and reliance? Of course not! He was a completely unpredictable, chaotic madman, the very embodiment of evil, bringing massive bloodshed and death to Gotham from the moment he arrived. He was a man who lived only for amusement and the realization of his own insane delusions—the Joker was a man of absolute ego.

So, these words were merely something the Penguin said to coax Megan, yet offering her a moment of comfort was better than nothing. A child’s childhood should not have such twists and tragedies.

He knew himself to be a villain, a bad man, but he didn't mind doing things that weren't hateful, offering a bit of tolerance and kindness to those he appreciated or pitied.

Nothing could be read from Megan’s face or eyes, but her movements were hesitant. Whether she had taken the Penguin’s words to heart was unknown, but as she looked away from him and then shifted her gaze back, it seemed as if, until today, until this very moment, she was seeing someone other than the Joker for the first time. Though, in truth, the Joker was not a "person" to her, but a different kind of existence.

This was the first time she had observed a "human," another individual.

Even if she had been around others before, she had never cared, never seen, never paid any attention.

The Penguin felt a sense of bewilderment from her. She had observed, and was attempting to form a cognition, but it was difficult—something she could not yet understand or master, leaving her at a loss.

Wishing to establish a slightly better image for himself, the Penguin stepped forward, maintaining a safe distance to ensure he wouldn't scare the child away. He clasped his hands over his cane, leaning slightly forward in a gesture of friendliness.

When he smiled, the deep nasolabial folds caused by his obesity pushed his monocle upward, making his already puffy, swollen eyes appear smaller and fiercer. His image was not friendly at all.

The Penguin said, "Then let me introduce myself again. Oswald Cobblepot, that is my name."

"I am the master of the Cobblepot family and the owner of the Iceberg Lounge. Wealth and power, I possess them all. I simply lacked a bit of luck, but that is no great problem—setbacks are inevitable in life, especially with that bat-freak around. Of course, I have other enemies, but they aren't worth mentioning."

As he introduced himself, Megan held his gaze. Even if her lack of fear was born of ignorance, the Penguin acknowledged her courage, for she was not terrified by his appearance or laughing at him. She was a polite child.

But there was truly nothing more for them to say. The Penguin thought to himself that he didn't really want to babysit. The words were spoken, and as he prepared to leave, seeing that Megan didn't resist, he lightly patted her head. It was a rare, tender gesture, ruffling her hair and making her head sway back and forth.

The Penguin pretended not to notice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Joker emerge from his cell, so he turned and left without hesitation, not even wanting to offer a greeting.

The Joker, oblivious to his own lack of popularity, performed theatrically. "My dear Cobblepot, won't you stay and have a chat with me? You know, I’m much more talkative than she is. I’m sure we would have a marvelous time."

As he spoke, the muscles of his entire face pulled upward, creating countless deep wrinkles that made his expression even more hideous.

He watched the Penguin leave, finally dropping his gaze to meet Megan’s, who was straining to look up at him. In the Joker’s smile now, there was only the churning malice of madness. Yet, as if she felt nothing, Megan walked over and leaned against his leg. This uninteresting reaction caused the Joker’s expression to collapse, and he turned and returned to his cell.