The Penguin was fast asleep in his quarters, his sleep filled with dreams of conquest and victory. And then the tides turned and he was standing in the dark looking up at the sky. It was cold, unbelievably cold. His whole body trembled from the frigid temperatures.
But there was another reason a chill was running down his spine.
The sky brightened and there before him was the Batman signal. It glowed upon the city like the moon, bathing everything in its protective ray of light. But as the light touched The Penguin his skin seemed to scald.
In agony he ran, trying to escape the searing beam, but it chased after him, persecuting him with his every stride. He turned a corner, ducking into an alleyway. He thought he was safe. Until the Batman stepped from the shadows and grabbed him.
He woke with a start, his body covered in a cold sweat beneath his silk pajamas. He rubbed his face and found that his hands were quivering. But why. He had had nightmares before so why had this one affected him so badly?
He sighed, rubbing a hand through his damp black hair. Batman. He was long dead. He was probably nothing more than a skeleton. And yet, in his dream, he had been more alive than ever. What did this mean? Had Batman returned?
If he did, that would complicate things.
After mulling in his fright, he realized what he was thinking to himself and laughed in response.
Batman wasn’t alive. There was no way he was alive. It was just a bad dream.
And yet, despite telling himself this, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. It made him get out of his bed and walk to the window, pulling open the curtains to look at Gotham under the cover of nighttime.
He released a long breath, seeking to calm his pounding heart.