Wonder Woman: the Best Prisoner She Can Be

When Batman was absent, Gotham quickly became a much more frustrating place for legitimate businessmen, or even the semi-legitimate ones. The Bat often cracked down on their less scrupulous ventures, but he also kept the more colorful psychopaths off the streets and mostly in Arkham. The Penguin would never openly admit that the Batman was a steadying presence on Gotham, but now, in the middle of a turf war with the likes of Two-Face, he found he missed the winged rodent. He would have rather been in his swanky Iceberg Lounge, rubbing elbows with the city’s elite, or in his expensive penthouse, rubbing bodies with a desperate would-be starlet. Instead, he was in a dimly lit warehouse, surrounded by men with guns, poring over maps and reports like a rounder, more bird-like Napoleon. The squat criminal/businessman was in the middle of moving a green army man over the map, when three thunderous bangs on the warehouse door made the very walls of the dockyard storage facility shake. “GAWK—!” the Penguin jumped, the plastic green rifleman clattering to the floor. Guns jumped from their holsters, shotguns coming to shoulders, a chorus of clicks coming from over a dozen weapons’ safeties. “What in hell’s--!?” the Penguin squawked, then stopped, lowering his voice to a hiss, “What in hell’s gaping sphincter was that?!” The warehouse was almost like a giant bunker, made of steel-reinforced concrete, with a heavy door that would resist any police battering ram. Nevertheless, the door had rattled in its frame, like someone had been trying to break it down. His security kept their weapons trained on the door, some of them shuffling to the corners to get better angles of fire. Men’s fingers were on their triggers, nerves humming, adrenaline sending chills down their spines. Underlying it all was the nauseating dread that came with knowing something violent was about to happen. The Penguin picked up his nickel-plated hand-cannon as well, looking to the exit. He didn’t plan on giving up his secret headquarters without a fight, but he also wasn’t going to make this his Alamo. If overwhelming force was brought to bear, a tactical retreat would be the order of the day. It was realism, not cowardice, he told himself. The air was taut. Everyone was still. A keening silence lingered. But… nothing happened. Penguin grumbled curses to himself. It would have been nice to have men at the door, but a secret headquarters would quickly become much less secret if dozens of armed men in trench coats were seen loitering around it. That’s why he hired spotters to hide in various places in the vicinity, to watch for whoever might be approaching. So how, he thought with no small amount of irritation, had someone managed to reach the door of his hideout, with some sort of pneumatic ram, without any warning?! Suddenly, a tinny, electronically-washed voice made everyone jump. “Nest, this is Hawk Roost 3,” the voice said. The voice came from a handheld radio set on the table beside the Penguin’s map. One of the surveillance teams. Penguin snatched up the radio then cursed loudly as he fumbled it in haste. “Nest, this is Hawk Roost 3,” the voice said again, “We have a visual on a… um… a bogey. O-over.” The man barely managed to finish speaking before his livid employer jammed down the transmit button and began spitting into the receiver. “You incompetent, slobbering, bumbling, f-feckless, stuh-idiotic—barely-sent—m-moronic--!” His next few syllables were jumbled parts of different invectives. He stammered on like this for a few seconds before he could calm down enough to speak coherently. “We are AWARE there is a bogey! You addle-brained lemmings! We are WELL AWARE!” he barked, “What we are NOT aware of is how they got here without a SINGLE ONE of my spotting teams reporting it!” “She—she came in too fast!” the man on the radio protested, “I mean, she’s freaking—” Whatever the man was about to say was cut off by another trio of bangs. The Penguin started again, but then curled his lip, his eyes narrowed. The blows were with tremendous power, but were in time with… a polite knocking? “Wait, ‘she’?” the villain lowered his voice, “What ‘she’? Who?!” There was not an immediate response from the surveillance team. After a few moments, Penguin pressed again. “Explain yourself!” he snapped, “Who is this ‘she’?! What are you talking about?!”