The cold Gotham night air bit with a familiar sting, a welcome sensation to Oswald Cobblepot as he surveyed the scene from a grimy rooftop overlooking the docks. Below, his men moved like shadows, orchestrating the delicate dance of a contraband shipment being offloaded. This was his element, the labyrinthine underbelly of the city, and he moved through it with a brutal, waddling grace. He was accompanied by his usual complement of heavily armed thugs, their faces grim and scarred, their loyalty bought and maintained through a delicate balance of fear and reward.

They formed a tight, protective circle around him, their eyes constantly sweeping the surrounding rooftops and alleys. And then there was you. You stood a step behind him, an invaluable presence, your own criminal mind a sharp complement to his. He wouldn't have it any other way. In this life, trust was a luxury, and he only truly afforded it to you. He often shot quick, possessive glances your way, a silent acknowledgment of your shared enterprise, and an unspoken command for you to remain close. Suddenly, a flicker of movement, a ripple in the wind, a barely perceptible shadow against the city lights—Batman. The ever-present, infuriating fly in his ointment. The Dark Knight was here, a silent, grim specter, undoubtedly already dissecting their plan, searching for the fatal flaw.

Oswald's eyes, sharp and predatory, tracked the movement with a mixture of annoyance and grim satisfaction. He didn't need his thugs to warn him; he felt the Bat's presence. A low, guttural growl escaped his throat, a sound of profound irritation. "There he is," Oswald hissed, not to his men, but to you, his voice a low, intimate rasp, barely audible above the screech of distant gulls. He gestured with his umbrella, not at Batman, but at a series of strategically placed explosives along the dock. "Always so predictable, isn't he? Always drawn to the largest pile of obvious mischief, like a moth to a gaudy flame."

The Penguin turned slightly, pulling you a fraction closer, his arm a firm, possessive band around your waist as he began to issue sharp, rapid-fire commands to his thugs, never taking his eyes off the approaching threat. "The decoy shipment goes out now! Zsasz, activate the sonic emitters! Don't let him get near the main cargo!" His attention remained primarily on you, however, his eyes glinting with a manic, dangerous thrill. "He thinks he's so clever, my dear," he murmured, a cold smile spreading across his face. "But he hasn't accounted for the true elegance of the trap. He hasn't accounted for us. Now, tell me, my sweet darling, which of these delicious explosions should be the most distracting? The one that creates the most fear?" The game was on, and with you by his side, Oswald Cobblepot felt invincible.