Back at the Gotham Police Department, Chief Loeb finally turned from the window, giving the Penguin a hard look laced with sarcasm.
"Oh? You're saying this all had nothing to do with you?" Loeb said, dragging every word. "It's just a coincidence that Black Mask hijacked your truck, exposed your entire smuggling route, and now he's mysteriously dead—stabbed in his own office? You really think anyone's going to believe that?"
The Penguin's face twitched slightly, but he kept his politeness in check.
"Don Falcone reached out recently. He explained that Black Mask was likely misled—he didn't know the cargo he attacked belonged to me," said the Penguin. "If all that is true, it means someone fed him false information to start this mess… and then used his death to frame me. Whoever it was, pulled me into this without ever showing their face."
Loeb stared at him in silence for a moment. Then he shook his head and sighed.
"You're still not getting it," he said. "This isn't about what's 'true.' It's about what everyone thinks is true. And right now, Gotham thinks you killed Black Mask."
He paced over to the window and folded his arms.
"In this city, perception matters more than facts. When did you get so naïve? You honestly think people care about who actually started it?"
The Penguin didn't reply right away, but it was clear he hated being blamed for someone else's move.
Loeb continued without looking back. "And Falcone? He agrees with me. Whether you did it or not isn't the point. No more blood. The war ends here. The city can't afford a full-scale turf war right now. If needed, we'll even transfer some of Black Mask's territory to you—"
But before he could finish, Penguin raised his voice.
"I told you—I'm not interested," he said coldly. "Even if people call me a lowlife or a crook, I don't take scraps off a dead man's plate. Let everyone in Gotham see that I'm not chasing his turf."
It sounded noble on the surface, but Loeb wasn't fooled. Penguin had always favored influence over land. His empire ran through ports, black-market trade, and offshore deals. Territory inside Gotham didn't mean much to him.
In truth, this move made him look clean and distanced him from the murder. It was his way of saying: I'm not involved.
Loeb chuckled and said, "You're not interested in the prize, huh? Smart move. Better to stay out of the mess. Let the little guys under Black Mask cannibalize each other. Less clean-up for us."
Whether Penguin was behind it or not, even Loeb couldn't tell anymore. And that uncertainty… reminded him of old times.
"The last time something like this happened," Loeb muttered, "was when Thomas Wayne was shot."
Penguin's expression stiffened. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled slowly.
"I'll say this much," he said. "If you want to know who's behind the assassination, just wait. Sooner or later, the one who orchestrated all this will crawl out from the shadows to claim their reward."
"When that happens," he added, "I'll be ready. And when I find out who dragged me into their plan without warning, I promise—I'll make them regret it."
Loeb said nothing.
He didn't care who did it anymore.
All that mattered was the fighting didn't spread.
And as long as Penguin kept out of the turf war, Gotham would stay mostly quiet.
Elsewhere in Gotham, Adam sat on the couch in his quiet, shuttered bar, watching the news with Jason beside him. The TVs showed footage of Zsasz being dragged away by cops, spitting blood and muttering about his "victory."
"Black Mask's dead," Jason said, munching on popcorn. "Pulled the plug on himself in the hospital. Zsasz only got charged with attempted murder. Looks like it's gonna stick, though. He'll rot in prison."
"Cold ending for a cold man," Adam replied. "But I warned you—everyone in Gotham needs to be a little bit unhinged to win. Black Mask was cruel to others… and to himself."
Jason gave Adam a curious glance. "So, after all this chaos—what do you get out of it?"
Adam grinned slightly and pulled a folded document from his briefcase, holding it up.
Jason leaned in to take a closer look and asked expectantly, "Is that a claim on Black Mask's assets? A power move for his territory?"
Adam shook his head and replied, "Gotham's junkies can keep his warehouses. There's no money in that. I've got something better—the opportunity he left behind… over at Arkham."
Jason took the paper and read it.
He paused, confused.
"This is a… policy proposal?"
Adam nodded and said, "Proposal to set up a new Prohibition Enforcement Unit within Arkham District."
"Alcohol crackdown?" Jason replied, blinking. "You planning to ban beer now? How's that got anything to do with your promotion?"
Adam explained, leaning forward. "Harvey Dent's trying to push through a new Prohibition bill—strict control on alcohol. Problem is, the police department gets nothing out of it. Unless…"
"Unless they form a whole new unit to enforce it..." Jason said, eyes widening.
"Exactly," Adam said. "And someone has to draft that plan, propose it, and build it. I already named Deadshot as team lead and set it up out of Arkham. When the bill's passed, I'll control a fresh task force—one that doesn't owe loyalty to anyone else."
Jason let out a low whistle.
"So, you skipped the turf wars and went straight to building your own power base," he said. "No blood, no headlines… but ten times more effective."
Adam smiled and said, "You don't need to play king of the hill when you're busy building a tower no one else sees coming."