Oswald Cobblepot was sitting in the manager's office of the Artemis Theatre in downtown Gotham. It was apparently under the ownership of one 'Henry Factoid', a fictional businessman from the Deep South who, although perfectly legal paperwork proved him to be 55 years old, had only come into existence 4 years ago. He was a useful alias as he was rarely used: you didn't want an identity that people would start looking into.

Oswald looked out of the window, while he pondered the details of his latest scheme. It was always either bloody raining or snowing in this miserable city. When you did a job that involved special equipment, it always had to be waterproof otherwise it'd be completely knackered within a day or two.

His reverie was interrupted by a commotion outside his door. His security guards were having a heated discussion with someone. The discussion got beyond heated when a couple of shouts apparently of 'You ain't getting in' rang out. The shouts were followed by a very solid thump, a short burst of gunfire followed by another heavy thump. Oswald was convinced it was the Batman again, come to ruin another well thought-out plan or at least the beginnings of one, so he readied himself in the corner with his umbrella gun. Instead, there was a gentle knock and Catwoman opened the door and came in and gave Oswald a sweet apologetic smile. "Morning Oswald. Sorry about your two heavies, but for some reason they thought they could take advantage of little old me, so I just had to teach them some manners."

Penguin collected himself in record time and walked to his desk. "Fair enough: they could stand to learn a little decorum. Please excuse me for a second." He replied. He motioned for her to sit down and then picked up his desk phone and pressed a button on it. "Sharon, could you send up a couple more guards for my office? This time could we have ones who don't keep their brains in their pants?" He paused for the reply, "Oh yeah, make sure they're not as useless as the last two." Another pause, "They were beaten up in about 4 seconds flat, despite the fact they had machine guns. " He paused again while 'Sharon' wittered down the phone, "They're free to tell the last two they're fired, and that they're the firing squad. Thank you Sharon." He put the phone down and shook his head. "Getting quality help these days is so difficult. How may I be of service?"

"I just popped by to see if you had any work going, well, anything you wanted stolen that is. That was it really: I heard that you're back in business so to speak there's and that there's an exhibition of Aztec treasures down at the Gotham art museum." Selina stated.

"Nah. I looked into that last week. The whole thing is a bunch of vaguely convincing fakes. 'Genuine replicas' whatever that means. The real stuff is in an astoundingly well guarded vault beneath an army base somewhere on the West Coast. I wouldn't waste your time with it. I'll let you know if I have a job that's worthy of you." He grinned a condescending grin at her as she stood up.

"Well, sorry to have bothered you." As she turned to walk out, she turned her head to Penguin, "and no staring at my behind. It could be dangerous." She smiled again and left.

"Wouldn't dream of it dear" muttered Oswald. He returned to his thoughts as peace once again descended on his office" That's the other problem with this city," he muttered to himself, "super criminals and super heroes by the bucket load. I'm surprised there's any normal people here to rob." Never mind, back to the job in hand he thought. He reached for a bundle of papers regarding several banks in the city and started flipping through them.

Before he could get onto any serious planning, a flunkey knocked on the door. "Mail for Mr. Factoid, Mr Cobblepot." The henchman handed a wad of envelopes to Owsald and left. Penguin started going through the letters. "Junk, bill, work application, more junk." He stopped at a generally nondescript letter. It had a small green question mark in the corner. "Riddler. What does that smug lanky know-it-all want, and how does the little git know where I am?"He grumbled to the world in general. He flopped down and ripped the envelope open and started to read:

"Oh Henry, or should I say Oswald, what are you planning? I do hope you're not going to something that involves large profit and not include me? I know every single little move you make so unless you want me to inform certain authorities of your plans, you are going give me a cut of the take. Your ever loving friend, Riddler."

Penguin ripped the letter to shreds and threw it in the bin. "That oh-so-clever little turd! I'll make him eat his bloody bowler hat." He shouted at the empty room.

Penguin turned to the window. Either he's got spy cams watching everything I do, or some bugger's been talking. Or both. He turned on the theatre PA system, "Listen up lads and lasses. Some sly little weasel's been talking to that ponce The Riddler. When I find out who the rat is, they're going to find themselves nailed into the shape of a question mark on top of the Wonder Tower. Do I make myself clear? So if you're the squealer and you want to live, I suggest you leave now and keep on running, because if I find you this side of Bludhaven, you can consider yourself very dead. Have a nice day." He thumped the off button and slouched in his chair.

Henchmen! They were more trouble than they were worth. Loyalty meant bugger-all to some of them. So much for Henry Factoid: that little ruse was obviously up. It was time for a new identity and a semi-new start. He picked up his phone, "Sharon, is that old paint factory still up for sale? Good. Would you buy it in the name of," He flipped through unused aliases in his mind, "Dibden Curlew. Thank you my dear." He put the phone down and looked glumly at his desk. One of these days' I'll confuse the hell out of the Batman and all of the other freaks in this city: I'll do something legit. He paused at this thought, nahh, where's the fun in that? 'Before I move the operation, we'll see if that green suited nonce gets wind of it. If he does, then either Sharon's the leak or the phone's bugged.' He said to himself.

He had started to poke about for listening devices when something small and dark came straight through the window, sending shards of glass everywhere.

"Christ!" he yelled "What the bloody hell was that?"

The small dark thing had hit the door, and had started beeping. He ducked behind the desk and peeked over. It was a baterang! "Does everybody know where I bloody am? What's the point in having a secret identity if it ain't a bloody secret?" he shouted.

He was interrupted when the baterang unexpectedly burst into a rather squeaky song:

Hark the sneaky Penguin Sing

And I know what he's doing

He's been planning corrupt schemes

Making money by foul means

If he thinks his plans will work

If it makes him smile and smirk

I know what will make him frown

The Batman's going to send him down

If he thinks he's going to win

The Penguin had better think again.

The song ended and the beeping started again. "The Bat's gone out of his tiny mind. Either that or it's that stupid Joker playing tricks."

The beeping rate suddenly sped up, causing the Penguin to duck back down behind the desk. The beeping stopped, and a tinny voice said "Merry Christmas Cobblepot!". The baterang exploded, taking a large chunk out of the door.

"What on Earth was that all about?" Oswald asked the empty room.

On a rooftop, not too far away, Batman was crouched next to an unconscious henchman. He patted the slumped man on the head. "Why thank you. You've been most helpful." He said.

He stood up and operated his comm set, "Alfred, job done. I'm coming home."

"Very good sir. Was the Penguin pleased to see you?"

"Let's say he'll be wondering what's happening." responded Mr. Wayne.

"So you've sent strange and seemingly pointless Christmas messages to two of your most dangerous adversaries. Was it worth the effort?"

"An enemy who's on a slightly less even keel is generally slightly easier to deal with, so I just caused a little pointless confusion."

"Right you are Master Bruce." Said Alfred with a little uncertainty.

Bruce smiled as he cut the comm. Set and operated the Batwing's remote systems. It had been a good evening.

The End.