The whiteboard gleamed under the penthouse lights, streaked with half-scribbled notes, crossed-out names, and circles that led nowhere. Nolan stood in front of it with a marker poised in his hand, shoulders tense.
Quentin lounged in the back, boots kicked up, cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. He looked like he belonged anywhere but a planning session, but his eyes never left Nolan.
Kieran sat opposite him, shuffling a deck of cards with idle precision, the shff-shff-shff filling the silence. Finally, he said, "You know, I don't mind if we never use that gas. Ever. Like burn it, chuck it, toss it into the Gotham River. Let Scarecrow keep his freak-show crap."
Quentin barked a laugh. "Stop bein' a pussy."
The cards paused mid-shuffle. Kieran shot him a scowl. "Easy for you to say. You weren't the one choking on that nightmare juice. If I remember right, you were too scared to even switch out. You stayed tucked away while I took the hit."
That earned a sharp grin from Quentin. "What can I say? Self-preservation's a helluva drug."
Vey, standing silent beside Nolan, cut through the banter with a look. His presence was steady, watchful, the counterbalance to their friction.
Nolan set the marker down for a moment and gestured toward the small case of vials on the table. The glass glinted faintly under the light. "I need to test these," he said. His tone was flat, deliberate. "If I can't learn to control it, then it'll end up controlling me. But I'm not using it on innocents."
Quentin leaned forward, smirking. "So don't. Gotham's got no shortage of scum. Dealers, pushers, wannabe mobsters—you'd be doing the city a favor."
"Yeah," Kieran muttered, shuffling the deck again with an edge of irritation, "until Bats shows up and caves our heads in for playing chemist with Scarecrow's toys."
"That's why it's not about who first," Vey said, his voice even, cold. "It's about where. Secure ground. Controlled environment. No leaks. No collateral."
Nolan turned back to the board and underlined two words in thick black strokes: WHERE and WHO. His jaw tightened.
"We find the right people," he said. "We find the right place. Then we learn. Because if I don't figure this out…" He trailed off, staring at his own reflection faintly distorted in the glass of the vials. "Sooner or later, Gotham's not the only one that'll be paying the price."
The room hung heavy with the thought. Quentin smirked through his cigarette, Kieran scowled over his cards, and Vey simply stood, silent and watchful, while Nolan mapped out the choice that none of them wanted but all of them knew was inevitable.
Nolan capped the marker and, after one last look at the scrawled whiteboard, pulled the cloth down over it. "Enough of that," he muttered. "We should probably get down to business."
He moved to the chair at the center of the table, settling among his other selves like a judge returning to the bench. A glance at his watch. "The Penguin expects us soon. Which means we need to decide how we're playing this."
His gaze swept over them, steady and sharp. "Front man. Who do we put forward?"
"I'm thinking Quentin."
Kieran let out a breath, half a laugh, half a scoff. "Of course you are." He shuffled his cards once, twice, then finally tossed them down on the table. "But yeah… you're right. Quentin works best for this one. Slicker tongue than me when it comes to violence only of course."
Quentin grinned from his corner, smoke curling from the half-burned cigarette between his fingers. "Finally, someone gives me the credit I deserve." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting. "So. You want neutral truths, non-conflict, keep it all friendly and businesslike." He tapped the ash into a tray. "That means we don't posture. We don't threaten. We pitch. Penguin doesn't like bleeding without a payout. So we sell him stability. We make him believe we're the anchor in this storm of freaks tearing Gotham apart."
Nolan nodded slowly. "That's a start."
Kieran leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Sure, but let's not forget Penguin's not exactly trustworthy. You show weakness, he takes a bite. Quentin, you can smile and smooth things over all you want, but we need leverage to remind him we're not just another gang begging for scraps."
Quentin shot him a look, smirk still plastered across his face. "And that's why you're not running point. You'd spook him with all your doom-and-gloom talk. We don't need leverage we need an image. He thinks he can work with us, fine. He thinks we're dangerous competition, not fine."
Vey finally spoke, his voice level but edged with steel. "He has eyes everywhere. Whatever we tell him, he'll already know more than we want. He'll test us. Ask questions he knows the answers to, just to see how we answer. Neutral truths, Nolan said and he's right. A lie, and he'll smell it. A threat, and he'll snap back. But a truth framed to serve us? That's where we find our way in."
Silence stretched for a moment, the only sound the faint clink of Kieran gathering his cards again.
Nolan clasped his hands in front of him, leaning forward. "So Quentin's our voice. Kieran's right, though, we can't go in without something to hold. If it's not leverage, it's poise. If it's not force, it's information. We need to walk that line. Offer Penguin partnership, not submission. Profit, not risk."
"Damn this is complicated." He sighed
Quentin tapped ash into the tray again, nodding. "I can sell that. I'll talk about how the streets are unstable, how gangs are thinning out, how too many players are burning their resources too fast. And then I'll tell him we're not here to burn anything. We're here to outlast. If he's smart, he'll see us as something he can't just get rid of with a snap of his fingers."
"And if he doesn't?" Kieran asked.
"Then we pivot." Quentin's grin widened, but his eyes hardened. "Offer him just enough of a cut to keep him happy. Not too much, not too little. Make him think he's clever for taking the deal."
Vey inclined his head in agreement. "A chess move. Let him believe the game is his."
"We suck at chess though." Kieran grumbled
Nolan sat back, weighing the room. For a moment, he wasn't sure if the quiet was unity or dissent. Then he nodded once, decisive.
"Good. We have our plan. Quentin leads, the rest of us support. No lies, no fights, no wars. Just business."
He checked his watch again, then looked to Quentin. "Get your suit ready. We're not walking into this poorly dressed."
Quentin smirked, flicking the last of his cigarette into the tray. "Don't worry, boss. I'll make sure we look like money."
Nolan folded his arms and let the silence stretch a little longer, letting their plans settle. Then he said, "There's another angle we should consider. Not just a cut, I don't like the idea of him getting any foot hold in our business, it makes us look weak we need to project strength."
Quentin tilted his head, eyebrow cocked. "Oh? Do tell."
"Priority marking," Nolan said simply as he stood to get dressed, "Penguin's got his fingers in every pie. His people are always moving things, hiding things, shifting pieces around this city. If he needs a stash kept invisible, if one of his crews needs to vanish off the map for a few days we can handle that. He gets guaranteed cover from us, fast. No questions asked."
Kieran whistled low, leaning back in his chair. "That's… actually clever. You're basically saying we'll make his problems disappear before the Bat or the cops even know they exist."
Vey gave a curt nod. "It's tangible. Immediate. He won't have to wonder if it's worth it he'll know. Men like Cobblepot value guarantees more than promises."
Quentin tapped his cigarette against the ashtray again, lips curving into a grin. "Now that's something I can sell. Money's nice, but it's the same tired offer he hears from every two-bit hustler who wants protection. This? This makes us look like innovators. He'll eat it up if I frame it right. Plus, we will be getting all of the information we could possibly gleam from his guys while we do this. Frame it as a win for him but it's really a way for us to worm in."
Kieran chuckled, though the sound was edged with unease. "Just make sure you don't oversell it. The second he thinks we're offering him magic that's too good to be true, he'll cut us off at the knees."
Quentin shot him a look. "Relax, I know how to thread the needle. We don't say we're miracle workers. We just say we've got eyes where others don't. Access where others can't reach. And when his people are in trouble, we'll help them out."
Nolan nodded slowly, watching the three of them volley back and forth. "Exactly. Neutral truths. Nothing more, nothing less. We can't give him the whole picture, but we give him enough that he believes we're worth not going to war over."
Vey's voice was low, deliberate. "Then it's settled. Quentin offers stability. And priority cover. If Penguin is as pragmatic as his reputation suggests, he'll bite."
Nolan glanced at his watch again, then stood. "Good. Because the clock's run out. He'll be expecting us at Wintergreen."
***
The Wintergreen Rail Station loomed like a corpse, ribs of rusted steel arching overhead, glass panes long since shattered and replaced with ragged holes that let the night bleed in. Quentin's boots echoed over cracked tile as he stepped into the open hall, smoke-stained walls rising around him.
He didn't come alone. Dre "Wall" Matthews stalked at his right flank, broad-shouldered, coat collar high. Naima Rez trailed on his left, silent and sharp-eyed, hands tucked in her jacket but ready for violence. Behind them, two more from Nolan's people—hard-eyed men with calloused fists—kept pace. They moved like a pack, alert but unflinching.
Quentin was smiling.
A low rumble of engines announced Penguin's arrival. Headlights cut across the debris-strewn platform as two sleek black sedans rolled up the broken trackbed. The doors opened in unison, and out stepped Cobblepot himself round, sharp-eyed, umbrella tucked under one arm like a scepter. Around him, his own escort fanned out: four muscle-bound enforcers in long coats, mirroring Quentin's numbers exactly.
Symmetry like every good deal should have.
From the back of one car, two of Penguin's men unfolded a folding table and set it up in the middle of the station. A pair of wooden chairs scraped against tile as they were dropped into place. Penguin waddled forward without ceremony and lowered himself onto one, his umbrella set across his lap.
Quentin sauntered forward, grin stretching wider as he pulled out his own chair and spun it slightly before sitting. He reached into his coat, pulled out a fat cigar, and clipped the end with a practiced snap. At the same time, Penguin produced one of his own.
For a beat, both men struck matches in mirrored rhythm. Smoke curled upward.
Quentin barked a laugh, pointing the cigar at Cobblepot. "I like your style."
Penguin exhaled a thin plume, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. "Likewise."
The moment hung like a drawn knife before Quentin leaned in, cigar smoke fogging between them. "So—shall we get down to business?"
Penguin shifted, sighing theatrically. "I don't know. For all I know, you could have that mask freak of yours come barreling in here and slit my throat before I take my next puff."
Quentin roared with laughter, slapping the table so hard the sound cracked across the hall. Dre twitched, Naima's eyes flicked, but Quentin only leaned back in delight.
"Of course not, of course not!" he said, shaking his head, still chuckling. "He just delivered an invitation, didn't he? I hope he didn't do anything untoward. You know how it is sometimes you hire guys off the street, and they get a little too eager. Loose screws, eh?"
His grin widened, though his eyes stayed sharp, scanning the shadows as if mocking the very idea. Then he looked back at Cobblepot and spread his hands.
"Tell me, Oswald… someone here to kill me tonight?"
That earned him a laugh from Penguin, a short, throaty bark. The umbrella twitched once, like a finger tapping. "Not tonight, my friend. Not tonight."
The smoke between them thickened, curling around the table like a private curtain, shutting out their men, the ruined station, even Gotham itself.
__
A/N: kind of important to note, this chapter is supposed to feel kind of disjointed I wanted to show his personalities throwing out ideas some of them they might use others might be scrapped. Also rereading it might sound like they are going to 'bow' down to penguin. That will not happen they were just thinking of alternatives/ ways to have them stand on a neutral pact.