"You don't know me! Stop acting like you know me. I'm not Detective Bullock. I'm not--" Not a friend, not accepted, no one of the guys. Not much to lose. He didn't even want to be but it was always that thing of feeling on the outside. Not always because of people but because of himself, because of how he was. He didn't fit. He tried before and it was exhausting, tiring. To be himself was all he'd ever wanted.

He frowned, unable to know what to do with the idea of someone 'caring' about him. Likely a load of crap to keep Lucius and Bruce alive. He focused instead on that last comment. "What does Mr Penguin have to do with any of this?"

Ah. This old chestnut. "Actually, he wanted the opposite. He tried to talk me out of it." Weirdly enough. "Arkham really did a number on him." It was haunting to see a man like Oswald acting like that. "Your handiwork, that one. That's what Jim Gordon's friendship does, huh?"