Penguin

Gotham, Iceberg Lounge.

It was a lavishly decorated establishment, practically palatial. Ever since it had opened, it had been favored by Gotham's aristocrats and upper-class elite, a perfect place for them to flaunt their status.

But few people knew that the owner of the Iceberg Lounge was actually Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, a notorious underworld kingpin in Gotham.

The Cobblepot Family was one of Gotham's four great families. Oswald had been born lucky, with a golden spoon in his mouth, but while fate gave him a good family, it did not give him a good body. Born deformed, short, and fat, he brought shame to his family and was cast aside.

Yet Oswald had not given up on himself. Instead, he had clawed his way up step by step through his own talents until he became one of Gotham's major players. People feared him, yet mocked him behind his back, giving him the nickname—Penguin.

The Iceberg Lounge had also become Penguin's place for fencing stolen goods and laundering money.

"Phew..."

Penguin exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke and slowly spun his chair around. His voice was somewhat shrill, but he deliberately spoke in a deep tone. A low voice was what a mob boss ought to have, not this shrill, ugly, laughable voice.

"Bob Dylan, what do you want with me? You'd better make it quick. I have an important event to attend."

Even as Deputy Warden of Blackgate Penitentiary, Bob Dylan was somewhat restrained before Penguin. He knew all too well that while the man across from him had a ridiculous build, his heart was black as coal. One second, he could be smiling as he spoke to you; the next, he could send your soul flying to the heavens.

"Mr. Oswald, I've run into a bit of trouble recently and need your help. Of course, I won't ask you to do it for nothing. The two men working for you in the prison can be released unconditionally."

Penguin fixed Bob Dylan with his small, sinister eyes. "Do you think I'd waste my effort over two pieces of trash?"

Then Penguin changed the subject. "However, I heard that one of Black Mask's men was brought in yesterday. If you're willing to arrange an accident and have him die, I'd be more than happy to help you."

Bob Dylan frowned at those words. Black Mask was no one to trifle with. As another underworld boss in Gotham City, Black Mask was even more brutal and bloodthirsty than Penguin.

Penguin still possessed a measure of reason. He wanted Gotham to maintain basic stability amid its chaos, so the gangs could have fertile ground to survive in for the long term.

But when Black Mask went mad, he was far more dangerous. He had even shouted about turning all of Gotham City into hell. Aside from Joker, there were few criminals more dangerous than him.

But the thought of someone holding evidence of his crimes left Bob Dylan unable to eat or sleep in peace. After weighing it for a while, he said, "Mr. Oswald, if he doesn't die but merely becomes an idiot, can you accept that outcome?"

Penguin grinned. "Barely. Tell me your problem."

A few minutes later, Bob Dylan left the Iceberg Lounge in satisfaction. He believed that with Penguin taking action, that son of a bitch Jude Herbert would definitely be torn to pieces.

Penguin, too, hummed a tune in satisfaction. He was only one of Black Mask's underlings, yet he had dared to call him Penguin to his face. Not taking his life had already been an act of mercy from Mr. Oswald.

He rested his umbrella against the corner of the desk, took off his suit, and changed into the tailcoat prepared for him earlier. Then he put on his top hat, planted his umbrella on the floor, and struck several poses in front of the mirror.

"Mm, not bad."

He took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. There were still three minutes until the party began. Penguin paced unhurriedly around the room. He had to wait, because important figures always made their entrance last.

Knock, knock, knock!

A knock sounded at the door. Penguin straightened his tie, thinking it was time for his entrance. As the host, he had prepared carefully and could not afford to embarrass himself before Gotham's political and business circles.

But the subordinate who opened the door said, "Mr. Oswald, Ivan Steranko of the Foot Clan has come to visit. He says he has something to discuss with you."

Penguin said irritably, "Doesn't he know the party is about to begin? Tell him to wait."

With that, Oswald swayed his fat backside and headed toward the banquet hall.

What a joke. Did anyone get to see him just because they wanted to? Though he had dealings with the Foot Clan, Ivan Steranko alone was not qualified to discuss business with him. If they wanted to talk, then Shredder, the Foot Clan's leader, had to come in person.

The party lasted for more than three hours. When Penguin returned to his office, he found someone sitting there—Ivan Steranko.

The smile vanished from his face at once. "Steranko, who gave you permission to sit in my seat?"

Ivan Steranko rose with a smile. "Mr. Oswald, please don't be angry. After more than three hours, I needed somewhere to rest, didn't I?"

"It's already close to midnight. I don't wish to disturb your rest, so why don't we keep this brief?"

Penguin was deeply insecure about his body, but the more insecure he was, the more he wanted to act like a gentleman. It was his way of compensating psychologically.

Moreover, the Foot Clan possessed something he needed, so Oswald could only suppress his anger. "Go on. It had better not be some trivial nonsense."

"Five of my men have gone missing. I hope you can help me look into it."

Penguin immediately snapped, "That's it? You disturbed me over five pieces of trash?"

"They are not trash. You should know that I only brought a few dozen people with me when I came to Gotham. Five disappeared today; ten may disappear tomorrow. I need to know who is targeting me. And remember, you were the one who brought us into Gotham. This isn't just an attack on the Foot Clan—it's an attack on you as well."

Yet Penguin still waved him off impatiently. "I have no interest in such a minor matter. I'm busy running for mayor right now. We can talk after the election is over."

Steranko narrowed his eyes and snorted. "Mr. Oswald, that is not the attitude of a partner. Don't you want the Mutagen? Don't you want to cure your deformed body?"

Penguin suddenly flew into a rage and roared, "Do you want me to throw you into a blender? I want to see something real, not empty promises!"

"Fine. I came today precisely to show you the power of the Mutagen."

"What?"

ROAR!

With a sudden bellow, Ivan Steranko's body instantly swelled and mutated. His clothes tore apart as he transformed into Rhino.

"Do you see? This is the power of the Mutagen. It can turn people into monsters, and monsters back into people. As long as you use it, your deformed body can return to normal."

Penguin paid no attention to Steranko's disrespect. Instead, he stared at him in wild excitement. So the Foot Clan had not deceived him. It was all real. He, too, had a chance to become normal.

"Excellent. From today onward, the Foot Clan may operate openly under my banner. I don't care what you intend to do—bring me the Mutagen as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir. A pleasure doing business with you."