Absolute Obedience

On the security feed, the elevator doors opened.

A man stepped out and came down the corridor toward the secure room.

Penguin's breathing quickened. A harsh, ragged rasp came from his throat.

His bladder spasmed. Warm liquid poured out beyond his control, running down his pant legs and pooling on the floor in a glaring yellow stain.

The smell of urine filled the room.

The dozen or so armed men around him kept their eyes fixed ahead. Not one dared glance down at the stain.

Every gaze was locked on the secure room's half-meter-thick alloy-steel door.

One man's fingers trembled. The barrel of his submachine gun tapped against the ballistic plate on his chest.

Footsteps stopped outside the door.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three knocks, evenly spaced.

Everyone in the secure room shuddered.

The two gunmen at the front went weak at the knees and dropped to the floor.

Their guns fell beside them. Neither dared reach for one.

Penguin opened his mouth, his jaw shaking violently. He wanted to order them to open the door, but no sound came out.

Creeeak—

Metal shrieked as it twisted.

The three wrist-thick steel bolts were crushed from the other side, bent, and torn apart.

The half-meter-thick alloy blast door bulged inward. Then an overwhelming force wrenched it aside and slammed it into the wall.

Plaster broke away. Dust filled the air.

Chu Men stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets.

He walked in, looked at Penguin trembling in the corner, then glanced at the puddle on the floor.

Chu Men frowned and waved a hand twice in front of his nose.

"Little Penguin, the people you arranged were pretty good." Chu Men stepped around the puddle and headed for the coffee table. "They knew their business."

Penguin looked up into his utterly impassive eyes, trembling all over.

"But you've been getting a little too clever."

The moment he finished speaking, two thin beams of searing light shot out and struck the center of Penguin's forehead.

Sizzle—

White smoke rose with the sound of burning flesh.

"Aaaah!"

Penguin screamed and fell backward.

His remaining left hand flew toward his forehead, only to jerk away before touching it, driven back by the heat.

A coin-sized brand, its edges blackened, had burned deep into his flesh. It bore the word "slave."

"That's your punishment." The red glow faded from Chu Men's eyes.

He looked down at the fat man quivering on the floor.

Pain tore through every nerve, but Penguin forced himself over onto his knees.

Bang!

His forehead struck the floor tiles hard.

"Th-thank you for this gift, Master!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He slammed his head against the floor again and again, spattering blood.

He did not dare stop. One raised hand from Chu Men, and he could be reduced to charcoal.

The dozen or so men in the room stared, their minds blank.

The cunning, ruthless boss who controlled half of Gotham's underworld had cast aside every shred of dignity. He lay on the floor, frantically bowing his head and begging for mercy.

Thump.

No one knew who went first. One after another, knees hit the floor.

The dozen or so heavily armed gangsters knelt in a row.

They bowed their heads to their chests, deliberately slowing even their breathing.

Chu Men stepped over Penguin and went to the large leather chair that symbolized his power. He turned and sat down.

He leaned back, crossed his legs, and rested them on the edge of the coffee table.

"From now on..." Chu Men tapped his fingers lightly against his thigh.

The taps echoed through the deathly silent room.

Penguin stopped bowing. He lay against the floor, one ear pressed to the cold tile.

"You and every asset, every territory, every force under your name..." Chu Men leaned forward, looking down at his bloodied head. "All of it belongs to me."

"Yes... all of it is yours!" Penguin said hoarsely, without a moment's hesitation.

"I'm a fair man." Chu Men leaned back. "I won't be unreasonable. You can keep managing things. I'll leave you zero point one percent of each day's earnings. What do you think?"

Zero point one percent.

If they made ten million in a day, he would get only ten thousand.

And he would still have to cover the daily expenses of the entire Iceberg Lounge and his East End operation.

He would be paying out of his own pocket to be someone else's slave.

Penguin raised his head. Blood and cold sweat covered his face, but he forced a smile and nodded repeatedly.

"It's wonderful! Thank you for your generosity, Master! All praise to you!"

He swallowed hard.

He kept voicing his fervent agreement, terrified that if he answered half a second too late, Heat Vision would slice off his head.

Chu Men lowered his gaze to the crime boss before him: one arm gone, a slave brand on his forehead, his body filthy.

"I'm... generous, aren't I?"

"Generous! You're the most generous master in the world!" Penguin agreed at once.

His fat shook violently as he spoke.

Chu Men stood.

"But..." He walked to the doorway and stopped. "Don't let there be a next time."

Only when the elevator doors closed again did the crushing pressure in the room finally lift.

All the strength left Penguin's body, and he collapsed flat on the floor.

He gasped for air. His men remained on their knees, too afraid to rise, much less help him up.

He lay there, the wound on his forehead making his facial muscles twitch with pain. The submission and fear on his face gradually faded.

In their place came utter fury and humiliation.

Zero point one percent of the earnings. A humiliating brand on his forehead.

He clenched his teeth until his molars cracked.

He hoped the information he had sent out earlier would do some good.

He would muddy every corner of Gotham's waters.

He would bring the GCPD, the lunatics in Blackgate Penitentiary, even those reclusive monsters down on this demon.

He wanted to watch the bastard get torn to pieces.

The night grew deep.

What had happened at the Iceberg Lounge could not be contained, especially with Penguin deliberately spreading the word.

News raced through every channel in the underworld.

In an underground arms warehouse in the East End, a bearded gang boss took a call. As he listened to the report, the cigar slipped from his fingers onto his crotch. It burned a hole in his pants, but he did not notice.

At a money-laundering center in the South End, a sharply dressed executive read the message on his computer and immediately hit the safe's emergency lock button.

An unknown man had stormed the heart of the East End alone.

Not only had he emerged unscathed, he had forced Penguin, the once-untouchable king of the underworld, to kneel and bow his head, surrendering absolute control of the Iceberg Lounge.

Gotham's underworld was shaken to its core.

Many factions that had planned to seize territory in the chaos pulled their people back.

That same night, they issued orders at the highest level forbidding their men from going anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge.

Meanwhile, at GCPD headquarters, in the commissioner's office,

Gordon stood before his desk.

He studied an anonymous encrypted email on his computer screen.

His face had never looked so grim.

The email contained the last security footage from Arkham's second basement level.

Red light filled the frame, with wreckage strewn across the floor.

Beneath it was a clearly written address.