A Tyrant's Daily Life

The Iceberg Lounge's restaurant occupied an entire floor, its lavish decor gleaming beneath crystal chandeliers.

Chu Men sat at the head of the long dining table.

He had changed into a black casual suit.

A tomahawk steak sat before him, barely touched. Fat from the roasted lamb chops dripped down the bones onto the porcelain plate.

Lark had changed into a black-and-white maid's uniform and stood behind him to his left.

She held a tray piled with ice. Conspicuous red marks still showed on her neck and wrists.

Jay knelt beside the table with a clean hot towel in her hands. Her eyes stayed fixed on the tabletop; she did not even dare glance up at the man before her.

Penguin stood on the right.

Thick medical bandages wrapped his forehead. He hunched over, holding a bottle of exceptionally fine vintage Romanée-Conti in his remaining left hand.

He tilted the bottle, pouring deep-red wine into a stemmed glass.

"Master, seventy percent of the East End crews have switched allegiance," Penguin said, his voice dry.

Chu Men picked up his knife and fork, cut off a piece of medium-rare beef, and put it in his mouth. After chewing a few times, he raised his glass and took a sip.

"And the rest?"

The shirt on Penguin's back clung to his skin.

"The rest are controlled by veterans of the Maroni Family and the Falcone Family. They're old Mafia families with deep roots. So far, I haven't found a way to deal with them." Penguin lowered his head a little further.

The rain had not stopped in Gotham City.

It struck the one-way glass on the lounge's outer walls, gathered in the seams, and streamed downward.

Outside the Iceberg Lounge.

Five modified black SUVs rolled over shell casings and stopped in front of the main entrance.

"One-Eyed" Frank opened a black umbrella.

He wore a long, dark-gray trench coat and a leather patch over his right eye.

He was the Maroni Family's top man in the East End.

Three hard-faced neighborhood bosses followed behind him.

Dozens of enforcers poured out of the other vehicles, racking the bolts of their large-caliber shotguns.

"All the cops outside have pulled out. That fat pig Oswald must've had his whole operation torn apart." Frank prodded the remains of the armored vehicles with his gold-inlaid cane. "Go see if our Penguin boss has kicked the bucket. If he hasn't, we'll finish the job today. The East End needs a new boss."

Two enforcers stepped forward and kicked open the lounge's warped doors.

The first-floor lobby was dimly lit.

Bloodstains that had yet to be cleaned up mingled with broken glass, crunching underfoot.

Several Iceberg Lounge guards stood by the stairs and raised their rifles.

Frank closed his umbrella, tossed it to a subordinate, and strode inside.

"Where's Cobblepot?" Frank's voice echoed through the empty lobby.

"The lounge is closed. We're not seeing anyone." The head of security raised his rifle and aimed at Frank's head.

Frank let out a cold laugh.

The enforcers behind him raised their submachine guns. A burst of bullets rattled across the lobby.

The head of security took bullets in both legs and slammed to the floor.

The other guards dropped their guns and crouched against the wall with their hands over their heads.

Frank walked up, swung his cane, and brought it down hard on the head of security's skull.

Bone cracked. The guard twitched twice, then went still.

"Oswald! Get your ass out here!" Frank bellowed. "Since when does a coward like you get to run the East End?"

The enforcers spread out, smashing the glass doors of the liquor cabinets with their rifle butts. Expensive spirits shattered across the floor.

A few shotgun blasts blew half of the artificial iceberg sculpture in the center of the lobby apart.

The top floor was superbly soundproofed.

But every word and every gunshot from the first floor reached Chu Men's ears clearly.

Chu Men swallowed his beef, took the hot towel Jay offered him, and wiped his mouth.

He turned his head toward Penguin.

"Sounds lively down there. Friends of yours?"

Cold sweat ran from Penguin's forehead into the gauze beside his eyes.

Of course he knew who was down there. Frank had been his bitter rival for years.

Penguin had been planning to lure those old bastards upstairs, hoping their heavy firepower would give the monster in front of him some trouble.

"That's Frank from the Maroni Family. He leads one of the East End's old factions." Penguin swallowed. "He thinks the police raided us and came to pick over what's left. I'll deal with them."

Chu Men leaned back in his chair and gave a soft laugh at the sight of Penguin sweating.

"They're only a few insects. It would be too much trouble for a dog with a bad leg like you to run downstairs."

Chu Men lifted his eyes. His gaze pierced the floor and locked onto the first-floor lobby.

More than thirty people came into view.

Frank stood with one foot on a corpse, pointing his cane at the ceiling as he cursed.

The three neighborhood bosses stood behind him, cigars clenched between their teeth.

"People in Gotham sure are lively."

Red light gathered deep in his eyes. It flared brighter, illuminating Penguin's bloodless face.

Two narrow beams shot from Chu Men's eyes. No heat radiated from them; they carried only cutting force and destruction.

Hiss—

In the first-floor lobby.

Frank raised his cane.

"Get up there! Two million to whoever brings me Cobblepot's head!"

Two blinding red beams descended from the ceiling without warning.

They were thin and so bright no one could keep their eyes open.

Like solid blades, the beams swept down through the crowd.

The red light shifted sideways, splitting Frank in two from head to toe.

Next came the three neighborhood bosses behind him. The light sliced through their bodies without resistance.

The beams vanished.

Two cuts remained in the ceiling, their edges glowing red and smoking.

The right half of Frank's body still held his cane aloft as it toppled away from the left.

The other three bosses collapsed one after another, their skulls bursting apart across the floor.

Dozens of enforcers stood frozen in the lobby.

Submachine guns clattered to the floor, one after another.

They stared at the four headless corpses, their minds blank.

Not a living person in the lobby made a sound.

In the restaurant.

The red glow faded from Chu Men's eyes. He picked up his knife and fork again and cut into the beef.

Penguin stared at the two small holes in the carpet. The phone in his pocket began to vibrate.

He reached in with his left hand and took it out.

A subordinate's voice came through the earpiece, so panicked it broke into fragments.

"B-boss... Frank's in two pieces. The others'... heads all exploded. There was... red light cutting down from above..."

Penguin tightened his grip on the phone. He looked up at the man calmly eating his meal.

Every scheme he had entertained—using someone else to do his killing, then watching safely from the sidelines—was crushed in that instant.

From dozens of meters away, through six floors, Chu Men had precisely cut down four men.

He had not even needed to shift in his seat.

There was no reasoning with power like that, no room for schemes.

Thud.

Penguin's knees struck the floor.

He braced himself with his left hand and pressed his forehead to the edge of Chu Men's leather shoe.

Fresh waves of cold sweat broke out across his back.

"Master... I'll replace every crew in the East End with obedient dogs." Penguin's voice shook with feverish devotion. "From today on, the Iceberg Lounge answers to you and you alone!"

Chu Men swallowed the last of his wine.

He picked up the napkin on the table, wiped his hands, and casually tossed the grease-stained cloth onto Penguin's head.

"Frank was just an appetizer." Chu Men looked down at the trembling fat man. "You sent out word that I have top-secret information about the alien in Metropolis. You wanted to draw that red cape here to deal with me, didn't you?"

Penguin stopped breathing.

He had thought he had covered his tracks. He had never imagined Chu Men had seen through even that detail.

He lay facedown, his whole body trembling so badly he could not even beg for mercy.

Chu Men stood and crossed the expensive carpet toward the broad floor-to-ceiling window.

"I don't blame you." Chu Men slipped his hands into his pockets and looked out at the rainy night. "You invited my guest here. You did well."

Penguin remained on his knees, bent low over the carpet.

Chu Men sat at the head of the table and swallowed the last bite of meat.

He picked up a napkin, wiped the grease from his mouth, and tossed it casually over Penguin's head.

Penguin did not dare move.

Just then, a mechanical voice sounded in Chu Men's mind, right on time.

[System Prompt: Host has successfully established a fledgling tyrant's rule.]

[Passive skill unlocked: Toxin Immunity.]