One of the private rooms within the Iceberg Lounge carried a very different atmosphere from the dining hall above.
At the center of the room, a simple table separated two sides.
On one side stood the Penguin with Alfred positioned directly behind him.
On the other stood Killer Croc, his massive frame hunched as he watched.
The Penguin held a diamond between his fingers, examining it carefully under the light.
His expression remained neutral as he turned it once, then twice, before finally setting it down.
“It’s worth fifty grand,” he said.
Without needing further words, Alfred moved toward the safe at the back of the room.
He opened it, retrieved a bundle of cash, and returned, placing fifty thousand dollars neatly in front of Killer Croc.
At that exact moment, the door opened.
Two-Face entered without ceremony and walked straight to the table, emptying a small bag onto its surface.
Jewelry scattered across the table.
“You could have waited until I was finished,” the Penguin said, clearly displeased.
“I’m in a hurry,” Two-Face replied flatly.
“And don’t you dare lowball me.” The Penguin glanced at the items briefly.
He didn’t even bother to examine them closely this time.
“I won’t lowball you,” he said.
“Two hundred grand.” Alfred turned without a word and returned to the safe.
Behind him, Killer Croc growled.
“What about me?
You’re clearly tricking me.” The Penguin raised an eyebrow.
“I’m giving you a fair price,” he said.
“I run a legitimate business now.
I have taxes, expenses… overhead.
Not to mention, there are fewer buyers willing to deal with stolen goods these days.” Two-Face let out a short, humorless sound.
“We all know how greedy you are, Penguin.” Alfred returned, carrying the cash, and stepped forward with the same composed demeanor.
“If I may interrupt, gentlemen,” he said, “Master Cobblepot does indeed have expenses that must be accounted for.” Killer Croc and Two-Face both turned their attention to him.
“For instance,” Alfred continued, “my presence here is quite costly.” He handed the two hundred thousand to Two-Face, then turned to Killer Croc.
“The price offered to you is fair, Mr.
Croc.” Killer Croc’s eyes narrowed.
A low growl escaped his throat.
“So if I kill you,” he said, “I get a better deal.” Without warning, he flipped the table between them, sending it crashing aside.
The Penguin stepped back immediately, creating distance, while Alfred remained exactly where he was, unmoving.
Alfred looked at him calmly.
“Mr.
Croc,” he said, “you are here for a fair transaction.
I strongly advise against choosing violence.” Killer Croc stepped forward, his claws flexing as he advanced.
Alfred spoke without raising his voice.
“Master Cobblepot, may I put this uncivilized client in his place?” The Penguin watched for a brief moment before responding.
“Yes.” Killer Croc lunged forward, his claws aiming for Alfred.
Alfred caught the incoming arm effortlessly.
Then with a single motion he flipped Killer Croc’s entire body, slamming him into the ground as if his size meant nothing.
Alfred stepped forward and stood over him.
“Mr.
Croc,” he said, “this is a respectable establishment.
I expect you to treat it with the same respect we have extended to you.
Do not mistake your appearance or stature for entitlement.” Killer Croc snarled, his tail lashing out in a sudden strike.
Alfred caught it with one hand.
Then, without effort yet again, he swung the massive body across the room, sending him crashing into the far side.
Killer Croc pushed himself up almost immediately, rage building, and charged once more.
This time, Alfred met him head-on.
A single punch.
Powerful enough to send the creature tumbling backward once more.
“It seems,” Alfred said, “that you fail to understand my words.” He lifted one hand.
The wires moved.
Thin lines shot forward, wrapping around Killer Croc’s body in an instant, binding his limbs and tightening around his body.
Killer Croc struggled to break free to no avail.
Alfred walked toward him at an unhurried pace.
“Mr.
Croc,” he said, “you appear to be under the impression that you are a threat to this establishment.” A slight pause.
“Allow me to correct that misunderstanding.” He clenched his fist.
The wires tightened.
Killer Croc groaned as the pressure increased, the thin lines beginning to cut slowly through his scales.
Alfred reached forward, gripping him by the neck, and lifted him off the ground.
“I can end your life quite easily,” he continued calmly.
“However, you are a valued client.” A brief pause.
“So tell me, can I expect that moving forward you will respect our establishment and its policies?” Killer Croc struggled, his breathing strained as the pressure on his neck increased.
“ye..s,” he forced out.
Alfred released him immediately.
“I am glad we have reached an understanding,” he said.
“I trust you now fully comprehend some of the expenses Master Cobblepot must account for.” Killer Croc dropped to the ground, breathing heavily, as his hand moved to his neck.
Alfred turned away from him and walked back, stopping in front of Two-Face.
“Mr.
Dent,” he said politely, “do you have any concerns regarding our policies?
I would be more than happy to address them.” Two-Face stared at him for a moment then looked at the Penguin.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“Where did you get him from?” The Penguin gave a small, satisfied smile.
“He’s a butler,” he said.
“You don’t need to worry about him.” Two-Face looked back at Alfred, studying him more carefully now.
“If you ever need a job,” he said, “you can find me.” He turned and left without another word.
A moment later, Killer Croc pushed himself up from the ground.
He walked past them, picked up his cash, and headed toward the exit.
His eyes lingered on Alfred for a moment filled with anger, resentment, but he said nothing.
“Good job,” The Penguin said.
“They won’t dare act so unruly again in this fine establishment.” He paused briefly, his eyes narrowing.
“But Alfred… since when were you this strong?” Alfred replied “I only use sufficient strength to handle situations accordingly,” he replied.
“I do not exceed what I deem necessary.” The Penguin raised an eyebrow at that.
“So you’ve been holding back this entire time?” he said.
“I suppose that fits.
You truly dislike unnecessary violence.” “It is the habit of a crude individual to rely on violence at all times,” Alfred said.
“Violence exists to answer violence.
It should remain a last resort.” The Penguin nodded slowly, considering the answer.
“Very well,” he said.
“Let us move on from that.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a ticket, handing it over.
“Here.
Tomorrow is your day off, and I thought someone with your… standards might appreciate this.” Alfred took the ticket and glanced at it.
It was an invitation to a classical orchestra performance.
“I wanted to be attending myself, but I have somewhere else to be” the Penguin added.
“It is a refined event.
Of course, this is not an order.
You are free to attend or not.” Alfred nodded his head.
“Thank you, Master.
I will consider it.” ——— The following evening, Gotham City Opera House stood illuminated, its entrance bustling with guests dressed in formal attire.
The atmosphere was nothing but prestige on display, one that drew in the upper circles of the city.
Sebastian Michaelis stepped through the entrance.
He had chosen not to appear as a butler.
Attending in that role would defeat the purpose of a day off.
Instead, he wore a tailored suit, blending seamlessly with the rest of the attendees.
His expression was neutral as he moved through the venue.
He had to admit that classical music had a certain appeal.
And beyond that, this event was a gathering of the wealthy elites, politicians, and influential figures.
The preparations were as good as it can get, from the arrangement of food to the organization of the performance.
Everything was designed to impress.
And that would elevate the experience.
Normally, such events assigned seating with strict order, but this one differed.
According to the Penguin, the purpose extended beyond music.
It encouraged interaction, conversation, and opportunity.
Sebastian understood the underlying meaning.
A place for the powerful to meet, to negotiate and to expand influence legally or otherwise.
He walked through the hall at an unhurried pace, observing the crowd, then he stopped dead in his tracks.
Standing before him was Barbara Gordon.
She wore a long black dress, her hair tied into a ponytail that rested over her shoulder.
She looked genuinely surprised.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” Sebastian replied.
“We seem to meet often.” Barbara gave a small nod.
“In the most unexpected places,” she said.
“What are you doing here?
I thought invitations were… selective.” “They are,” Sebastian said.
“I obtained mine by beating people up.” He continued.
“What about you?” Barbara raised an eyebrow.
“My father was invited,” she said.
“He brought me along.” She paused, narrowing her eyes.
“But let’s go back to how you got the ticket.
You beat people?” “Fighting ring,” Sebastian replied with a straight face.
“I performed well, won some money, and acquired a ticket from someone who preferred not to attend.” Barbara stared at him, clearly taken aback.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he continued.
“It is not so different from boxing.
Simply… less regulated.
And no, I did not kill or permanently cripple anyone.
Though I suspect some are still reconsidering their life choices.” Barbara’s expression tightened.
“You do realize I’m the commissioner’s daughter.” Sebastian shrugged lightly.
“Good luck with that info, oh great Eris.” Barbara blinked, clearly caught between confusion and annoyance.
“Eris?” she repeated.
“Did you forget my name?” Before Sebastian could respond, another voice joined them.
Commissioner Gordon stepped up beside her.
“Oh, Sebastian,” he said.
“I didn’t think I would see you here.” Sebastian offered a small, polite smile.
“Hello, Commissioner.
Yes, it is… an unexpected meeting.” Gordon glanced around briefly before returning his attention to him.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get an invite?” “I received it from someone who didn’t wish to attend,” Sebastian replied evenly.
“After work I did well.” Gordon raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so?” he said.
“And what do you do these days?” Sebastian answered.
“I am a mixed martial artist.
I drill private lessons into people about fighting.” He gave a small shrug.
“The other day went rather well despite all the violence involved, apparently well enough to earn this invitation.” The Commissioner nodded thoughtfully.
“That’s… an interesting line of work.” Sebastian said “Yeah, it is kind of rare, but it pays well and has its perks.” Beside him, Barbara stared at Sebastian with a visible frown.
The ease with which he said that to her father after what he told her, it was almost impressive in its audacity.
She was about to call him out when Sebastian turned his attention back to her.
“No,” he said.
“I did not forget.
I simply believe Eris is a far more suitable name than Barbara.” Both Barbara and Gordon looked at him.
Sebastian continued “Eris is a Greek goddess, associated with chaos, discord, and strife.
She is often depicted with red hair.” He pointed at Barbara’s hair “You have the hair.
And wherever you go… chaos tends to follow.” Barbara’s frown deepened.
Gordon said.
“You’re really committed to this idea that my daughter is cursed, aren’t you?” “Yes,” Sebastian replied.
“I am already considering leaving this venue, just in case.” Barbara crossed her arms clearly annoyed.
“You know,” she said, “that’s not funny.
You keep repeating it.” “It is not intended to be humorous,” Sebastian replied.
Before the exchange could continue, another presence approached.
Bruce Wayne.