Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, better known in Gotham as the Penguin, was a man who took pride in what he had built.
Not just as a criminal, but as someone of a higher class.
He had seen everything the city had to offer, done everything worth doing in the underworld, and survived long enough to understand how things worked and how important it is to adapt to changes.
After years of chaos, he had moved to the next stage of his career.
The Iceberg Lounge stood as the result of that decision.
A posh, high-end club that catered to Gotham’s elite, wrapped in luxury and sophistication.
To the public, it was a legitimate business.
To those who knew better, it was simply a more elegant front for his operations.
By presenting himself as a reformed villain, he reduced scrutiny, lowered guards, and created distance between himself and the crime that defined Gotham’s streets.
Batman still interfered from time to time, but it was nothing compared to the relentless pressure Cobblepot had faced when he had been openly…more theatrical in his approach to crime.
Things began to fall into a calm stable routine.
Until one day, he had received a visitor unlike any other.
A man in a mask.
Claiming to be a high-end butler, and he was applying for employment.
The Penguin had been ready to dismiss him immediately.
Gotham had no shortage of lunatics, and this one spoke with a strange mix of politeness and arrogance.
His tone was respectful, but his posture carried a certain pride, as if being a butler was the most noble profession in existence.
It was absurd.
Until the man decided to prove himself.
What followed had been a clear demonstration.
He had taken down every man the Penguin had in the room, bare-handed.
Even his three most trusted birds, Jay, Raven, and Lark had fallen just as easily.
The Penguin had understood it then, this was no ordinary individual.
At the very least, his skill in combat rivaled Batman.
The price the man demanded for his services had been high.
But given what he had shown, it was worth it.
Now, the Penguin sat alone in his office, staring at the back of his hand.
The mark.
The butler had called it as a proof of their connection.
A binding agreement between them.
The terms were simple and straightforward.
The butler would carry out all orders to the best of his ability and beyond that.
He would exceed expectations.
Deliver perfection.
In return, the Penguin would pay him.
And if either side broke the agreement, the consequences would be severe based on the intent.
The mark would deliver a punishment, possibly death.
the Penguin tapped his fingers lightly against his desk, considering it.
The idea that such a thing could be enforced so absolutely was… scary.
But if it was true, then he had gained something invaluable.
A henchman who could not betray him.
A man bound by some sort of absolute magic.
A man bound not only by money, but by something far more absolute.
And on his side, the Penguin had no intention of violating the contract.
Afterall, he was a refined gentleman of crime.
The price was insignificant compared to what he received.
And the results had been immediate.
Unexpectedly, from the first day, the butler had taken control of the Iceberg Lounge’s internal operations.
He moved through the establishment with quiet authority, managing staff, resolving conflicts before they escalated, handling difficult clients without disruption.
Security had improved.
Efficiency had improved.
Even The Penguin’s personal comfort had been elevated.
The person hired for his combat ability had improved everything almost immediately.
Moreover, this person didn’t tire or sleep, he was like a machine working all day and night non-stop.
A week in, the difference was like the distance between sky and earth.
The Penguin leaned back in his chair comfortably.
He had worked with many men over the years.
But none like this.
For the first time, he had a truly competent subordinate.
And yet, there was one detail he found… curious.
The man’s insistence that he was not a henchman.
He had corrected it firmly the moment it was implied.
He was a butler and nothing else.
And any suggestion otherwise was, in his words, “an insult.” The Penguin frowned, considering that peculiar sense of pride.
The penguin muttered “perhaps that was the difference between a man playing a role and a true master of the profession.” Still, he couldn’t help but worry this person was a spy or up to something behind his back.
So he had kept a close watch on him and reviewed all his actions carefully.
A soft knock echoed against the door of the office breaking the Penguin out of his thoughts.
He said.
“Enter.” The door opened without a sound.
The butler stepped in, composed as ever, carrying a tray neatly arranged with letters and ledgers.
“Master Cobblepot,” he said, placing the tray gently on the desk, “I have brought you the day’s reports.
I have already sorted them based on priority, highlighting what requires your immediate attention.” The Penguin glanced at the tray, then reached for the first document.
He read it and frowned.
“The Marconi family,” he said slowly, “is attempting to sell guns in our territory?” “Yes,” the butler replied.
“I discovered their activity during a routine check.
I have already dismantled their operation, confiscated their goods, and secured their personnel.” The Penguin’s eyes lifted.
“They had four distribution points,” the butler continued.
“This indicates a coordinated effort, not a subordinate acting independently.
You have sufficient grounds to demand an explanation, along with compensation for the disruption caused.” He gestured toward the documents.
“I have listed all associated costs, including projected long-term impact.” The Penguin said nothing as he flipped through the pages.
It was a thorough report.
He set it aside to check again later.
“And I must add they lacked even the most basic courtesy expected of criminals of their standing.
I am afraid such poor manners reflect badly on organized crime as a whole.
If I may suggest, you might consider addressing their etiquette during negotiations” Henchmen… etiquette training?
The Penguin paused at this strange notion.
But he quickly recovered and said “I will see what I can do about that.” Then he moved to the next matter.
It was a request.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Additional accountants?” he asked.
“Why do I need more accountants?” “I conducted a review of our financial records,” the butler replied.
“There are several inconsistencies.
The current accountant has been siphoning small amounts over the past year.” The Penguin’s expression darkened.
“While the total sum is not significant,” the butler continued, “the method is problematic.
The discrepancies could attract attention from the IRS.
I have already filed a correction under the pretense of clerical error and adjusted the reported taxes accordingly.
This should prevent legal complications.” A brief pause.
“However, additional oversight is necessary to ensure this does not occur again.
Or at a minimum, have accountants qualified enough to siphon money without causing legal trouble” The Penguin nodded once.
He turned to the next set of documents.
Another report.
Suppliers analysis and cost breakdowns, including alternative sources.
He scanned the pages, noting the numbers, the margins, the projections.
A reduction of thirty percent, without compromising quality.
The Penguin leaned back, still holding the papers.
Then he looked at the butler.
“I will admit,” he said, voice measured, “when I told you to make improvements, I did not expect… this.” He gestured toward the stack of documents.
“You uncovered internal theft, external encroachment, and optimized my operations, all within days.” A pause.
“How are you doing all of this?
I want to know.” [Don’t say because you are butler] The Penguin thought.
The butler answered immediately “If I couldn’t do this much for my master, what kind of butler would I be?
To fail at such simple tasks would bring shame upon butlers everywhere.” The same answer he always received, he had never heard of butlers acting anywhere near competent as this man.
The crime boss stared at him silently for a few moments before speaking.
“Why are you a butler?” he asked.
“With your capabilities, you could run your own operation.” The answer came without delay.
“My passion has always been to be a butler,” the man replied.
“I have traveled extensively to master the skills needed for this noble profession.
I have pushed myself to the extreme to reach this level, and I continue to refine my skills.” A slight incline of his head.
“It would be a crime of the highest order to settle for anything less.” The Penguin nodded “I see.”‘ [How does this guy’s brain work?] The Penguin thought confused internally.
He placed the papers back on the desk.
“Good work,” he said.
“You are truly embodying the spirit of your profession.” “Thank you, Master,” the butler replied.
The Penguin waved a hand lightly.
“You may return to… whatever it is you think needs doing.
I will review the documents and inform you if I require further assistance.” The butler bowed.
Then turned and left the office.
The door closed.
The Penguin sat in silence for a few seconds, eyes resting on the reports before him.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
“he’s completely insane,” he muttered.
A small smile formed.
“But he is too useful.” ——— Hours later at night, the Penguin stepped into his office after a meeting with the Marconi Family’s representative.
It had taken longer than expected, but the outcome was satisfactory.
They had understood the implications of their mistake, encroaching on another’s territory was not something that could be brushed aside lightly, not in a city where every family waited for an excuse to weaken another.
In the end, they agreed to pay a considerable sum to smooth things over.
It was the most logical resolution; a war would have cost them far more than what he demanded.
He had barely taken a few steps toward his desk when he noticed the door of the balcony, it was open.
He was certain it had been closed when he left.
Years of experience in Gotham had taught him what this meant.
“Batman,” he said, without raising his voice.
“I know you are here.” The response came from the shadows near the bookshelves.
“Penguin.
I have a few questions for you.” The Penguin turned his head, his eyes settling on the dark figure standing there.
The Penguin let out a faint sigh, more annoyed than concerned.
“What do you want now?” he asked.
“I turned a new leaf, I am completely into legitimate business now, and I am sure I’ve done nothing recently to justify your uninvited visit.” Batman did not answer immediately.
Instead, he began to walk forward, each step deliberate and measured.
Cobblepot did not retreat.
He remained where he stood, his posture firm.
“What is Marconi family planning?” Batman asked as he closed the distance.
“They’ve been making moves, and you’re involved.” Cobblepot’s expression remained unchanged.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he replied evenly.
“Leave.” Batman’s hand moved without warning.
He grabbed Cobblepot by the front of his coat and forced him back onto the desk, the impact shifting the papers scattered across its surface.
Leaning forward, Batman’s gaze narrowed.
“You will tell me,” he said, “one way or another.” Cobblepot barely had time to react before the situation changed.
A sudden force pulled Batman away from him.
His body was thrown back across the room, his body scraping against the floor before he regained his footing a few meters away.
The crime boss looked at his side, his butler stood beside him.
“Apologies, Master,” he said.
“I should have noticed the intruder earlier.” The boss glanced past him, watching as Batman had already recovered, his attention now fully fixed on the butler.
The butler turned around, placing himself between The Penguin and the Dark Knight.
“Mr.
Batman,” he said, “I had been persuaded, no doubt by some most charitable misapprehension, that even a gentleman so ardently devoted to nocturnal exhibition might retain the faintest acquaintance with those rudiments of conduct by which society distinguishes itself from the gutter; yet your present display suggests a deficiency so profound that one is left to wonder whether such notions were never imparted, or merely found beyond your capacity to retain.” [What?
Was that an insult?] Penguin thought confusedly, his brain failing behind.
Batman narrowed his eyes.