"So, you're the Penguin?"
Adrian's calm voice carried through the dimly lit lounge. The air smelled faintly of cigars and wet pavement. He looked at the burly bodyguards beside him, placed the umbrella on the table, and sat down across from the man everyone in Gotham feared to cross.
Oswald Cobblepot — the Penguin — sat stiffly in his chair, his small eyes flickering between Adrian and the tall, long-legged woman standing beside him. Her black stockings shimmered under the dull light as she handed him a familiar top hat.
The Penguin adjusted the hat and his monocle before leaning forward with a sneer.
"Who are you supposed to be?"
Adrian smiled faintly.
"A cane, a black top hat, and a monocle — the classic Penguin look. As for me," he said, tone light but sharp, "you can call me the Umbrella Man. Or… Homelander, if you prefer."
He reclined slightly, still calm.
"Should I be honored? After all, I'm standing before the infamous Penguin himself."
"I don't like people calling me that," Cobblepot snapped, slamming his cane against the table. "I don't care who you are — Umbrella Man or Homelander. Do you have any idea what happens to men who cross me?"
"Actually, I don't," Adrian replied smoothly. "Let me guess — Blackgate Penitentiary? Ten long years in a cell, swallowed by darkness?"
The moment he spoke those words, Penguin's expression twisted with rage. That wound — ten years locked away, betrayed and forgotten — was one he never forgave.
"You bastard!" Penguin roared. "Kill him! Now!"
The two massive bodyguards lunged forward. Adrian didn't even rise from his seat.
His eyes flared — twin beams of searing orange-red light erupted, slicing through the air. The walls glowed where the beams touched, the floor cracked beneath the heat.
When the light faded, both men lay motionless — their bodies split cleanly apart. Blood soaked into the expensive carpet.
The room fell silent.
Penguin's eyes went wide with disbelief. The woman in black stockings froze, her trembling hand clutching her purse.
Before Penguin could act, Adrian was already in front of him — too fast for the eye to follow. One hand gripped the mob boss's throat and lifted him effortlessly into the air.
Penguin's short legs kicked helplessly. His face turned red as he choked out, "Wh-who are you?!"
Adrian tilted his head slightly, a faint, amused smile on his lips.
"You look like you're in pain, Mr. Cobblepot."
Fear overtook the mobster's anger. For decades, he had ruled Gotham's underworld — but never had he faced something like this. A man with heat vision and impossible speed. Something beyond human.
"You're surprised," Adrian said softly. "I thought Gotham's kingpin would have made peace with death by now."
He released his grip. Penguin collapsed to the floor, coughing violently.
"Death?" Penguin spat blood and struggled to his feet. "In Gotham, the elegant are fools, loyalty gets you betrayed, and heroes get crippled while villains run the streets. Death isn't mercy here — it's a luxury."
He gave a hollow laugh, forcing back his fear.
Adrian chuckled.
"Quoting Shakespeare now, are we?"
He turned his gaze toward the woman in black stockings, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
"So the rumors were true — the Penguin does have a taste for poetry."
Then his demeanor shifted, the killing intent fading from his aura.
"Relax, Mr. Cobblepot. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to make a deal."
Penguin hesitated, clutching his bruised throat.
"What kind of deal?"
"I have gold, silver, and other precious metals. I want U.S. dollars in exchange. All you need to do is handle the conversion quietly. Circulate the metals through your network. You're good at that."
Adrian pulled a silver coin from his jacket and tossed it lightly to him.
"That's your token. Don't lose it."
Penguin caught it — and froze. Stamped on its surface was a stylized owl.
"The Court of Owls…" he whispered. His voice trembled slightly. "You're working with them?"
"Oh? So you've heard of them," Adrian said, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
"That was years ago," Penguin muttered, his eyes distant. "I tried to find them once — the secret society that runs Gotham from the shadows. I threw banquets, made threats, and still they stayed hidden."
Adrian waved a hand dismissively.
"I'm not interested in your life story, Oswald."
He stood, adjusting his coat.
"The metals will be delivered soon. Prepare the cash. Then, invite those same powerful families you once courted as mayor. At the dinner, show them the coin."
Penguin's eyes widened.
"You're trying to draw them out — the Court?"
Adrian smiled faintly.
"Not my concern. That's Batman's problem. I just want my money."
He picked up his umbrella and glanced toward the rain-streaked window.
"You're smart, Oswald. Stay that way. Don't do anything stupid."
And with that, he left the Iceberg Lounge.
Penguin sat there, motionless, the silver coin gleaming in his trembling hand.
Outside, the rain poured harder.
Back at his hotel, Adrian placed his umbrella by the door. The
phone rang almost immediately.
He smiled faintly.
"Let's see who's first."