Iceberg Lounge

The Iceberg Lounge overlooked Cape Carmine, the southern portion of narrow land leading into water. Still in uptown but very much isolated due to its lavishly rich populace. In Robbinsville, the legendary, glorious nightlife of Gotham shined in full effect here.

The Iceberg Lounge. The Iceberg Casino. The name didn't matter. Simply put, it was an infamous nightclub known to attract the worst. Although Oswald Cobblepot swatted away any claims of misconduct, many suspected his true intentions. Ordinary Gotham folk like Aaron, of course, didn't even know half of what he truly was. They assumed he was a simple businessman with a bit of corruption. They could have never guessed he was the Penguin, a master of the underworld. Now that he had stepped into the world of vigilantes and superheroes, Aaron looked up the lights and glamour of the icy blue structure with caution and great unease.

Hidden behind the iceberg-like structure, at the sea, were ships. Commerce and trade, legal and illegal, all in one place. He couldn't get a good look given the darkness of the night but he could see wisps.

There was a line-up of scantily dressed women and arrogant men at the Iceberg Lounge's large entrance. Aaron was still clad in his black trench coat, jeans, and a Colombina mask. An appearance somewhat out of place for someone heading into a revered nightclub.

He skipped the line, ignoring the passing gazes, and talked straight to the bouncers. There were three of them, all tall, burly, and wearing clean black suits. Seeing him, the bouncer to the left came up to push him back but Aaron raised the golden-edged invitation between his fingers. There was a flash of recognition and the bouncer muttered out an apology.

"I'd like immediate entry," Aaron said, cold but firm. "No time wasted."

The bouncer took the invitation and opened it up. There was a logo of the Penguin–a jaded silhouette of the flightless cold bird–and a signed signature. No words and no explanation was included. It was reasonable to assume it was a type of invitation that only a particular group understood.

According to the supplier of the invitation, it was supposed to be one of the Penguin's mercenary calls. He sent it out to whoever he deemed worthy to hire, which for someone of his calibre were far and between. Having ripped it from the hands of an **** mercenary, the supplier (the Robins' old leader who Aaron suspected to be a Bat Family member) needed someone to investigate. Apparently, the ex-leader was busy with something else, something bigger. The Robins took the mission largely out of pride, despite the fact that it would be borderline impossible for them to find out anything. That was where Aaron came in. His role was to talk to the Penguin, negotiate terms, find out what he was so afraid of, and then leave and never come back.

'If I mess this up, my life might end.'

Inspired by Cassandra, he decided to wear something cool but anonymous, a Colombina half-mask, covering the upper portion of his face. Even if he got caught, there wasn't enough information to identify him seeing as most people in Gotham had black hair and dark eyes. He could be Bruce Wayne with how little the mask showed.

The bouncer pressed on his earbud and said, "Yes, we have a 44 entry." A pause. Aaron listened carefully, focusing deeply on the earpiece. Some would say it was impossible but with enough discipline and ability it was possible to hear the tiny bluetooth.

"Do we know him?"

Because of the muffle and the fact that the voice was softly emitting from a tiny earpiece a foot away, even Aaron's keen ears couldn't identify the voice as man or woman.

"No," the bouncer replied, eyes flickering at him. Aaron, hands in his pockets, looked as cool as any criminal.