On to Penguin's club.

Having arrived on a boosted bike not five minutes ago, Selina strode through the dingy titty bar, taking it all in. What Club Iceberg lacked in class, it made up for in smoke, deafening music pumped through the speakers, and criminals, from most of the gangs and unaffiliated, packing the place.

Selina had to admit, Cobblepot had been crafty when he'd come up with his little club's gimmick. Every dancer was dressed up as a moderately sluttier version of either a costumed heroine, or a supervillainess. There was a Batgirl, straddling the lap of one of Penguin's killers. There was a latina Wonder Woman, letting a gang bind her with her own lasso. And up on the center stage was Poison Ivy, rest her soul, the stripper's green bodypaint running where patrons had shoved bills into her panties.

It made a certain amount of sense, Selina supposed. Got your ass whupped by Batwoman? Spend your first night out of jail with her grinding on you. Done some things you weren't proud of under Poison Ivy's influence? Slip one of Penguin's henchwomen a few hundreds, and take out your frustrations on her doppelganger's pussy. To that end, Selina wasn't sure if she should be flattered that there were a couple of Catwomen milling around the club, or appalled.

At the very least, it had allowed her, one of the most infamous people in Gotham, to waltz right in. Clearly, some of Penguin's dancers greatly resembled the real thing. The thought of that intrigued Selina, in a certain narcissistic way. She put it out of her mind, though. Right now, she had a job to do.

Selina might've been nervous, heading into one of the city's biggest bosses' turf alone, but her recent actions had caused her some notoriety. Reminded Gotham's underclasses that Selina Kyle wasn't someone to mess around with.

A couple of the savvier patrons and staff pegged her, but did nothing to stop her as she strode confidently to Penguin's office.