EPISODE 3: THE PENGUIN

Oswald Cobblepot was a child of privilege. And he had grown into a short, stout man with a tense brow, a pointed nose and an awkward gait. This set of traits earned him the nickname "penguin" in his childhood, and it stuck with him well into his adult life. Times were tough, even for Oswald. In the last few years, he had to lay off nearly half of his workforce from his family's shoe business, but more importantly, he lost nearly half of his profits. So Oswald had to think on his grubby feet for an alternative. That thinking manifested into using his shoe business as a front for a weapons dealing organization in addition to the small amount of operations that remained. He saw that the people of Gotham were getting fearful, so he sold them guns. And when crime went up, people wanted more. So he gave the people what they wanted. Now the Cobblepot Shoe Factory in Old Gotham functioned as a warehouse of weapons in the most dangerous neighborhood in the city.

Oswald sat at his desk with his legs kicked up, the left over the right. His chimney black top hat sat on his maple wood desk next to his leather shoes of the same color. Grey pinstripe trousers led up to a white button up shirt that clung tightly to his large frame. His pale skin peaked through this outfit in two places: his disproportionately large hands, which were crossed over his chest and his big head and wide neck. A lit cigar was jammed between his thin lips as smoke wafted past his long nose. Oswald felt the cold air coming in through the window behind him. He had always hated Gotham winters. He had always wondered what it would be like to move down South. But his business was here. His whole life was spent here. His money was here. Despite the harsh winters and dangerous streets, Gotham had provided him a life of luxury that he would not trade for anything. His train of thought was interrupted as he heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Oswald asked politely.

"It's me, Mr. Cobblepot." A feminine voice sounded through the door.

"Come in, Tracey." Oswald said with a slightly flirtatious tone. "And how many times do I have to say it? Call me Oswald, I'm not some 'Mr. Cobblepot'." He said, making fun of her delivery of the line. Tracey entered the room. She wore a nervous expression as she always did when she entered his office.

"Okay…Oswald." She said as her gaze shot to the floor. She hated it when he smoked inside.

"What's the news, Tracey?" Oswald asked with a smirk on his pale face.

"Your address to the 'company workers' is about to start." She said.

"Oh, that's right. How could I forget such a thing?" Oswald said, slowly drawing emphasis on every syllable as he plopped his heavy feet back on the ground. The two heard a subtle crash coming from the vents above. They turned to look at the vents expectantly, but nothing happened.

"Guess the vents are tired too." Oswald said with a smile and he waddled towards the door with Tracey a couple of steps behind him.

Oswald made his way into the work floor at the Cobblepot Shoe Factory. The walls were a beige color and vacant machinery adorned the room. In the center there were about one hundred chairs filled with men in shabby clothing. Cheekbones and shoulder blades were visible as many of the men were shivering as they were ill-equipped to handle the cold in the current clothes that they were wearing. Oswald waddled in the room and greeted everyone there with an enthusiastic roar of excitement. He made his way to a makeshift stage that was assembled using layers of old boxes.

"My friends," He said authoritatively. "I thought that tonight would be a great night to boost morale for our booming little business. Since Cobblepot Shoes has started its new operations, I have been able to bring back one hundred jobs in security and 'asset protection' to our company. This is not just a win for me, but it is a win for all of us. For you and your families. For once again you all are working a living wage. In these times it's important to remember that most are not as fortunate as all of you. And the delivery of our new goods cannot be done without your sacrifice and adjustment to our new unconventional working hours." He paused as he flipped the page of the piece of paper he had pulled from his pinstriped sport coat. The men in the room who were initially shivering with fear and guilt were now warmed with the idea that they were in fact helping their families with their work.

"And we are doing good work, my friends. The city of Gotham has never been safer than it is with so many citizens now being able to protect themselves with the assets that we are delivering to them. We are the true heroes of this depression. We are putting power back into the hands of the people of Gotham. While the snobby elites are at their parties, sipping cocktails, we are the ones working to protect the people when no one else will. I am just like you. Like you, I spend many hours of my day working to protect Gotham and its people. We are all making sacrifices, but we are all working towards a brighter future for Gotham. Now aren't we all excited about that?" He asked, motioning out to the crowd. He saw heads nod and heard the initial whispers of applause that grew into a massive wave of cheering and shouting.

"Now, let's get down to the task at hand," He said as he calmed the audience down by lowering his hands. "We have a new shipment of various models handguns coming in next Tuesday night at eleven o'clock. They'll be perfect for people wanting to be more inconspicuously protected. I will need some of you to deliver the goods from Pier 7 on the harbor in East Gotham. I will need some of you to move with the truck to defend it from any sort of trouble from law enforcement. And I will need some of you to unload the product back here. Your team leaders will help you find your place in this operation. But remember, keep tight lips on this. Or must I remind you that you are all employees of the Cobblepot Shoe Company, and we have all of your information on file. And if any word of our little rendezvous gets out, you could be the next Andy Peterson. We all remember what happened to him, don't we?" Oswald said sneering at the crowd. "But let's get to it, boys! We have an important job to do. Think of your families. Think of Gotham's families. We are all one family!" Oswald announced as he raised his fists to the sound of thunderous applause coming from the hundred men sitting before him. He waddled off stage and back in the direction of his office. On his way out, Oswald noticed a small window flapping in the wind.

"And could somebody close this window for me? I have a lot to work to do!" He said as he disappeared into the double doors that lead out of the floor room. One man ran over to the window to close it. And just on the other side of the window, Bruce clung tightly to the metal roof connected to the brick wall of the Cobblepot Shoe Factory. His leather cape was billowing in the wind.

"Pier 7…hmm." Bruce said as he dove off of the building towards the street below.