The Iceberg Lounge was a well known establishment in Gotham City. Not in any favorable light. At least to individual's with a morally just system in place or any respect for the law. For others it was the perfect place to mingle with like-minded people. Either way, regardless of one's personal affliction towards the establishment it was still infamous and driving. During the day socialites and politicians alike would flock to the Iceberg Lounge, attend parties, gamble, drink and waste their day's away in a setting that only the rich could afford leaving on a positive note. However, during the night that where the not so subtle true intentions for the place came to light. Where, organized crime was the name of the game. Weapons deals, heists or any schemes would be the common talk. Anyone would be welcomed, if they could pay high enough and weren't afraid of possibly leaving in a body bag. It was a business, one that was only allowed to exist because it's owner although as vile, cruel, corrupt and bloodthirsty as he is, was in essence a coward who provided valuable information if persuaded in the right circumstances.

It was in the early morning hours, before the establishment would open for business that crime boss the Penguin would be in for the fright of his life. The hefty man was not one easily cowed, unless a certain Bat vigilante was involved. At least that used to be the case. Oswald Cobblepot, despite all his flaws could easily be described as determined. A go-getter type. He had risen to the top of the criminal underworld after the fall of the Crime families Falcone and Maroni were taken down by the Bat vigilante in the crime fighter's first year under the cowl. And, Oswald took an opportunity when it was left out for him to grab. Now, many didn't dare cross him unless they had a death wish. Even still, he had his enemies that wasn't a man dressed as a Bat or the Gotham City Police Department. Rivals that wanted to see his abrupt end as much as he envisioned the same.

This morning however, would make the likes of Two Face and Black Mask seem like a mere annoyance than the person or more accurately speaking thing he would meet today.

It started as business as usual. Preparing the final touches for a meeting tonight to discuss the weapons deal that has been months in the planning. One that could turn Gotham into ashes under the boots of who paid the highest price. Although, his making blood money schemes were almost made void by the Bat and his partner Robin. The child being more of a hindrance and had managed to take down five of his warehouses all by himself. It would be admirable work, if it happened towards his rivals instead of himself. But, the child had stopped meddling or as the rumor mill was going around vanished altogether three weeks ago. Whatever the cause, Oswald would have bought whoever was responsible a drink every night in his establishment for a year if he knew them. A thought, he'd quickly change his mind when that became a reality.

When he had finished setting up the arrangements to meet at the Gotham pier, the Penguin was ready to open for business as was the norm with needing to keep appearances. His four bodyguards trailing close behind him as he made it into the main dining room. Only, to be stopped in his movements when his gaze landed on a sight that made his blood burn. A woman sat at his private table, martini in hand, that she didn't seem to be drinking, acting as if she belonged there. Normally, this wouldn't have caused as much alarm as it did, but he was a paranoid man -for good reason- to not see the red-flags that something was amiss.

That and the fact of how she even got in here in the first place when he gave specific orders not to allow patrons in until he was good and ready. Which meant that there was disobedience in those he hired and that slight against his title as mob boss would not go unpunished.

Turning his attention to the men next to him ready to reprimand them, perhaps have his establishment open later due to needing to clean blood off the floors, that's when the oddity of this day started to make itself known.

"Alright mates, who was the one that let the minx in?" His blood pressure skyrockets by their confused looks at each other and then at him. As if the day has finally come that he's lost his mind.

"Who ya talkin' about boss?" Joey or more accurately who used to be Joey until the sharp end of an umbrella is being stabbed through his neck asks.

The other three men are taken back by the death of one of their own. Although, it wasn't a new occurrence, they couldn't understand the reasoning behind it this time. Their fearful steps back only make the Penguin more on edge and paranoid. Only confirming his suspicions that there were traitors in his mix. A thought, that was driving him insane as today was not the time to come to this realization when he needed everything to go according to plan.

"Right, any more idiotic questions? No? Well then, let me ask again. Who let the minx in here" No one answers his question. To afraid to say the wrong thing, and right when he's about to fly off the handles, the sound of shrill laughter catches his attention. His head snaps so quickly to the table that he might get whiplash. Eyes narrowing at the lithe form of the woman. Rage seething to the boiling point.

"What's so funny!" He shouts out, making the other men jump in surprise.

"Boss?" One asks cautiously only to be ignored when the woman answers the original question.

"You are, Pengy," she mocks his status with a nickname; only making the mob boss even more murderous. She raises her filled glass to him, one hand sweeping away a stray green curl from her forehead. Smiling, she adds. "Isn't it obvious yet, that those fine blokes can't even see me?" Another giggle. "Perhaps, I'm just a figment inside your mind. Maybe, you're going crazy," her slender finger does a spinning motion by her head to emphasize her point. "Doesn't matter. What does, is you and I have a business proposition to discuss. So, why don't you tell your men to bugger off," she mocks his feigned accent, "or kill them, that was a nice sight too, and have a seat. I promise, you'll like what I have to say." She tips her glass towards the seat in-front of her.

Despite the mocking tone of the woman, the words business proposition did pipe his interest; just slightly. He wasn't naive though. He didn't trust her. Not one bit. The majority of individuals who wanted to deal with him, knew the rules he set in place, if they didn't they learned. And, there was the added fact that his men were oblivious to her presence. Which only led to two possibilities to that cause in his mind. One, they were faking it to make him drop his guard and there would be an attempt on his life. That was the worst possibility to him, although the second one wasn't as flattering as well. The minx might also be controlling him men in some form. Oswald knew that possibility was probable. He's seen firsthand what the likes of Poison Ivy could do. So, that didn't make this situation any better. Whichever it was, he didn't fear her.

He should have and would come to learn that very thing shortly.

"Why should I be bothering with what you might have to offer?" He simply replies. Ready to spill her blood at a moment's notice. His grip on the handle of his umbrella tightening. Her gaze glances at his grip and her smile grows.

His men seem even more perplexed as they mutter to themselves unnoticed.

"Because," she gives a shrug. "It's about dealing with this city's Bat infestation."

That's the only thing that Oswald needed to hear to be convinced to spend what little time he was willing on this woman. He moves forward. Not even shooting his men a look as he commands. "You boys, can go," a pause. "Tell the cooks to bring me my breakfast."

Neither men question the oddity of their employer's actions. Preferring to get away from the man they all thought went crazy and save their own skins. Only giving an affirmative and leaving the room as fast as they could without being noticeable that they were fleeing.

Oswald takes his seat across from her. Still holding onto his umbrella. One single wrong move of hers and he wouldn't hesitate to leave a bloody mess behind. Now, that he was closer he could make out her features in more detail. She was pale; deathly so. Her hair was short and green, same color as her eyes and dress. Her makeup however caught his attention. The blue eye-shadow and the very odd choice of two red lines running down her face. Her ruby painted lips split into a wide grin when she caught sight of his staring.

Gotham really did bring out the crazies. He thinks to himself.

"I normally don't do business with people who don't bother telling me who they are. Let alone those who sneak into my club." He comments after closing in on a minute of both sizing each other up. Making it clear he had no patience for games. That she was on thin ice when it came to him.

She places a hand to her chest. Giving an aghast expression. He knew when someone was putting on an act; this time was no different.

"Forgive my rudeness," She didn't sound apologetic at all. "I'm Bianca Steeplechase. Perhaps, you've heard of me?" Her finger slides against the rim of her drink. A smirk on her lips.

Oswald has in fact never heard of her. Not even once and he did know most of the criminals in Gotham. At least the ones who made a name for themselves. And, his belief that this woman could offer anything useful towards finally putting an end to Batman was dwindling to non-existence. With it, his mercy of letting this woman live and make a mockery of him.

"Can't say that I have." He says not friendly in the least.

"Hmm, pity," she states more to herself. "Although, unsurprising. If you were around last time I was," a pause. "you could say, active in Gotham, I doubt I would have paid much attention to you either." Her remark is biting. Causing Penguin to slam his hand on the table and lean forward in anger. She doesn't seem phased at all by the action. Just spinning her drink in her hand.

"I'll warn you this once, watch that tongue of yours before you lose it. I won't be made a fool of in my establishment." Penguin growls out. Spittle hitting the table cloth on the table.

She's silent for a moment. Then says, "Pliers or a knife?" the question catches him off guard.

"What?" He raises a brow.

"To cut out my tongue. Would you use pliers or a knife? Could try crushed glass, I suppose, but that method is a tad messy," she glances to the side as a woman walks out carrying a platter of food. "It's a nice choice, if you want to paint a pretty canvas." she hums to herself in thought.

Before, Penguin could respond his waitress places the platter on the table. She waits for a terse moment expecting an order -maybe a thank you- only to be waved off and receive a scowl for her troubles. Oswald doesn't touch the food brought out to him though, keeping his gaze locked on the woman in front of him. He waits until the sound of a door closing to speak up towards his uninvited guest.

"You talk as if you've tried those methods before," Penguin doubts that very thing. As off as the woman might seem, he still wasn't entirely convinced of what she might be capable of. His doubts being very misplaced in this instance.

A frown graces that chalk white countenance of hers. "Me?" A shake of her head. "Nah, I would prefer much more creative means for that type of fun." She sounds offended at his implications. As if it's beneath her. "All I was doing if offering some pointers." Her smile returns. Now Penguin is the one left insulted by her blatant audacity.

"Save them for someone else," he scoffs. "I don't need advice from some nobody who as far as I can see is all talk and no bite," He sneers at her. Thinking himself above her. "Claim as you might to have been active in Gotham before to be of noteworthy, I still doubt that proclamation. You really come off as more of a loon than anything else."

For only a moment does Oswald feel like he's turned the tables on his company. His ignorance clouding his judgment and the need to feel superior is more over reaching than it should have been. Although it doesn't last when she starts laughing. Seemingly, more amused than feeling put down like he was aiming for. His grip tightens even more on the handle of his umbrella. Ready to pump her full of lead and go about his day. Unawares that would not go as well as he thinks it would.

Not with her.

Never with her.

When she calms down enough for her laughing fit to subside, she casts him a smirk that's crazed instead of charming, and Penguin can't help the shiver that runs down his spine at the sight. "What even classifies as a loon these days anyway?"

"Excuse me?" He responds.

"The definition seems muddled now," musing more to herself than the one she's speaking to. "I mean, just look at this putrid city!" She exclaims loudly. Causing a start to Penguin's heart. Her voice seemingly to come from everywhere around him that he tries to reason is just an echo; nothing more. "How much that's changed over the years. How could anyone even determine who's bat shit crazy and who's not, when everywhere someone looks there's a person dressed in some flashy costume? So, many of them, in fact, that it's astounding people aren't tripping over them left and right!" Gesturing with her hand towards Oswald she adds. "And, all those clever alias that they come up with! Ha! Like look at you! Who in their right mind would ever be intimidated by someone who calls themselves Penguin?" She snaps her fingers, letting out another snicker. "Yet, in Gotham people are! It's complete lunacy! Oh! How I love it!" More loud chortles finishes her small speech and Penguin is just left sitting there staring wide eyed at her.

Oswald has dealt with all sorts of people in his time in Gotham, yet right now he feels none could compare to this woman sitting in front of him. The more time he spends around her, the more he wants her to leave. Beating around the bush didn't suit him in the least and right now he felt this conversation was going nowhere fast. As if she only came here in an attempt to drive him off the walls. Time being wasted was one of his biggest pet-peeves and his patience has finally reached the breaking point. Once she stops laughing he doesn't hesitate to make this known.

"I'm a very busy man and all you're doing is squandering my precious time, get to the point or leave." His glare leaves no room for argument.

"Aren'tcha going to eat?" She asks suddenly, her green eyes glancing towards his untouched platter. "Smells pretty good from where I'm sitting," A knowing smirk just makes him seethe. "Will you be a good host and offer me some?"

"Steeplechase, you're testing my patience." It's his last warning and finally he notices the change in her demeanor shift. From playful to more downright serious.

"Earlier you brought up how you don't like to be made a fool of in your establishment, correct?" She brings up and it echoes the irony of how this whole meeting has gone.

"Yes, but what-" He isn't allowed to finish before she continues.

"But, that seems to be an almost nightly occurrence for you, isn't it?" He opens his mouth to reply, but again isn't allowed to get a single word out. "All because the Bat isn't very fond of your prosperous activity's. Always raining on your parade. Such a shame." She sounds sympathetic, not that he buys it for a second. Although, he does agree with her.

"Batman is a thorn in my side, just like he is for everyone in my line of work." He states the obvious.

"I'd reckon that you're a thorn in his as well," she responds. And, Oswald hopes that's the case. That all his achievements makes the Dark Knight feel like he's swallowing cyanide on the daily.

"Your point?" Oswald asks. Just wanting this meeting to be done with. See what she has to say and either make a deal or send her out to be disposed of at the pier. Either outcome was fine with him.

"My point is, let's make that thorn in his side a knife rending his flesh. Splitting him wide open to see what goodies are inside." Green orbs are hypnotizing as she leans forwards. Capturing him in his seat by the intensity of her stare.

It's a pleasant imagery for his mind. Seeing the Batman ripped open, left to bleed out and never see the light of day again. A fantasy that Oswald has had countless times over the years, but one that has always been unobtainable. Every single person who has gone up against the Bat has always lost. Every single damn time. Batman was a force not easily reckoned with and that was a fact even Penguin begrudgingly had to admit. Especially these days. It was painfully obvious that Batman wasn't playing soft ball with any criminals wandering the street these nights. Rumors were going around that the self-proclaimed protector of Gotham was leaving more and more men in body casts. Or with crippling injuries. Some have even claimed that he had started murdering blokes, but he didn't believe that for one second. Batman didn't kill, but he could get as close to that if he so choose. And, nowadays that seemed to be his decision more often than not.

"As much as I'd like to see that happen, how do you exactly plan for that to be accomplished?" He questions; incredulously. Unbelieving that this minx could accomplish what so many others have tried and failed over the years.

"Glad you asked my feathered friend," She smirks at his scowl. "That's where you come in."

"I'd rather stay off his radar as much as possible," he admits. He had too much riding on tonight to go well and to many plans for the future to catch the Bats wrath.

"That's the good news!" She bounces in her seat. "You're name won't be dragged through the mud, if you do what I have planned."

"Is that a threat?" It sure as hell sounded like one to him.

Shaking her head, she responds, "Not at all, just more of my wonderful helpful advice." That still sounded more threatening than it should have.

"I'll bite. What do you have in mind," Despite, what her intentions sounded like, his interest was already piped.

"You currently have men infiltrating Blackie Mic Maskie's and Half Burnt face gangs, right?" That was information she should not have possessed. Only those he employed for the task was aware of this. And, that's the moment that any doubt he had about this woman prowess fades to non-existence.

"How'd you know-" He starts to utter; bewildered.

"Not relevant," it very much was to him. "Point being, is all I want you to do is order a couple murders and let the chips fall where they need to." She comments as if it's the easiest task in the world.

"I don't follow."

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Her mood soured instantly and in that second Penguin found himself looking his possible death in the face. Or, more accurately glowing yellow eyes that replaced green. "Gang war, arctic bird. Start a gang war." Her smile is tauntingly cruel.

Oswald is sitting there stock still. Paralyzed in his seat. Unable to look away from those yellow eyes that shouldn't be that color. Wondering if he's truly hallucinating now. He'd honestly believe that. After all only he had seen this woman when his men couldn't. But, he wasn't crazy, despite his short stay at Arkham a few years back, he knew he wasn't like the people locked away there. Maybe, he's been drugged? Regardless, that thought doesn't hold much weight either when he knows he hasn't eaten or drank anything all morning. He finds himself suddenly speechless. Unable to process any words that want to come out. When she jerks forward to fast for him to see coming, his body jumps back in his seat. Almost toppling the chair and therefore himself to the ground. She doesn't attack him like he was expecting. Only places her hand on the handle of the platter lid.

"I'm sure, you'll make me proud," that was one hundred percent a threat. And, she wasn't even hiding that fact now. All pretense of not being a danger to his life gone. "Let us celebrate and have some of this delicious food your slaved staff have prepared; shall we?" She lifts off the lid to the platter. Putting it to the side. And, although Oswald didn't want to take his eyes off from those two glowing orbs staring right back at him, the movement forced him to look down. His stomach drops at the sight.

On the plate there are fish. Not an unusual order for him in anyway, but these were like nothing he has ever seen before. They are pale white, green stripes against their gills, but their faces make him start to dry heave. That and the smell. The rot of their corpses overwhelming. For their cheeks in rigor mortis were pulled back impossibly wide, like a twisted version of a smile. Lips as red as the woman's lipstick choice. Those death glazed eyes the same unnatural yellow color as her own. Staring hauntingly up at him. Almost like they follow his movements. Only when the bodies start to twitch does Penguin shoot out of his chair, and then a second later the lights go out. Leaving him stranded in the dark. He can hear footsteps running towards him. Shouts that he can't make out what's being said. Then to be cut off abruptly. He feels something wet splattered against his face, causing him to stumble backwards. Hitting a chair with his lack of sight and causing him to crash to the ground where he stays. Laughter rings around the room. Both sounding feminine and masculine at the same time. Echoing off the walls and drilling into his brain. His breathing comes out rapidly. Heartbeat pounding away in his ears. More liquid coats his face causing his eyes to clench shut.

Then all the chaos stops and light could be seen through his eyelids. He doesn't want to look. Wants to run away, but the silence around him is deafening and right now ignorance is not bliss for his own survival. Tensely, he opens his eyes, blinking away the liquid, when that doesn't work he wipes at it to see his hand comes back blood crimson. A panicked filled gasp leaves him and he looks up. Standing right in the middle of the room is the woman. Although, her attire has changed. Instead of a green dress, she wears a dripping wet bloodstained purple blouse top, purple colored slacks and she's staring right at him. Those yellow eyes startling brighter than when they first appeared. Corpses of his hired men lay sprawled around her feet, but the worst part is those grotesque fish. Dozens have appeared out of nowhere. He can hear them gnawing away at the remains with rows upon rows of shark like teeth. All the while their smiles never falter. The sound of flesh being ripped away, tendons stretching and snapping off make him gag. He can't watch, and his gaze goes back to the woman who is smiling like a performer who just pulled the finale act waiting on bated breath for the applause that would never come. She doesn't say a word. Just gives a small bow, waves her hand at him, and when Oswald blinks, her and all the chaos disappears with it.

No more bodies.

No more blood.

No more fish.

Like nothing ever happened.

Except one reminder he would find when he finally rose to his feet closing in on ten minutes now, removing the platter lid that delusions him into believing that all that transpired was in his mind. For what he finds is fresh normal looking fish, except there is a carved message in their flesh. Leaving him with the conclusion that he would not be opening his establishment today.

'Don't disappoint me.' Is the message left for him, that he intends to follow through with for his own sake.

Bruce sat at the Bat-computer. His suit on and ready for the night except for his cowl. His loyal butler standing right behind him. The blood stained Robin logo sitting in his field of view. Ever since his bizarre meeting in the cemetery, Bruce has been determined more than usual. Trying every possible avenue to get any information on the clown who called himself the Joker. Only to be left frustrated and disappointed each time when nothing would surface to the light.

"It's like he appeared out of thin air." He muses to himself. "But, that's impossible, there has to be something."

"Sir?" Alfred asks. For the Butler has been standing there for closing in on five minutes now having more of a one-sided conversation than anything else.

"Perhaps, I've been looking at this the wrong way?" Bruce doesn't reply to his father figure. Still speaking to himself. Distracted in his desperation to find the Joker.

"Master Bruce," Alfred tries again. This time actually getting a glance of acknowledgement. The older man appears apprehensive. Not a trait regarded to him before and that instantly catches all of Bruce's attention.

"What is it, Alfred?" He asks; calmly. He watches as Alfred takes a deep breath. Straightening up and Bruce knows then that whatever Alfred has to say that he's not going to like it.

"This Joker character, you've been searching for and claimed to have met," he pauses. Steadying himself for a blow out if it comes, and resigning himself for it anyway. "Is it possible that you might have imagined him?"

Bruce doesn't like those implications and spins his chair around to face the older man. Grabbing Robin's log in the process.

"And, what about this, Alfred? Am I imagining this as well?" he holds up the logo. Eyes narrowed. Almost daring Alfred to continue on this line of conversation. The butler's demeanor changes. Shoulders sagging, and the guilt starts to eat away at Bruce's heart.

"Heavens, no, sir. That's not what I meant. It's just you haven't been yourself since," a pause and his voice cracks. "Master Jason's passing," he takes a terse moment to regain his composure and continues. "Sir, you haven't been sleeping and we were all at the funeral and none of us saw what you described," Alfred tries not to sound accusatory, but that's what Bruce hears anyway. "I'm just concerned that perhaps..." He looks away unable to finish and Bruce lets out a sigh of his own.

"I know, it sounds insane," Bruce gives in. Keeping his glance downwards and feeling his butlers stare penetrate back on him. "But, I know what I saw," he more of tries to convince himself. It works just enough. "Whoever Joker is, he's the one who killed Jason. And, I need to find him." He feels his father figures hand rest upon his shoulder and he takes what comfort that he can from it. Admittedly not much and that makes the self-loathing even worst.

"I don't disagree. I want the murderer found as much as you do, but I worry for you, Master Bruce." Bruce can't fight back against the concern of the older man. No matter how much it makes his chest tighten. The ache in heart worsen. He wishes that he could take all of Alfred's fears away, but he can't find the words he needs to accomplish that.

"Trust me on this." Is all he can respond. Another sigh heard feels like a knife sliding into his heart. Bleeding him out. Tearing at his resolve to stick to his path.

"I do and I always have." Alfred states and Bruce believes him and he doesn't want to right now.

Because, in the end, he feels like he's swimming in the dark depths of insanity. Driving himself mad in a pursuit that as more time passes he starts to question himself is even possible. His hands fall into his lap. Gripping tightly on the Robin costumes logo as a life-line. For that is real. Something, he can touch and see. That was given to him. Which only meant that the Joker has to exist as well. That Bruce wasn't running head first into a padded cell in Arkham for his troubles. That despite the lack of available information the Joker had to have a past. A name, address, family, maybe friends and if that was true then Bruce would stop at nothing to find him and get justice that Jason rightly deserved. Even with his ironclad will it didn't change the fact of how drained he truly felt. How much weight was crushing him down mentally.

Or, take away the laughter he claims to hear when no one is around. Following him wherever he goes. Keeping him aware of its demanding presence.

Alfred like always can see his distress and offers a much needed distraction from the unbridled guilt that is sending his ward to an early grave. He removes his hand and clears his throat. Taking Bruce away from his thoughts at least for the time being.

"I found something of Master Jason's," Alfred utters those words and Bruce is instantly attentive. He doesn't respond; just raises a questioning brow. Alfred takes the hint and reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a flash drive that Bruce doesn't hesitate to take when it's offered to him. "It would appear, that the lad was doing some detective work of his own. I wonder where he got that trait from?" The tone is teasing, and Bruce welcomes the change of pace.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll look into it." He states as he turns the chair around again.

"My pleasure as always, sir." Knowing that the gears in Bruce's head had shifted, and that there would be no more two-way conversations tonight, he takes his leave. Hoping that this might be just enough to set Bruce on a less destructive path than the one he was currently on.

The contents on the flash drive was impressive, Bruce had to admit. Names with extensive background checks of Penguin's hired goons were all listed. Locations of warehouse as well which ones were already taken care of. Lists of weapons that were stolen and planning to be sold on the black market as well as times and dates of those sales. Catching his attention more was the date of one scheduled for tonight. Already, the grieving numbness being pushed back into his mind to deal with later. Batman had work to do. A city to protect and Penguin was reaching the top of his list. Especially, since this was the project that Jason had been working on before he died. That needed to be seen through to the end. It's what his partner would have wanted. He might have been filled with an uncontrollable desire to find the Joker, but right now that wasn't bearing any fruit. This he could accomplish. Right now. He sets the blood stained logo aside, giving a silent promise to the dead.

Bruce stands up, grabbing his cowl and ready to head off into the night.

At least until he catches the sight of a flash of purple movement in his peripheral vision.

His heart skips a beat in his chest as he quickly turns in the direction that caught his attention.

Nothing is there. And, the insanity that was all consuming him comes back full force, when he puts his cowl on, completing the transformation from Bruce Wayne to Batman while doing his best to ignore the laughter that he swears is echoing off the cave walls all around him.