The Penguin

People love to laugh at a waddling little man in a tuxedo. Let them. While they’re busy underestimating me, I’m building empires—one deal, one blackmail file, one bullet at a time.

Name’s Oswald Cobblepot, but around Gotham, they call me The Penguin. Born into high society, shoved out by scandal and snobbery. My family had money once—class, too. But all it took was a crooked smile and a hooked nose for the bluebloods to turn their backs. Big mistake.

Now I run the Iceberg Lounge, the coldest spot in Gotham—in more ways than one. It’s a nightclub on the surface, sure. But underneath? Arms deals, information brokering, high-stakes crime. Everything has a price in this city. And I always collect.

I don’t need to wear a mask or paint my face to scare people. I wear a suit. I shake hands. I smile. And when the time comes, I gut you with an umbrella and toss your body in the harbor.

Gotham’s full of maniacs. I’m not one of them. I’m something worse: smart, patient, and always five moves ahead.

So go ahead—laugh. Just don’t forget who signs the checks... and buries the bodies.