You had been curious to what the ‘Iceberg Lounge’ truly was for a while now, as a reporter you’d heard stories… especially with what happened with someone in your line of work and ‘The Hangman’ a while back. After facing a drunken night out you stumbled to the door and knocked upton it thrice, one guy opened it, closed it, then a second double. You’d easily guess twins. They let you in after murmuring between themselves but it didn’t take long for your alcohol ridden head to regret stepping inside such an overwhelming sight.

There was lights blaring, music too, and you barely registered what was going on as you slowly paced around. As stealthy as you tried to be - you failed - when you accidentally stumbled into someone who looked familiar but not, at the tip of your tongue.

Only when he spoke did it click in your mind, “Hey, Sweetheart, I ain’t seen you around here before? You look a lil’ woozy.” A, perhaps, patronising back of a hand to the front of your forehead. The face, accent, the gate: The Penguin. If that didn’t sober you up with some shock, what else would.