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Gotham City

7th November

Gotham City Center

7:00 PM

The only benefit, he mused, was the fact that there were other heroes in the city.

The sound of camera clicks, followed by the crescendo of brilliant flashes immediately drew his attention as he stepped out of the limousine. He gave Alfred a brief cursory nod, before putting on his best smile and waving his hand in the manner that had been practiced tirelessly.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne! Over here!"

"Mr. Wayne! What do you have to say about the allegations of Wayne Industry incompetence?"

"Is it true that you take long leaves of absences from your company Mr. Wayne?"

Answering the reporters was not an expedient on his part, nor was it the main focus of his night. Although his suit was elegantly ironed, this was not the suit he would have preferred wearing this night. His eyes were making broad glances disguised as mere glimpses towards attractive women. Instead, he was searching, thinking, calculating – the possibility of threats at every corner – the possibility for chaos to immediately spring up, for innocents to be murdered – simply because he had to maintain his secondary identity.

The red-carpet which led into the large amphitheater that was the city center eerily painted a picture of the blood that would run down the streets of Gotham. Even as he walked forward, he ignored them, with the traditional billionaire playboy smile on his face, seeming either unbothered or uncaring of the rumors swirling around his family name.

By the time he had entered into the building, with the thankful aid of the security protocol who kept back the hordes of desperate and over-eager reporters, he had already done a headcount and an extensive examination of possible threats, as well as taking into account the fastest ways to evacuate people from the streets should any possible violence escalate.

"Have a good evening Mr. Wayne."

"Why, thank you."

The doors were swung open, and Bruce Wayne found himself in the world of wealth and social class once more.

Gotham City

Skyline Club

7:11 PM

"Let's get this party started!"

Music killed the silence. The sound of wild cheers and hoots shot into the air, and accompanying hands followed. The intensity of the sounds went wilder. Different beats, voiceless, purely electronically created songs became the symphony of the evening. Men on the dance floor moved, some with glasses of wine in hand, others, with their hands free so as to perform the dances they needed. The women were in no small quantity either. Miniskirts and heels were the order of the day, their hips gyrating often in response to the men behind them, crotches extended forward, ready to embrace the friction of a female against their fronts.

The men and women were of different ages. Mostly, they started at twenty-one, and ended at twenty-nine. Others who were older, would be seen, occasionally, shuffling their feet, swaying awkwardly from left to right, with an advert-patented smile on their faces. Some were at the bar, drink in hand, back's slouched, and shoulders hunched, a scowl on their lips standing in contradistinction to their droopy eyes and relaxed brows.