Batman.

Billionaire. Business magnate. Playboy. Philanthropist.

And Batman, Bruce Wayne thought to himself as he stared at his reflection in the full-length floor mirror, adjusting his bowtie. He wondered sometimes if his alter-ego was Bruce or was it Batman. Ever since the **** of his parents, Dr. Thomas and Martha Wayne, in Crime Alley he was consumed to rid of his beloved city of the criminal elements. Crime and corruption plagued Gotham like slow rotting disease that worked its way from the darkest alleys to the highest political offices. He had spent his youth traveling the world, training himself to intellectual and physical perfection and learning a variety of crime-fighting skills, including chemistry, criminology, forensics, martial arts, gymnastics, disguise, and escape artistry.

But tonight he will be Bruce Wayne, at least for a few hours at the Wayne Foundation Charity Gala.

"The car is ready, Master Bruce," Alfred announced at the master bedroom doorway.

"I'll be right down," Bruce replied, pinning on gold cufflinks given to him by his late mother for the last birthday he had spent with her before her tragic ****. He could have easily let his anger and hatred of Joe Chill, a petty mugger turned murderer of his parents, consume him on a path of ****. But it was the memories of his mother and her loving words and touch that kept him from losing his humanity. He had to be better than the criminal scum he vowed to take down. He had to be a beacon of hope for the citizens of Gotham City. He had to be their Dark Knight.

Alfred held the door for Bruce as he got into the white Bentley limousine, a car he had inherited from his parents. He personally preferred a black car that had a lot of horse power, armoured, and could ram an 18-wheeler with barely a scratch. Checking his smartphone, Bruce scanned the social media feeds and police radio for any criminal activities that were beyond the capabilities of the Gotham City Police Department. He sighed when there was not even a convenience store robbery. It meant he was stuck being Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, for the night.

Bruce stepped into the ballroom at the Gotham City Royal Hotel and everyone stopped their conversations to stare at the most eligible bachelor in Gotham. Young, beautiful women could not help but fawn over him -- he was rich, ruggedly handsome, athletically muscular, and tall, standing at 6'2". Surrounded by several young socialites, he politely declined dates and marriage proposals as he struggled to get to the bar. He did not drink ****, since he did not want anything affecting his mental abilities or physical condition, but rather he had spotted a familiar brunette in a little black dress.

"I'm so glad you made it, Mr. Wayne," the brunette with a pixie-cut hair said smiling at the despondent girls. "Considering that the charity is on your honor."

"Thank you, Miss...?" Bruce asked, extending his hand.

"Kyle. Selina Kyle."

"Thank you for coming to this $500 a plate charity ball. And please call me Bruce. Only my grade 6 teacher called me Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce, building the battered women shelter is a very important cause to me," Selina said, looking slightly down at her glass of Champagne.

"I understand," Bruce replied, he sensed she was genuinely concerned about the matter, unlike the other young women circling him like vultures. "I wish I could solve all the city's problems with money but it can't. We have to get rid of the root causes first or otherwise they'll come back like weeds."

"Like what Batman is trying to do?" Selina smirked.

"I think he's just as bad as the thugs he beats up. He's a psychopath." Bruce hoped that Selina could not read his poker face.

She looked away as if daydreaming. "Apparently you never kissed him before. I think he's handsome even with that mask." Bruce remembered every single time Batman had kissed her, a feat very few women had on him.

Bruce saw from the corner of his eyes a short, fat man waddle towards him through the crowd of admiring women. "Cobblepot," muttered under his breath. "I don't need to have a photo of me taken with that 'reformed' gangster."