"So Gotham, what do you all really think of your precious billionaire, Bruce Wayne? Acting all high and mighty, looking down at us from his tower, laughing as the rest of us struggle to survive in the slums of the city. He expects us all to admire his bravery, coping with the loss of his parents. I, for one, am sick of his pompous, false self satisfaction, and yet you all continue to kiss his golden ass. Well I have had it. That is why, tonight, I will take Bruce Wayne down a few pegs. He will soon be begging me to put him out of his misery! He'll be wishing that he was gunned down along with his parents! So say goodnight to your precious billionaire, for it may very well be his last!"
Such a chilling message from Oswald Cobblepot would not be enough to damper the spirits of my peers. The Wayne Charity Fund Party continued as scheduled, only with additional security. It seemed that the Penguin had put the Gotham City Police Department on alert tonight. Their main priority was to ensure my safety, but if he decides to make a move tonight, I will be waiting for him.
The fundraiser was as predicted. Catching up with old friends while meeting the new, all in the name of charity. Same old, same old. It seemed that nothing would ever change. Even after all these years, I was reminded of the dreadful loss of my parents on that fateful night at Crime Alley. Little did I realize however was that this was the night when my entire life changes.
During that night, I reunited with some old faces. I was particularly interested by the presence of Dennis Flaherty, someone who I had not encountered since my years in training. I did not expect to meet him here in Gotham city. Although he was rather reluctant in interacting with me, I kept my eye on him all night. I recalled an incident all those years ago, and I remembered the arts that he once delved himself in. I suspected that he was up to something.
Despite the success of the night, the fundraiser was almost spoiled upon the arrival of a young girl named Emma Marshall. Her parents, Edwin Marshall and Janice Marshall, were good friends to me, their family had been friends with the Wayne's for decades. I wish that I could say the same for their children, especially their youngest daughter, the six-year old Emma. I insisted that no children should be brought, but despite Emma's siblings sleeping with their grandparents, Edwin told me that Emma wanted to go to the party. He assured me that she promised to be on her best behavior. He was wrong.
The night was a success. Despite the antics of Emma Marshall, the fundraiser went off without a hitch. Not even the chilling message from the Penguin from earlier in the day was enough to spoil the evening.
Little did I realize however was that things were about to get worse.
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