Bruce Wayne accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server, then turned fully toward Kieran with an easy, practiced grin.
"Kieran Everleigh," he said warmly. "For your first time hosting this is a brilliant event. If you keep hosting events like this Gotham might start thinking the Continental is the center of the world."
Kieran chuckled. "If it means they spend more money in my bar, I'll take it. Besides, someone has to distract this city from its existential dread."
Bruce laughed — the perfectly measured billionaire laugh. "Well, it's working. You've got the best turnout I've seen all year. Even the donors who hate leaving their penthouses dragged themselves out tonight."
"What can I say? I'm irresistible," Kieran replied with a playful shrug.
Bruce raised a brow. "Bold claim. Though you do seem good at getting people to show up."
Kieran tapped his glass gently against Bruce's. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Wayne."
They drifted toward one of the tall windows overlooking Gotham's skyline, speaking casually as the room buzzed around them.
Bruce adjusted his tie. "How's the hotel holding up? I heard you have been hiring more staff."
"Small improvements," Kieran said. "Business has been booming I want all my staff trained up to the best of their abilities.
"And don't worry — I kept your suggestion for a security team in mind. Thank goodness I haven't had to use it."
Bruce smirked. "Those teams saved my life more times than Batman."
Kieran nearly choked — but he kept his smile bright. "Well, I'll be sure to give them a call when I need to."
They shared another short laugh before the conversation shifted, as if drawn there naturally.
Bruce's expression softened, serious but not heavy. "Jokes aside… Gotham's had a rough go about it yesterday."
Kieran nodded, his face sobering just enough. "Yes, the gang war… Everyone's talking about it."
Bruce sipped his champagne. "Chinatown looked like a war zone."
"I know." Kieran lowered his voice, sympathetic and convincingly genuine. "My staff heard gunfire from blocks away. I can't imagine what the families living there felt."
Bruce studied him. "The city's dangerous right now. You doing alright?"
The question hit harder than it should have.
But Kieran smiled easily, "Doing my best. And I'm hoping tonight shows Gotham we're still standing."
Bruce nodded. "It's a good thing you're doing. The orphanage is… important."
Before Kieran could respond, a chime echoed through the ballroom.
The lights dimmed.
The music faded.
A quiet rolled over the room as the Congressman stepped up to the podium.
Kieran and Bruce both turned toward the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen…Tonight, we stand together in celebration — but also in reflection.
Just recently, Gotham faced one of the most violent eruptions of gang warfare in recent memory. Entire blocks of Chinatown were turned into battlegrounds. Families cowered behind locked doors. Lives were lost in the crossfire of a conflict none of them chose.
We have seen chaos.
We have seen fear.
And we have seen innocent people pay the highest price for the actions of criminals who believe they own our streets.
But Gotham…"
He paused, letting the silence settle.
"…Gotham has never been defined by its darkest nights.
This is a city that rebuilds — not because it is easy, not because it is convenient, but because the people of Gotham refuse to surrender. Time and time again, we rise from the ashes and say: You will not break us.
Tonight is not just a social gathering. It is a promise.
A promise that we will restore what has been damaged.
A promise that we will heal what has been hurt.
A promise that we will not let violence dictate the future of our home.
And that future begins with our children.
Which is why I am honored to stand behind the opening of Hope Orphanage, a project devoted to providing safety, support, and stability to Gotham's most vulnerable young lives. This orphanage, built in partnership with Mr. Kieran Everleigh and the Continental, is more than a building — it is a beacon.
A beacon that says: here, you are safe. Here, you are valued. Here, you have a future.
In the wake of what our city has endured, rebuilding must start somewhere.
And I can think of no better place than with the children who will inherit the Gotham we shape today."
Reyes turned, extending a hand toward Kieran.
"And now, I invite Mr. Everleigh to say a few words."
Applause surged through the ballroom.
Kieran exhaled slowly.
He turned to Bruce, his mask impeccably calm, even as a flicker of bruises twinged beneath his skin.
"Well," he said softly with a wry smile, "looks like they want me."
Bruce gave him a supportive nod. "Go get 'em, Everleigh."
***
Kieran walked forward his pace measured and unhurried but behind his calm stride his mind churned with a thousand calculations. He stepped up to the podium, feeling the heat of the chandeliers and the sharper heat of hundreds of eyes on him.
They were all looking at him.
Judging him.
Weighing him.
These people—Gotham's elite, its power brokers, its kingmakers—knew what they thought Kieran Everleigh was. They knew his trial. His reputation. The rumors. The whispers. They knew the headlines, the sensational commentary, the grainy photos of him in handcuffs.
They thought they knew him.
And maybe they were right.
Kieran, Nolan, Quentin, Vey—none of them ever expected to stand here, dressed in a suit worth more than their childhoods, addressing the wealthiest crowd in Gotham. And yet here he was. Forced to make them believe—even for a breath, even for a heartbeat—that he was one of them.
That he was not one of the key figures in the gang war.
He exhaled softly into the bright lights, lifted his chin, and began.
"Ladies and gentlemen… Gotham is sick."
The room quieted. The cameras tilted up. The murmuring died.
"Our city has always walked a razor's edge between greatness and catastrophe. We build—and they tear down. We hope—and they devour it. These streets are infested with tumors. Tumors. Parasitic, violent, metastatic gangs that spread their poison through every block, every alleyway, every home they can reach."
His voice sharpened—not loud, not shouting, but carrying a flint-like edge that made more than a few guests stiffen.
"These men, these organizations—they don't just steal. They don't just kill. They rot the foundations of who we are. They take children who should be learning, laughing, dreaming—and they turn them into soldiers, mules, bodies in morgues. They tear our neighborhoods apart, they fracture families, they make widows and orphans as casually as most people make small talk."
A flicker of anger—real or performed—passed across his expression.
"And the worst part? We've gotten used to it. Gotham has normalized tragedy. We have become experts at burying the consequences."
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering but carrying deeper, darker.
"Well, I refuse to normalize it anymore."
A ripple moved through the audience—surprise, interest, unease.
"I may not be a politician. I am not a billionaire philanthropist. I wasn't born into old Gotham wealth. But I know pain. I know loss. And I know what it means to watch children slip through the cracks because no one with the power to fix it bothered to look down."
He let the silence breathe before continuing—softer now, but somehow even more intense.
"That is why I'm putting my heart and soul into Hope Orphanage. Because healing Gotham cannot start in its towers or its gala halls. It begins on the ground. With the children who have been left behind—by gangs, by circumstance, by us."
His eyes moved across the room, steady, unwavering.
"The orphanage is not a cure-all. It's not a miracle solution. But it is a start. A first step. A promise that we will not abandon the next generation to the chaos we inherited. If we want Gotham to rise, then we must give its children something worth rising into."
The passion in his voice was unmistakable—burning, forceful, almost unsettling in its conviction.
"We can rebuild buildings. We can repair streets. We can patch up the scars this latest gang war carved into our city. But unless we invest in the lives most harmed by that violence—unless we cut out the tumors poisoning this city's future—then all we are rebuilding is a tomb."
He straightened, voice firm.
"I believe Gotham can be better. I believe we can make it better. And I believe this orphanage is the beginning of that change—not the end."
He nodded once, a final, sharp punctuation.
"Thank you."
***
The applause washed through the ballroom like a tide—uneven, delayed, some genuine, some hesitant. But Bruce heard none of it.
He watched Kieran Everleigh step back from the podium, offer a humble nod, and smile as though he hadn't just delivered one of the most politically lethal speeches Gotham had heard in years.
Around Bruce, reactions rippled.
Socialites murmured in admiration, impressed by Kieran's polish.
Old-money donors whispered uneasily; they recognized the tone of someone who had declared a moral crusade and were worried about their investments.
Council aides traded glances—calculating what this meant for public perception.
But Bruce…
Bruce analyzed.
He replayed the cadence, the fire, the disgust Kieran had shown for Gotham's gangs. The hatred in every syllable. Not performative. Not rehearsed. Something real—a loathing that came from scars far older than two-day-old bruises.
He studied the man's posture, the microtensions around his eyes, the way his hands—steady, elegant—betrayed none of the injuries he knew had to be hiding underneath.
Kieran Everleigh stood like a man who had already survived the battlefield… and was preparing for another. He acted like someone who genuinely hated the gangs with all his heart.
Something cold settled in Bruce's chest.
This wasn't the Beast.
The thing that tore apart Chinatown—yes, that thing was dangerous, grotesquely powerful, unpredictable.
But this?
This calm, charming man with the perfect mask, the righteous fury, the persuasive eloquence that bent a room without them even noticing?
Bruce exhaled slowly.
The most dangerous part of Nolan—or Kieran—wasn't the Beast at all.
It was this version.
The one who could stand in a room full of Gotham's elite, covered in hidden wounds, and make them believe he was their savior.
"God help us," Bruce heard someone murmur under their breath
He turned to see Commissioner Gordon in attendance.
The worst part was Bruce couldn't refute his words.
Because if Kieran Everleigh ever decided to point that conviction, that charisma, that mind… toward destruction instead of hope—
The Beast would be the least of Gotham's worries.