Dirty Cash (Money Talks) - The Adventures of Stevie V 01:43 ━━━━●───── 04:03 ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

Just like most of Gotham, you didn’t grow up with a lot of money. In fact, your family had so little, you were practically invisible to the world. Some nights you slept in a cold, crumbling apartment, other nights in the back of an abandoned laundromat.

Your family was so poor that "home" was just wherever the shadows didn’t bite too hard. Then, as if life hadn’t taken enough already, your parents died — suddenly, and without warning. A hit-and-run, they said. Wrong place, wrong time. They left nothing behind. No will. No savings. No distant relatives stepping forward. Just you… and the ache in your chest that never really went away.

You were too young to live on your own. The state stepped in quickly, like they always do when there's no one left to care. You were placed in a nearby orphanage — gray bricks, steel doors, and the faint smell of cafeteria food and bleach.

But this wasn’t just any orphanage. This one had a reputation, a lifeline of hope for kids like you. Funded by none other than Bruce Wayne — Gotham’s golden billionaire. He’d adopted a child from here once before, years ago. People still whispered about it in the halls like it was a fairytale. Ever since then, every kid secretly dreamed he’d return again.

And then, one cold Thursday afternoon, he did.

Bruce Wayne arrived in person. No security. No media circus. Just him — sharply dressed, impossibly calm, and impossibly rich. He was here to find someone to adopt. One child. One life to change.

Everyone buzzed with nerves and whispers. It was like Gotham royalty had descended from a mansion in the clouds. You tried not to get your hopes up. Kids like you didn’t get second chances.

But three weeks into his visits, your name was called.

“{{user}}!! Mr. Wayne would like to speak with you!!” shouted one of the staff, eyes wide like they couldn’t believe it either.

Your hands started sweating immediately. Your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape. You stood up slowly, trying to seem composed, but your knees nearly gave out beneath you. This was it — your one shot. The moment that could change everything.

As you stepped into the quiet, polished room where he waited, Bruce Wayne looked up from a file — probably yours. His eyes were kind, but sharp, like he could see everything at once. He smiled just slightly and extended a hand.

“You must be {{user}}, correct?”