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[color=black][u][b][h2]The Roman Empire[/h2][/b][/u][/color][/center]

[i]Alfred was right.  I'm not ready.  I'm not looking forward to the [b]'I told you so's'[/b] he no doubt has in store for me. . .  That's if I get out of this mess alive.[/i]

	Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, had just made an inauspicious start to his vigilante career.  He had attempted to sneak on-board a transatlantic freighter by the name of [i]The King Penguin[/i] that had docked in the Gotham harbor, after tracing the vessels ownership through several subsidiary companies and eventually coming to the Falcone crime family.  Bruce's suspicions were that the Falcone's were using the ship to smuggle guns into Gotham, guns that Carmine 'The Roman' Falcone, head of the family, had promised to deliver to the Maroni's if they fell in with him and his, that's if the street chatter that Alfred had picked up on was accurate.  Bruce's fears were confirmed when, after some dedicated searching, he had discovered four containers not on the shipping manifesto.  

	Each container was filled wall to wall with assault rifles, shotguns, high powered handguns, ammunition, grenades and all manner of deadly weaponry.  He had even spotted a katanna of all things!  It was sorry indictment of how brazen the criminals were getting in Gotham that they felt they could use swords now, and there would still be no one to stop them.  His intention had then been to evacuate the freighter and send an anonymous tip off to the Gotham City Police Department about the guns, but on his way out he had taken a wrong turn on the C deck, and ended up walking into the ships messhall, disturbing a poker game being played by a dozen crew members, each one under the Falcone's employ.  

	'Surprisingly' the gangster-come-sailors hadn't taken the appearance of a strange, masked man dressed head to toe in tactical black body armour well, and after a few moments of confusion had opened fire.  Bruce had been equally surprised, believing he had memorized the lay out of the boats innards perfectly, and had only narrowly avoided being perforated, slamming the porthole door on the mess-hall and fleeing down one of the side corridors.  

 	After that the freighter had become the scene of a frantic game of cat-and-mouse, Bruce trying to evade the Falcone men and quit the ship, the gangsters doing everything in their power to locate him and stop him from fleeing.  The twisting hallways, claustrophobic atmosphere and darkened passageways all lended themselves to Bruce's favor. So far he had engaged three patrolmen, each time managing to subdue them before they had time to alert their comrades, but the last had been a close call, the Falcone managing to tag Bruce with a knife before falling, leaving him a long, painful cut just above his left hip.  [I]So much for the nigh on 'impenetrable' Wayne-tech armour.  Probably explains why these things never went into mass production.[/i]
	
	He heard the sound of alarmed shouting from behind him, meaning the Falcone's had found their fallen comrade.  They weren't far behind him by the sounds of things.  He had to get off the ship.  Increasing his pace he made it to the stairway to the upper level, all that time pouring over [i]The King Penguins[/i] design's finally making itself useful.  Now all he had to do was make it to the exit porthole and disembark and he was as good as gone.  Dropping into a slight crouch he edged forwards, careful not to become too over-eager at this stage and make another blunder.  

	He turned a corner, coming onto a long corridor.  On the left was several doors, store cabinets for the most part, and on the right was only one door, this one leading to the captains deck and viewing platform.  At the end of the corridor was his objective, the exit.  Clenching his teeth, he pushed forwards.  He could feel his nerves building in anticipation, building up inside him and threatening to overwhelm him.  This close to the end, he knew something had to go wrong.  They always had before.  

	This time was no different than any other.

	Bruce was less than five feet from the exit when the burly form of a gangster stepped in from outside, his mass taking up the whole portal.  The man must have been about six' four", with ox-like shoulders and fists the size of hams.  The Falcone came to a surprised stop when he spotted the intruder in front of him.

	[b]"HE'S HERE, I FOUND HIM!"[/b] The thug began screaming, going for the pistol holstered at his side.  Luckily for Bruce he was the faster, his hand flicking out and sending a throwing knife at the big ox.  The vigilante's aim was a touch off, missing the wrist he had been aiming for and instead sinking into the man's upper thigh.  [i]Dammit Bruce, calm down.  You're better than this![/i]  It still had the desired effect though, the pain making the Falcone thumble his weapon.  Bruce wasted no time in closing with his enemy, leaping in close and delivering a brutal knee strike into his opponents groin, followed by an upper palm strike to the chin.  The blow dizzied and disorientated the thug, making it all the easier to grab him by the side of the head and smash his skull against the metal walls of the ship, though Bruce was careful to be not [b]TOO[/b] rough.  

	No killing, he'd already made that promise to himself, and it was much to late to go back on it now.  What had happened with Tommy had seen to that.  

	The sounds of alarmed thugs was closer now, and he could hear the thumping of feet as they stormed up the stairs behind him.  No time to waste.  Bruce burst into a dead sprint,  only three quick steps and he would be out.  Unfortunately his luck turned sour.  Again.

	A Falcone once more appeared in the exit, but this time Bruce was far too close to for either man to properly react, the velocity from his sprint to great to slow himself down now.  Instead the vigilante hunched his shoulders and barreled on, meaning to barge straight through.

	He hit the thug a moment later with a bone shuddering impact.  Bruce's momentum seen the two men plough straight on, the thug totally unprepared to weather the impromptu tackle.  The air rushed to escape the thugs lungs with an [i]*ooof*[/i], and the two lurched backwards.  They tumbled out through the exit, across the short walkway that lined the edge of the boats tower and straight into the safety rail.  With both men consumed with their furious struggle neither had the presence of mind to try and grab the rail, and instead went spilling over.  

	[i]The King Penguin[/i] wasn't a massive freighter, the walkway being no more than twenty feet of the top deck.  It still felt to Bruce that he was falling for what felt like an eternity though, with nothing but the cold embrace of complete emptiness to comfort him and a man who meant to kill him for company.  The thug screamed as they fell, but Bruce refused too.  [i]No fear Bruce.  Show no fear[/i]  

	The two combatants fall was broken by some loose crating that had been dumped underneath the walkway, ironically enough in a no loading zone.   The timber crates were reduced to little more than match sticks and splinters under the impact.  Bruce's fall was broken by landing on the Falcone, an entirely unplanned event that showed that maybe, just maybe, his luck wasn't as bad as he thought it was.  It still hurt though, hurt so bad that there was nothing more he wanted to do than just lay there until the pain went away.  The sound of more approaching sailors put paid to that idea though, and with a bone-tired weariness he pushed himself to his feet.  

	The Falcone who had taken the plunge with him coughed gingerly as Bruce picked himself up, before moaning piteously.  [i]Good.  Still alive.  Though maybe he'll rethink his career choices now.[/i]  The vigilante went too take a step away, but he was overtaken by a burning agony as soon as he tried to put weight down on his right leg. 

	"Dammit!" He snarled.  It felt like his ankle might be twisted, but he didn't have time to check, not with all the Falcone's practically breathing down his neck.  Sore as it might be he would have to press on.  All that mattered was getting off the ship.  He took several deep, calming breaths, allowing his mind to dip into a meditative state.  Not too deep, as he needed his wits about him, but just enough to allow him to control the pain.   It was a variation of the first level of[i]The Illusion of Elsewhere[/i], a state taught to him by Master Shihan Matsuda, a legendary martial artist who lived among the peaks of the Himalayas. 

	Bruce tested his ankle now, the searing pain of a moment before becoming little more than a dull ache.  A useful trick, though apt to exacerbate the initial injury if overused.  Unfortunately the current situation warranted the risks, the sounds of pursuit closing in.  Bruce took off at a run, as fast as he could manage, directly for the port-side.  

	"THERE'S THE FUCKER!"  

	[i]Spotted already.  Tremendous[/i]  Bruce barely managed to glimpse the sharp eyed gangster who had revealed him, perched atop the walkway he had so recently fell from, before the sounds of gunfire exploded across the quiet night air.  The vigilante crunched low and powered forward, giving his antagonists as small a target as possible.  Bullets screamed past him, some ricocheting from the metal walkways around him, others rebounding from the container-walls at his left.  He spotted a tight corridor between two of the containers and went to dive in between them, meaning to cut off his assailant's line of sight.  

	The vigilante nearly cried out as he felt a tremendous force strike him in the back.  The power nearly made him stumble from his feet, but he caught himself at the last moment, bracing himself against the tight walls of the containers.  [i]I've been shot![/i]  He realized, the thought filling his dumbfounded mind for a heartbeat, before he savagely pushed it aside.  [i]Remember your training.  If your body doesn't fall after been shot then it doesn't [B]NEED[/B] to fall.  Keep moving![/i]  He increased his breakneck pace, ignoring the cries of protest from his tired muscles and battered body, instead pushing at the levels of his endurance.  He'd trained his whole life for this.  No way he was going to fall at the first hurdle.  

	He knew his pursuers would be quick to follow him down the corridor, so as he ran he grabbed a smoke pellet from the pouches on his belt and smashed it at his feet.  He had already tested all his gadgets and tools rigorously before hitting the streets, so he knew without looking back that a thick cloud of cloying black smoke would quickly waft from the pellet.  

	He took a few more running steps before taking an angled leap at the left wall, bending his left leg like a suspension spring to absorb the momentum and use it to then power himself back off, corkscrewing he body midair to turn and cat grab the top edge of the right hand container.  He quickly pulled himself up and over, the whole maneuver taking him less than three seconds.  From there he rolled onto his back and lay still and quiet, taking deep, steady breathes.  He trusted in the darkness of the night to keep him concealed from any Falcone's watching from elevated positions. 

	It wasn't long until he heard the sounds of his pursuers charging down the corridor he had just evacuated.  

	"Where'd all this smoke come from!" One man growled. 

	"Guy must have smoke grenades, probably SWAT or something."  Responded another.  

	"Couldn't be, Loeb's too tight with the boss to sanction something like that.  Some nut with a death wish more like."  Came a third voice, sounding more distant now as the group where rushing away in the wrong direction.  Despite themselves the trio had given Bruce much to think over, and confirmed his belief that commissioner Loeb was dirty.   He gave it a few more minutes before he moved on, keeping low to the container roof, slithering quietly towards the edge.  A quick glance told him that the thugs had the port side closed off the him, which meant that he'd now have to take the starboard side, and swim to safety.  At least he'd had the foresight to bring the re-breather.  

	He managed to evade detection and evacuate the ship, slipping over the side and into the water with only a small splash.  If anyone heard it then they didn't think to check.  

	He'd triumphed against the odds and survived his first night.  Maybe there was hope for this budding vigilante after all.