[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/gY0YHVS.png?1[/img][/center] [center][u][h3][b][color=Black]The Roman Empire[/color][/b][/h3][/u][/center] "Gentlemen, if you could all seat yourselves we can get started," The speaker was Carmine [i]'The Roman'[/i] Falcone, head of the Falcone family and widely considered to be one of the most dangerous men in Gotham. His audience was made up by his fiercest competition for that title, heads of the most powerful crime families and gangs in the city. Among the faces was Franco [i]'The Godfather'[/i] Bertinelli, Luigi [i]'Big Lou'[/i] Maroni and his son Sal [i]'The Boss'[/i] Maroni, Johnny Sabatino, Sean Riley, Juniour Galante, Dragos Ibanescu, and last but not least Yuri [i]'The Russian'[/i] Dimitrov. He had gathered them to discuss their on going alliance against the [i]'chink'[/i] gangs, like the Yakuza, Triad and Ghost Dragons, as well as help him figure out a way to deal with the resurgent Bruce Wayne. The billionaire had recently returned to Gotham, and near instantly making himself a pain in Falcone's ass by choosing to fund Armand Krol's mayoral campaign. Before Wayne's intervention Carmine had the election in the bag. Now things weren't looking quite as cut and dry. Each attendant had been permitted to take two bodyguards with them, meaning The Roman's grand solar, as big as it was, was starting to seem quite crowded. To make matters worse half of these men had spent the last twenty years trying every underhand tactic in the book to kill the other half. The Roman himself had just come out of a furious gang war with Dimitrov that had left over three dozen men dead, The Russian's own brother among them. It hadn't all gone the Falcone's way though, as Dimitrov's men had managed to take the north Dixon docks from them, a vital staging area for any smuggling operation. Carmine was (begrudgingly) willing to let them keep the docks for the moment if the Russian's toed the line. The group sat themselves at the great table, with Carmine at their head. Even the seating arrangements was subtle aknowledgment of each mans power. Those familys with the most influence sat at closer to Carmine, while the smaller gangs were forced to take their place further away, their status clear for all to see. Dimitrov sat at the Roman's left, while Franco Bertinelli took his place upon the right. The bodyguards where left to stand behind their bosses, glaring daggers at their opposite numbers, trigger fingers itching. The atmosphere in the room was so volatile that it was a wonder there was no explosions. The mere fact that these men were willing to be seen in the same room as their rivals was testement to Falcone's power in Gotham. Nobody wanted to earn his ire by not showing their face. Violence threatened to spill over at any moment, but no one wanted to be the man to start it, not in Carmine's house, not when he'd promised everyone a truce. Nobody dared to cross him. Gotham was Falcone's city, and they all knew it. "Now gentlemen, to business. . . " Began Falcone. "Yeah, like the business of what the hell happened to my guns!" Interrupted Sal Maroni, his face flushed. A hush fell over the room, everyone surprised at Sal's audacity. Big Lou looked furious, his jaw set in a grim line as he glared at his son. Carmine guessed that Sal had spoken without his fathers permission, or perhaps they had discussed this earlier and Lou had told the boy to leave it alone. There was talk that Sal was starting to push for more and more power, trying to wrest control from his father. Regardless, things did not look like they were going smoothly in the Maroni camp. "You're guns were delivered to you Sal. What you did with them after that is your concern, not mine." Responded Carmined mildy, though the words clearly angered Sal, his hands clenching into fists. Some of the bodyguards shifted uneasily. "Is that so? Cause my boys tell a funny story. They say that no sooner were the guns delivered than they were jumped by some spook dressed up as a bat. Nuts, huh? I beat them myself for their incompetence, only then I got to thinking. If not some whacko who's got a hard-on for Twilight - which would be ridiculous - then who stole my guns? The only person, other than my own boys who ain't stupid enough to cross me, who knew where those guns where was you." There was another hush at the statement, though this one was far more expectant and filled with grim portent. Sal had spoken so far out of line that it was almost a forgone conclusion that he was in for hell, questioning the Roman so overtly. A muscle at the corner of Carmine's eye began to twitch uncontrollably. It was a real effort for him not to order Sal shot were he sat, but he knew that wouldn't end well. The boy was challenging his power and if the Roman didn't handle this correctly then it would make everyone other wise guy at the table think they could as well. This situation needed finesse. "I hope you're not questioning my integrity [i]boy[/i]." Carmine's voice nearly wavered with his barely concealed rage, though he did manage to keep it in check. A cocky grin began to tug at the corners of the younger Maroni's face, thinking he had the Roman on the ropes. "Not ordinarily Carmine. You know me, I've got nothing but respect for you. But see the thing is I got speaking to some of the other boys here, and you know whats funny? We've all been hit by this bat nut. Sean's bar was hit up last week just as his boys were pooling their protection racket money. Dimitrov had a bought sunk as it came into the harbor with over forty kilo's of powder. Franco has six guys in the hospital, swear blind it was the bat that put them there. Everyone's had rodent problems." "Everyone except you, Carmine." The Roman scoffed a harsh chuckle. Of course he wasn't having rodent problems. Even if there was some vigilante nutjob in a bat costume out there on the streets of Gotham there was no way they'd be crazy enough to challenge the Roman Empire. Obviously this crackpot just didn't think as highly of Sal and his boys, making it open season on their enterprises. Carmine could hardly be blamed for that, no matter how much Maroni wanted to. His laughter died in his throat when he realized the entire table was looking at him expectantly, accusingly even. He couldn't believe it, they were actually buying into this. "I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Snarled Carmine, "And I can't believe you idiots are listening to it!" "Why not Falcone? It's God damn elegant in it's cunning, I gotta hand you that. You pay some ex-navy seal merc to play dress up and hit us hard, weakening us and strengthening your position in one fell swoop. Then the really clever bit! I mean who would believe it, a giant bat fighting crime? Not us surely, it's just too ridiculous. No one would dare lay that accusation at your door, not in a million years. You're old school after all, you'd never countenance a thing like this. I figured you out though. No point hiding it any more old man. Just come clean and save all our times. The way your looking right now, I reckon you don't have much of it left." Carmine exploded up from his chair, eyes blazing with red hot fury. If it wasn't for the table between them he would have wrapped his hands around Sal's pip squeek neck already and choked the life out of him. As things stood that was still looking like a decidely attractive prospect. Micky and Donald Sullivan, Carmine's own muscle, had slipped their hands into their coats, edging towards their pistols. They weren't the only ones. [U][B]"YOU OVERSTEPPED THE MARK NOW BOY! NO ONE INSULTS CARMINE FALCONE LIKE THAT! YOU HEAR ME? NO ONE!"[/B][/U] Roared The Roman. Everyone, every single hardened criminal, looked terrified at the outburst. Even Sal's cocky grin had vanished, to be replaced by an expression somewhere between terror and grim determination. It was all going to go down now. Guns where cocked, men began to choose sides, lines where drawn. Then the lights went out. [color=black]And the Batman struck.[/color] [center]*****[/center] [color=black]"Have I ever told you how much I love skylights Alfred?"[/color] [color=steelblue]"Only several times this month Bruce."[/color] Came the reply down the comm line of Bruce's new cowl. [color=steelblue]"It does seem like the criminal elite of Gotham have an unhealthy obsession with them. Lucky, considering [i]Batman's[/i] disposition towards crashing through them."[/color] [Color=Black]"I keep telling you Alfred, luck has very little to do with my accomplishments."[/color] The frostiness between the two men had melted away after Bruce had found his new inspiration. Tommy, or his fate, hadn't been mentioned since. [Color=Steelblue]"Sounds like things are getting heated down there. Is everything in place Bruce?"[/cOLOR] [cOLOR=BLACK]"Affirmative. Lights out in 3. . . 2. . . 1"[/color] No sooner was Bruce finished his countdown than the lights in Falcone's penthouse blinked off, all thanks to the vigilante's early preparation. He had already pirated the electric grid around the penthouse, installing a temporary 'on/off' switch that he could control through a wireless signal built into his suit. It had been Alfred's idea. The surprised and panicked cries began to ring through the penthouse below him, Bruce taking that as his que to introduce himself. He leaped through Falcone's skylight, grasping the tails of his cape and letting it flicker behind him ominously in the darkness. Alfred had been against the cape, though Bruce had insisted upon it, listing several advantages to it. Not least was that it gave an extra dramatic flair for moments like this. He landed lightly upon Falcone's great table with a small *thump*, falling easily into a balanced crouch. Every movement was designed to be animalistic and primal, removed by degrees from that which a normal man would do to make him seem otherworldly to his foes. It seemed to be working if the gasps and screams where anything to go by. "Jesus Christ!" "He's real?" "It's the Batman?!" Bruce allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, assured in the knowledge that the crooks would never see his face in the gloom, even if it was the only part of his face displayed with his new cowl. [color=steelblue]"Recognition already? Seems I'll have to start shopping for a bigger cowl, as I doubt your fat head will fit in that one for much longer."[/color] Bruce's smile only grew, but he was robbed the chance to respond by the gangsters finally mobilizing. "Will somebody shoot that son of a bitch!" [i][color=black]Finally. The fun begins.[/color][/i] Bruce leaped left while throwing a handful of flash-bang pellets towards the right. The vigilante delivered a crushing flying knee strike upon Yuri Dimitrov while the pellets exploded with a sound and fury belayed by their tiny size. The Russian fell with a gurgle while the near-blinded criminals around him cursed furiously. The Batman pressed his advantage, falling in among the criminals like a whirling dervish of vengeful fury. The crimnals weren't ready for that attack. How could they be? No one had ever dared attack them in their own homes before, never mind the home of the most dangerous one of them all, Carmine Falcone. The only reason they had guards tonight was because of their suspicions over each other, not because they had ever countenanced an attack by an outside party. Hell, they owned the cops in this town so who else would they need to worry about. Their unprepardness coupled with their surprise and the lack of light conspired against them. They could hardly tell where the Batman was, never mind attack him. If they began to shoot wildly they would end up hitting each other. Bruce had no such handicap. [i][color=black]All courtesy of Wayne tech night-vision lenses built into my cowl. Wouldn't leave home without them.[/color][/i] Batman delivered a boxing combination of three straight lefts and a right hook, spinning a large bodyguard from his feet before kicking out at a second man's knee, the bone cracking like dry tinder. Both men were out of the fight, the second screaming his lungs out. Three more bodyguards quickly followed suite. Several more had fallen before they began to rally. The Roman was trying to organize his peers into a firing line while Sal Maroni hefted a chair before charging the vigilante with a savage war cry, swinging the furniture as if it was a medieval mace. Batman easily sidestepped the clumsy blow, the chair continuing it's wild arc to smash into Sean Riley's face. Maroni looked on in surprise until Riley's boys, seeing their boss taken out, jumped Sal. The three fell onto the ground in a mess of wild punches and kicks, insults and curses. Soon Maroni's men joined in on the fracas, the group forgetting about Batman altogether. [color=steelblue]"Looks like you don't even need to be there Batman. Ready for phase two?"[/color] Came Alfred's voice. Another grin snuck across Bruce's face. He didn't have to answer for Alfred to know it was time. Seconds later distant sirens could be heard, unmistakably the sound of approaching GCPD squad cars. This was too much for the already rattled criminals. First the Batman, now the cops? Several broke off from the fight entirely to make a bee line for the exits, Franco Bertinelli leading the charge, Junior Galante hot on his heels. They spared little thought for their peers, providing concrete proof to that old adage; [i]'There is no honour among thieves'[/i] "Where the hell are they going. . . " Muttered Falcone as he watched on in a mixture of incredulity and horror. It was all falling apart. Tonight it was just his carefully crafted alliance between the crime families of Gotham, tomorrow it would be his bid for the mayoral office, the next day it would be his stranglehold on the cities organised crime. Then after that? Then it would be the Falcone empire itself. He couldn't explain how he knew these things, not without using words like 'premonition', or 'omen', words that a rational thinking man like himself didn't use. All he knew is that he was sure in this knowledge, and equally sure of the cause. The Batman. Another thing that a rational thinking man like him couldn't allow. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, edging towards the pistol in his shoulder holster. One bullet would do for this freakshow-bogeyman, then he could get things back on track. Just one bullet. That's all it would take. He was still thinking about that one bullet when one of Batman's tranquilizer darts sank into his neck. [center][color=black]*****[/color][/center] Falcone's solar was in a mess. Broken furniture, shattered ornaments, unconscious thugs. Everywhere there was scenes of violence, of an empire in decline. Bruce thought it was beautiful. The other gangsters hadn't taken long to clear out the penthouse when they thought the GCPD was on their way. Not one had stopped to think about it, otherwise they'd still be there. The GCPD was so crooked that there wasn't a chance in hell they dare upset Falcone by assaulting his personal residence in the city. The siren's had merely been the result of Bruce hiding speakers around the terrace garden outside before crashing the party. [color=black][i]Criminals; a cowardly, superstitious [b]and outstandingly stupid[b] lot[/i][/black]. Still, stupidity worked for Bruce. Stupidity, with the merest of pushes, can become fear. And that's what tonight was all about, really. It was making these men, the royalty of crime in Gotham, afraid. Afraid of the Batman. That, and letting their king in on a message. [i][color=black]Speaking of. . . [/color][/i] Falcone was starting to make a commotion, grunting something as he began to writhe on the floor. He was finally coming out of the stupor that the tranquilizer dart had left him in. [i][color=black]Ten minutes after I originally calculated. . . Will have to work on the dosage[/color][/i] "Whaaa. . . where the he. . . wha the hell . . .," Muttered Carmine as he groggily tried to push himself to his feet, found his balance insufficent to the task and promptly fell flat onto his face. The groan afterwards told Bruce he was still awake. Good. [color=black]"Falcone," [/color] "Uh. . . Whoo said tha?" Bruce waited for Carmine to get back into a sitting position before revealing himself, stepping into a shaft of moonlight for the criminal to get a good look at him, or his silhouette at the very least. "You. . . What are you?" [color=black]"I am pain Falcone. I am vengeance. I am anger. I am wrath. I am all these things, and more. I am the dark places of the night that you fear to tread. I am. . . " "The Batman"[/color] "Yo. . . your nu-u-uts" Whimpered Falcone. Even the Roman was learning fear tonight, "Gotham doesn't do crazies!" [color=black]"Gotham isn't yours anymore Falcone. Gotham is mine now."[/color] Bruce stood in place for a moment longer, until he was certain Falcone had gotten the message, before turning on his heel and running out of the room, and into the darkness of the night.