Perhaps it was a sign to Bruce that every upscale restaurant he had attended were beginning to look the same. Elaborate ornamentation, fancy china, and an entirely too bright atmosphere for his tastes greeted him as he entered the building. The host immediately recognized him the moment he saw him. As he was ushered in, he took note of the violins and cellos being placed off in a corner of the joint. At least he have some soothing music for this.

The billionaire was late. Late because it was practically expected of him and he sure didn't want to sully that reputation. Besides, his date tonight wouldn't mind too much even if she were pulling her hair out of head in frustration. Everyone forgave his tardiness.

And as he expected, Vikki Vale sat at their table, a rather lovely white dress covering her body he had to admit. She hadn't seen him yet and was visibly annoyed. He expected that to change in 3...2…

Turning her head then, she caught sight of him and the host and her face immediately lit up with a smile. "Your table, Mr. Wayne," the host presented with a bow. Ignoring the man, Bruce instead walked up to Vale with a charming smile on his face. Coming to a stop next to her, he reached down and picked up an elbow-length gloved hand and raised it to his lips. kissing it gently. "Many apologies, Ms Vale, but had I known you would look so stunning, I would've shown up much sooner."

"I'm sure you have a good reason," she responded.

Moving to take a seat in the chair opposite her, he explained, "You wouldn't believe the traffic at this hour. I mean, who decides to have a wreck on the largest bridge in the city? You would think they would be more considered of people's time."

"I'm sure they didn't mean it. How could they know we were having a date?"

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. The fact there actually had been a wreck was of little consequence other than to make for a good story. The wreck had in no one, shape, or form prevented him from getting here. "I'm here now." Catching sight of the host standing nearby, he then picked up the wine menu. "How about something to drink?" he asked, seeing the redhead eagerly nod her head in response. "Hmm, let's see...how about the Chateau Leoville?"

"A fine choice, Sir," the host replied before scurrying off.

"So Ms. Vale, I believe you wanted an interview?" Bruce began as he set the menu down.

"We don't have to worry about that now," Vale jumped in. "Why don't we get to know each other a little better?"

"Pleasure before business?" the billionaire quipped. "While I would love to indulge, my father always taught me to take care of my work first. That way I can spend as much time as I want on the fun stuff."

"I never took you to be someone who followed priorities, Mr. Wayne."

"Neither did I, but keep that a secret. Wouldn't want to rest of Gotham to figure me out."

Vale smiled widely. "You're not who I expected you to be. Might I ask why you keep this part of you secret?"

Bruce could see the inner journalist in Vale recording everything in her memory. She was in full-on investigative mode. Time to lead her on a merry chase. "Well, if people caught on to me, they'd just give me more work to do. And between you and me, I hate work. It's so time consuming. There's so much more to life than just work, work, work. Brucie likes to play, play, play."

"So you would see this is all a front?"

"A front, no. More like me taking my more lazy qualities and blowing them up. Though of course if you write this down somewhere and it just so happens to be printed, well, I will deny it with my every breath and more."

"Oh, no worries, Mr. Wayne, your secret is safe with me."

Bruce just gave her a winsome smile before dropping his eyes from hers to her inviting bosom. She was going strapless for the night and was doing everything she could to prop up her assets. Might as well reward her for her efforts. "That's nice."

"You're welcome."

Visually shaking his head, he looked up at the reporter, letting a lost look appear on his face. "Welcome for what?"

He could tell Vale wanted to roll her eyes, but she resisted the urge. After all, one didn't do anything to annoy a rich man, or at least someone they viewed as their meal ticket. "For keeping your secret."

"Oh, I wasn't referring to that, but thanks."

Letting his eyes wander back down, he did observe the redhead staring at him for a moment before realizing just where he was looking. A rather predatory smirk appeared on her face, her eyes twinkling with excitement. She leaned forward in her seat, giving him a better look at her cleavage. "I suppose you have other interests you'd like to...explore."

"I do."

"Such as?"

"Deep sea diving."

That seemed to lose her. "Wha?"

Bruce looked back up to her with a grin. "I always did enjoy diving into very deep places. Exploring valleys between rounded mountains, looking for booty and the like, probing dank, dark caves that grow tighter the further you go on."

It seemed his innuendo was received, further enticing the woman. However, before they could continue, a waiter had appeared carrying their wine bottle and glasses. "Good evening, Sir, Madam. I am Steven and I'll be your waiter for the evening." Setting the glasses down, one in front of each of them, he popped the cork out of the bottle and immediately began pouring the wine into their glasses. Once they were filled, he set the bottle down on the table. "Would you like to start the night off with some appetizers?"

"I could go with some oysters," Bruce remarked. A quick glance to his dinner companion showed him that she wasn't too fond of that suggestion. Well too bad. He was sure she would go along with it once he hinted about his intentions.

"One moment, Sir," the waiter said before leaving.

"I can't say I'm too fond of oysters," Vale spoke up a moment later.

"That's a shame," Bruce replied. "Oysters make for an excellent aphrodisiac."

As expected, Vale lit up in anticipation. "Is that right?" She really was quite simple to manipulate, which was quite dull to dark-haired man. Surely everyone knew by now about oysters and their qualities. Maybe Vale was playing dumb, but he got the impression she wasn't all that good at pretending.

"Of course. Would I lie?"

The redhead shook her head in response. "Good," Bruce said before continuing, "but I'm afraid that pleasantness can wait. We do need to cover some business here, Ms. Vale."

Disappointed, Vale asked, "Such as?"

"How about you tell me just what you found out about Elliot Pharmaceuticals. The last time we met, you mentioned a very intriguing theory."

Though he appeared friendly, Bruce watched her with the eyes of a hawk. He was going to get to the bottom of this reporter's story before the dinner was over. A solid message needed to be sent from Wayne Enterprises to the rest of the world and one journalist writing out an alternate version based off of an "anonymous Wayne employee" would undermine that. To avoid that, he would twist this woman's story to serve his own purpose.

And Vale would be none the wiser for it.

The Pinkney Museum was a massive building. Easily the size o' three city blocks. Cobblepot had always wanted a place to call his own, some sort o' mansion or the like, but this would due just dandy.

"So, think you can handle this, lil girlie?" the Penguin asked, holdin' his burnin' cigar out in front o' his face as he stood out in front o' the museum. Next to him stood the Candice lady, a lovely peach amongst all these goons n' ruffians.

"I can," she said dismissively, then added, "but I don't see why you need me to do this."

Cobblepot took a hit o' his cigar, lettin' the burnin' smoke fester in his legs before he exhaled. "Way I see it, you work for the bloke that got me out. Since he went out o' his way to get me out, he'd like to help me any way he can. Right now I need me-self an assistant, someone with a more feminine touch. So, he would let me use you for that job, am I right?"

Candice stared at him for a moment before slowly noddin' her head in response.

"There we go, so you work for me now. Now, your first job is to go talk to the curator here and persuade him to sell this lovely buildin' o' his."

"Alright," she acknowledged before walkin' towards the museum doors, a couple o' the boys openin' the doors for her. Cobblepot made sure to get a good look at that swingin' fanny o' hers as she walked away. Mmmm, they didn't make 'em like that across the pond.

Takin' another puff of his cigar, the short man waddled up to the doors, followin' a few o' his men as they entered the buildin' behind the dark-haired woman. He came to a stop on the other side o' the doors and listened to Candice work her magic.

"Good evening, Mr. Deakins," the woman said in a welcomin' voice. "How are you this evening?"

"I'm sorry, Madam," a rather wimpy voice responded. If Cobblepot wasn't mistaken, this curator was a girlie man. Pfft, figures. "But you're going to have to come tomorrow. The museum is closed."

"Oh, I'm not here to see the museum," Candice replied. "I'm here on behalf of my employer. He wishes to buy this building from you."

There was a gasp, followed by a few sputterin' sounds before the girlie man managed to spit out, "I beg your pardon?!" Oy, he sounded outraged, didn't he? "The Pickney Museum is not for sale! I'm going to have to ask you and these…these ruffians of yours to leave—now."

"Don't be hasty," the woman said, not the least bit taken back by the curator's answer. "Money is not an object here. Just name your price and you can go home a very wealthy man. Just think about it: You could buy the art here to form your own collection, maybe even start your own museum."

Cobblepot had to admit, he liked the sound o' that offer. Had he been the girlie man, he would o' taken it without another thought. Howe'er, this Deakins fellow didn't seem to think the same way. "I've had just about enough of this nonsense. Please vacate the premises, or I shall call the police."

Well, that was that for these negotiations. "Now, now, I wouldn't do that if I was you," the Penguin said as he moved further into the buildin'. His men stepped out o' his way until he reached Candice and the curator. He was taller and thicker than Cobblepot had imagine him to be. Older too, with greying hair that was beginin' to thin on top. The gent had turned his head to look at him through thin-wired glasses.

"Who are you?" Deakins demanded upon seein' him.

"I'm the bloke wantin' to buy this lovely establishment o' yours," the short man said before he took another puff of his cigar.

Deakins frowned. "As I've told your associate, the museum is not for sell. Now if you please, this building is non-smoking. Put out your cigar."

Cobblepot stared at the girlie man before purposefully raisin' his cigar up, takin' a longer drag from it, and blew smoke at him. "There's goin' to be some new rules here, one o' which is this no smokin' business."

"I said, I am not selling—"

The Penguin snapped his fingers and three o' his boys pulled out their guns, aimin' 'em at the curator. That shut the bloke up mighty quick. "Now listen 'ere wanker, I've got a new proposal: either you give me the deed to this buildin' or me boys here will blow your pansy ass head off your shoulders, and then I'll take the deed. So what'll it be?"

Deakins looked petrified at the guns pointed at him. "I...I...the deed is...in the back…"

"Good boy," Cobblepot praised him. "Smalls, Doogan, have the gent here show you where the deed is and be sure to bring it to me." Turnin' on his heels he began venturin' further into the museum. "As for the rest of ya, make yourselves at home."

As Smalls and Doogan disappeared with Deakins, the rest o' the boys began floodin' the place, carryin' wooden crates into the museum. Cobblepot just looked about the place, takin' the time to stare at a paintin' that caught his eyes here and there. Heck, the place had a giant dinosaur too; always wanted one of those. Eventually he came to a room and spun around to face his forces and the lovely Candice. "Alright boys, listen up," he declared. "This is our base o' operations. I don't want anyone that ain't part o' the gang in here, understand?" Seein' that he was understood, he continued, "Now, there are a couple o' blokes that need to be takin' care of. We got the chinks on the other side o' town and we got that Stromwell fella that's been makin' moves on my turf. I want you wankers to show Stromwell that we here to stay, capiche?" He paused to take another puff on his cigar, findin' it was comin' to the end of its life, much to his annoyance. Tossin' it away like garbage, he said, "In these boxes, you'll find e'erythin' you'll need to show those blokes what for. Now go out and make me proud."

There was a loud cheer, followed by the sound of the crates bein' dropped on the floor. Lids were ripped off, revealin' the polished barrels of automatic weapons, boxes of ammunition, and ready-to-use grenades. Eagerly, the boys went to town, grabbin' e'ery weapon they could hold.

"Is that all for tonight, Mr. Cobblepot?" Candice suddenly asked him, standin' right next to him.

The Penguin smirked as he looked up to the dark-haired woman. "Oh no, dearie, we've only just started."

Once the Vale matter was settled, it hadn't taken long for Bruce to take his leave for his planned nightly pursuits. The redhead had been disappointed, though the dark-haired man had been sure to give her a good-bye grope to leave her wanting more. For a moment he had considered having a taste of what was being offered, but his blood was beginning to boil for other reasons. One change of attire later and he was out on rooftops, the dinner long forgotten.

It had started off as a quiet night. Usually that was a welcoming feeling, but with the events of the last couple of nights, it just set Batman's teeth on edge. It was more like the calm before the storm, the city holding its breath for the latest incident to occur.

It didn't take too long for that to happen.

The vigilante heard it through the air. Gunfire and a lot of it. Instantly he had leapt off his perch and grappled his way to those horrific sounds. It was mere minutes before he arrived at the scene and he was caught off guard by the carnage he found.

The street was a mess. One of the buildings had been an obvious target as it was littered with bulletholes. In front of it were men in suits, each one taking cover behind damaged cars, blue federal mailboxes, and whatever cover they could find. Every once in awhile, one of them would pop off a few shots before taking cover again.

On the other side was where most of the gunfire was coming from. These men looked like hoodlums, each one with a vest on. On the back of several of the vests were odd black markings. If he wasn't mistaken, it was some sort of bird. While these thugs had also taken cover behind cars, there were more of them standing up, firing off automatic machine guns, and laughing with glee. There was a nearby truck as well, parked in the middle of the road right next to the parked cars. The back of it was wide open, reveal more weaponry inside.

Taking another look at the damaged building, it didn't take Batman long to realize this was one of Stromwell's places. Just great, another turf war and it was brought right to the doorstep of one of the remaining mob families in the city. Maroni had been one thing, a coup in the dark underbelly of Gotham, but this was out in the open. Fortunately any innocent bystanders had fled the scene, leaving only these miscreants.

A hand raising to his belt, the vigilante began to plot his move. He had to take out the attacking side first. That wouldn't be hard considering he was on the rooftop of one of the buildings behind them, one to their left. They'd never see him coming. Once they were taken care of, Stromwell's guys would undoubtedly begin taking shots at him as well, so he'd have to take them out too. Then again, these guys looked older, more experienced. They weren't the trigger-happy young guys that were joining the families nowadays. They'd probably try to assess the situation first before firing and may just back off. It was because of this that the dark vigilante hadn't come crashing down on Stromwell like he had the other families. They were a lesser evil amongst a whole lot of evil.

However, that's when things took an ugly turn. An unseen man exited out the back of the truck, a swagger to his steps. Resting on one of his shoulders was a long tube that made the Batman's eyes widen. Where the hell did he get that bazooka? Just the sight of it made his blood boil.

"Stand aside, stand aside ladies!" the man proclaimed as he moved away from the truck and then came to a stop, turning to face Stromwell's men. His comrades had stopped shooting as he had walked by, only to pick up gunfire once they had a clear shot again. "Let me show you how it's done!"

It was instinct that threw Batman off the roof as the thug went down on one knee and aimed the bazooka. It was instinct that allowed him to point his grapple at an approaching streetlamp and fire it, the grapple claw hitting and taking hold of the overhanging post. The cable tant, he quickly began arching through the air, swinging his legs out in front of him, and releasing this hold on the grapple. He closed in on the thug in seconds, his feet making contact with the rocket tube and pushing it to a side, just as the man fired the weapon.

The rocket launched from the tube with a hissing whoosh. However, instead of hitting Stromwell's side of the street, the rocket flew right into the open truck and detonated. Batman had only just landed on the asphalt, the thug behind him crashing onto his side by the sudden attack, when the explosion burst out. The force of the blast nearly threw the vigilante off his feet, had he not crouched down as close to the ground as he could, pulling the flap of his cape in front of his face for cover.

Batman's ears were ringing, but he fought through it as he slowly brought down his cape, glancing to the attacker thugs. All of them had dropped behind their respective covers the moment the explosion rang out. He didn't have much time. Baring his teeth, he pushed off the road with his legs, powering forward as he ran to the nearest car. As he closed in, he leapt into the air, his hands making contact with the roof of the vehicle. Pushing down, he leaned to his right and swung his legs up and to the left. His momentum carried him over the roof the car, his legs soon extended out in front of him just in time for a thug to raise his head up. His bottom of his boots slammed into the man's face, snapping his head back and causing him to fall to the ground. The Batman landed on the ground just as the back of the thug's head hit the sidewalk, rendering him unconscious.

Before him stood a line of five men, each one slowly moving out of their crouched stances, only to freeze upon seeing him.

That hesitation cost them as the vigilante launched himself at them. The first man instinctively raised his gun up in a futile manner as the Batman shot a hand out and grabbed onto barrel, forcing it to the opposite side of his body. Bringing an arm across his chest, bent at the elbow, he lashed it out, slamming his elbow into the side of the man's head and forcing him to ram the other side of his face against the car next to him.

As the man dropped, Batman leapt over his falling foe and swung a roundhouse kick at the second thug. That man had just barely gotten his gun up before the vigilante's foot made contact with the side of his face, also causing him to hit the vehicle next to him much like the first man.

Using his momentum, he spun in midair, cape flying wildly behind him before a foot touched down on the ground. By the time he completed the spin, he had retrieved three bat-shaped shuriken and launched them through the air. The first projectile hit the third and fifth thugs' hands, causing them to cry out in pain as they dropped their guns. For the fourth thug, the shuriken slammed into his face, knocking him out as he dropped to the concrete sidewalk.

A moment later he was on the third thug, embedding a fist into the man's stomach, followed by an uppercut to his chin that snapped his head back. With his left hand, he grabbed the man's belt, and with the right the man's shirt. With a grunt, he lifted the man off the ground and tossed him over his shoulder. The thug cried out as he flipped over and over through the air, the vigilante pausing long enough to glance behind him and watch as his foe landed on the ground on his head.

That just left the fifth and last thug, who was gaping at him in fear, clutching his injured hand. Batman lunged at him, his cape splayed out behind him, making him appear much like the monstrous creature he claimed to be. Fist drawn back, he launched it at the screaming thug, nailing him in the face and knocking off his feet. The moment the vigilante landed on the ground, the back of the man's head collided with the sidewalk, knocking him out cold.

A stoic look on his covered face, Batman slowly stood up, turning his head to his right and seeing Stromwell's men staring across the street at him. One of them had raised a hand up, shaking it from side to side, his head twisting left to right and back left as he demanded no one shoot. Smart man.

Staring right back at them, he let his white lens unnerve them for a moment before he walked out from behind the car. Off to his right, the bazooka-toting thug was pushing himself off the street, groaning as he did so.

The Batman strode to him and reached down, grabbing him by the back of his collar and hauling him up onto his feet. With his other hand, he grabbed the thug by the front of his shirt and threw him towards the cars. The man cried out as he was flung, grunting with pain once he made contact with the vehicle. The vigilante closed in on him in less than a second, shoving the thug's chest up against the car. Batman made sure the side of the man's head was pressed up against the car window so that he could at least see the dark-clad man with one eye and with that eye the vigilante held the points of his triangle blades right in front of it.

Feeling the man stiffen, the Batman felt confident he had the man's attention. "I'm only going to ask this once," he growled. "Who are you working for?"

The man stood there frozen before a wide grin split his face, causing the vigilante to frown. "I'm with the Penguin's crew," he declared proudly.

The grin soon disappeared when the man noticed the scowl that appeared on the Batman's face. "Wrong answer." Backing off a half-step, the vigilante gripped the thug's shoulder and spun him around. With his other hand, he slammed a fist into the man's gut, forcing the air out of his lungs as he let out a pained gasped, bending forward from the blow.

Letting go of the man, the thug dropped to his knees as he held his gut, trying to suck in as much air as he could. Raising a leg up, Batman stomped down on the breathless man's back, making him cry out weakly as he collapsed onto the asphalt. Adjusting his stance, the vigilante then moved his foot to between the thug's shoulder blades and lightly dug his heel in. "Now let's try this again," he spoke calmly. "Who. Do. You. Work. For?"

The man gasped out before replying in terror, "I swear, it's the Penguin! He got out of prison and's been rounding up the old crew!"

Batman leaned down and said lowly. "You're beginning to wear out my patience."

"Jesus Christ, I'm not lying! I swear on my mother's grave!"

A frown was on the vigilante's face. How the hell did Cobblepot get out of jail? Who had the audacity to let out a man who kidnapped the police commissioner's daughter? "Say I believe you, how did he get out?"

"I don't know, man. I was just with the boys when he comes barging in and says we're taking over Gotham. I didn't ask any questions and neither did anyone else."

Upon digging his heel into the man's back, he screamed out, "I'm telling the truth! He rounded us up and we went to Maroni's! Penguin blew the guy's head off and took over the Italian's gang!"

Batman clenched his fists. He could feel the rage welling up within him. Not only had someone unleashed that little bastard, but he already was racking up a body count. Someone was going to pay for this. "What's the endgame?" he demanded.

"What else? He wants Gotham."

"Of course," Batman spat out. This was all he was going to get out of this thug. Raising his foot up, he then slammed it down on the back of the man's head, finishing the interrogation as the man went limp.

With an abrupt about-face, he stormed away from the scene. He had a prison that needed to be investigated and then Cobblepot to find. It was infuriating to find out a man he had hunted down was back on the streets causing mayhem. The next time they met though, he wouldn't just break the man's nose. It would be his legs and anything else that made life convenient for him.

To Guest: You left out the Crownes, though they may be a recent addition. As for the mob families, there's plenty to pick and choose from, it's just a matter of searching.