Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock... And then a massive concussion knocks the legs out from underneath Max Chilton sending him sprawling. This explosion rocks the entire room and throws off an intensively bright white light that has a totally blinding effect. Lex Moxon is thrown backwards and comes down hard on his side, his right arm makes a loud cracking noise and he screams in pain. Selina, the stripper in his employment for the past few weeks, is not so lucky, she is thrown from the 7th story executive office in a whirl wind of debris and shattered glass.
Bruce enters the room through the missing front entrance that his first bomb had ripped into the thick walls and reinforced doors of the office, what was only a few short minutes ago now. He kicks broken cinder blocks and fragments of wood and iron banding out of his way as he slowly takes an assessment of the damage so far done. He doesn't notice the ace of spades that his boot comes down onto and crushes into what appears to be a puddle of blood and brain matter. He keeps moving.
Off to the left side of the room he spots Max, still passed out from the makeshift bomb he had tossed into the room. The bomb had consisted simply of a couple of concussion frags and a couple of flash bangs with the pins pulled and rigged to a rude timer strapped on an old German nerve gas grenade. Underneath the mask he smiles. "Worked like a charm." he says as he approaches the unconscious gunman. Stomping on one end of the Thompson that is laying beside max, causing it to spring up into the air, he then executes a perfect round house kick and sends the gun flying out of the nearest broken window and down onto the street below.
Bruce binds Maxs' wrists and ankles, and drags him to the middle of the room and drops him there, then turns his attention to the expensive over turned henkel harris desk and the crime boss laying a few feet away from it near the shattered bay windows that he had watched the woman being propelled out of, from the safety of his perch in the hallway. He looks down at the aging boss, how week and fragile a thing he seems to be laying there like this, completely exposed and entirely defenseless. He could extinguish the life out of him right here right now if he wanted to. Underneath the mask his smile fades back into the stone cold granite carving that is his usual face.
Bending over he retrieves the model 27 that is resting near the crime boss and sticks into an empty carry loops on the inside of his suit. He loves revolvers and this one just may serve as a nostalgic reminder one day. After binding Lex's hands and legs he lifts the man onto his shoulder and carries him to the center of the room and drops him to the floor with a thump. Then just as Bruce is kneeling down to tie the two career criminals together, he hears the heavy foot falls of small group of men beating their way up the staircase in a hurry.
Straightening up and starting to make for the shadows, a 1911 Colt .45 appears in one hand and a Walther PP appears in the other, but to his surprise he feels the cold steel of another gun, a gun being held by someone else, a gun being pressed against the small exposed section of the back of his head that is not covered by his heavy duty mask. "Alright pal," to his surprise a voice he has never forgotten all these long years away from Gotham city speaks into his ear, "Move a single muscle and I rearrange your brains." He knows the man wouldn't hesitate, after all, he'd watched him gun down his own parents.