Night descended upon Gotham with black wings of clouds, smothering the light from the moon and stars. Gloom spilled out of the trash choked alleys to fill the streets as well. The lights along the road were barely enough to push the darkness back, and the headlights of the cars still on the streets didn't reach beyond the curbs. Everyone was hurrying to get home before they became prey to the criminals lurking around and using the shadows to cover their murderous activities.

Bruce sat in the passenger seat of his van, checking over the cameras and microphones he would be deploying around the docks where the meeting with Officer Cunningham was scheduled to take place. Alfred sat in the back of the van, testing the monitors and speakers to ensure they had a solid connection. Neither of them spoke, but they both understood the significance of tonight's mission. Bruce had apprehended a single fugitive in a hotel room, but neither of them knew how many criminals might make an appearance on the docks, and all of them were probably armed. If Bruce had to engage in combat, his defensive skills weren't enough to stop a bullet.

Bruce was dressed all in black with a like color satchel strapped diagonally across his chest. A ski mask covered his head but had been rolled up to reveal his face as he didn't need it yet.

"I'm set here," Bruce announced. "Are we ready?"

"Signals are coming through perfectly, Master Bruce," Alfred replied. "The receiver in the van will pick up the transmissions anywhere within a six block radius."

"Good, watch my back," Bruce requested before putting a radio earpiece in position.

"Are you reading me, Sir?" Alfred asked in a microphone.

"Perfectly," Bruce answered while pulling down his ski mask. Opening the door, he slipped out into the night and headed toward the designated meeting place.

The docks were composed of more than two dozen piers jutting out into Gotham's harbor. Built on the shoreline were countless rows of storage warehouses to stockpile both the goods coming in and those being prepped for shipment out. The dark waters lapped softly against the piers and shore, filling the air with a deceptively tranquil sound. A bell mounted on a buoy swaying with the tide clanged occasionally in the distance. The birds, so plentiful and noisy during the day when they came looking for a free meal, had returned to their nests, leaving the skies empty and silent. The air smelled of salt but also reeked of fish and diesel fumes.

Cunningham wasn't expected until midnight, and it gave Bruce and Alfred some time to prepare a proper reception. They could only hope no one showed up early.

Bruce approached one of the warehouses and jumped up, kicking off the wall for added height. His gloved hands latched onto the rusty bottom rung of the fire escape ladder. Pulling himself up, Bruce climbed to the top of the four story structure. He ignored the windows and doors near the fire escape since he didn't need to get inside to accomplish his task.

Standing on the railing at the uppermost floor, Bruce secured a firm grip on the eave, hauling himself up and onto the roof. Moving with as much speed as he dared on the smooth metal surface, he headed toward the front of the building overlooking the waters of the harbor. The roof was only slightly sloped, and jutting out from the peak horizontally was a sturdy I-beam. Hanging under the beam was a motorized winch and pulley system linked to a metal platform for raising cargo from the ground to storage spaces on the upper floors of the warehouse.

Bruce climbed down the reinforced metal supports and dropped onto the cargo platform below the pulleys and winch. Kneeling down, he dug into the satchel he carried and produced a wireless camera. The diminutive component easily fit in the palm of his hand but had exceptional range and clarity of image. He used a pair of plastic ties to secure the camera underneath the platform where he knelt.

"How's the image?" Bruce whispered into the mic pinned on the collar of his black sweater.

"Tilt it down slightly," came Alfred's reply in Bruce's earpiece.

Reaching under the platform, Bruce adjusted the camera.

"Perfect," Alfred said when the image he watched on screen showed a better view of the area.

Bruce reached into a different pocket of the satchel and drew out a directional microphone, attaching it beside the camera and securing it with plastic ties as well. He aimed the mic toward the center of the three piers nearest the warehouse, but he didn't ask Alfred about the reception as the powerful microphone was designed to pick up voices at distances over two hundred yards. Asking Alfred if he could hear anything while kneeling beside the microphone was likely to leave the butler deafened.

Slipping away as quietly as possible, Bruce moved to the opposing end of the roof and repeated the process. Only when all four sides had cameras and microphones attached to them did he climb down and return to street level. The meeting point had been arranged near warehouse five, but there was no way for Bruce to tell the exact location where the criminals would come together. His only option was to cover as much ground as he could and hope his equipment picked up enough to be used as evidence.

A small fishing boat, one of many, was tied to a nearby pier, and Bruce went aboard, hiding cameras and less powerful microphones to pick up anything in the immediate vicinity. Hurrying toward the main pier in front of warehouse five, Bruce placed yet another microphone among several wooden crates stacked together in a three level pile where the wood pier met the concrete of the docks.

"Master Bruce," Alfred relayed through Bruce's earpiece. "I suggest you hurry. One of the cameras spotted a car entering the docks. It's still far off, but it's headed this way."

"Understood," Bruce answered. He shouldered one of the heavy crates to move it slightly and allow him to conceal the wireless microphone from view while still providing enough space for any nearby conversations to be clearly picked up.

"A second car has arrived from the other end of port, Sir," Alfred informed him. "It would seem the meeting is going to begin earlier than expected."

Bruce took three steps toward the van, but the approaching lights of a car made him duck back. He couldn't run the length of the warehouses before the incoming cars arrived and spotted him, nor could he stay still as he resided in the middle of the meeting place. Taking off the satchel, Bruce shoved it into a trash can and put an old newspaper on top of it.

He could hear the engines of the two cars as they drew close. Bruce scrambled to get out of sight fast. The piers were mounted atop solid concrete posts. Because of the high tide, no air pockets existed underneath the piers, but Bruce didn't have an option if he wanted to avoid being shot. Climbing down, he slipped into the cold waters, suppressing a shiver and instinctive gasp as the icy liquid closed in around him.

Before he slipped under the waters entirely, Bruce pulled an ink pen from his pocket and dismantled it, keeping only the central tube of the pen in hand. Putting the tube in his mouth for an improvised snorkel, Bruce took a deep breath and pushed himself under the water. He swam down, feeling his way forward in the lightless waters. Finding an old, rust covered anchor, Bruce removed his grappling hook and secured it on the anchor.

Gradually returning to the surface, Bruce let the rope out incrementally. He maintained a secure grip on the rope and wrapped his legs around it in order to prevent floating to the surface where he might be seen. He ascended only far enough for his pen snorkel to breach the waters. Rather than exhale through the tube and risk someone hearing the spattering water as it was pushed out, Bruce swallowed the harbor waters until the pen had been emptied. The water was foul, but he managed to drink it without choking. He took a slow breath, trying to avoid making any noise.

Bruce wished his earpiece with Alfred still worked, but the transmission had ended the moment he'd submerged. He made a mental note to build all future electronics to be waterproof.

Keeping his eyes open underwater blurred Bruce's vision, but it let him see the headlights of the two cars as they parked almost directly beside his hiding place. He heard the muffled slam of car doors and garbled voices, but he couldn't make sense of it.

His muscles remained tight, his legs wrapped around the rope. If anyone came over to check the harbor, he would need to descend very quickly; he didn't think the dark waters and his equally dark attire would shield him from detection if someone pointed a flashlight in his direction. His forethought was instantly put to the test as two criminals in dark suits approached the water's edge with flashlights in hand. Sucking in a quick breath, Bruce pulled on the rope and dragged himself down to the anchor on the bottom of the harbor.

Flashlight beams cut through the water around him like glowing hot blades of swords, and Bruce knew if either of the two beams touched him, the effect would be just as deadly. Being spotted wasn't the only problem Bruce currently faced. He'd trained extensively to hold his breath for a considerable period of time, so under normal circumstances, he could've remain submerged for several minutes. However, he'd only been able to take the smallest of breaths through his pen snorkel before going under, and it drastically limited the time he could remain below.

Bruce's lungs were already starting to burn, but he didn't risk even exhaling as the bubbles would instantly betray his location. He had only two options at present, stay submerged and risk drowning or surface and risk a fatal case of lead poisoning from the gunman standing guard. The limited amount of oxygen available in his lungs gave him a short time limit to decide before he ran out of air and the choice was made for him.