He'd been waiting for this one; being cased back and forth out of the Vault, certain more cautious criminals eying him and assuming wealth from how he walks and how he flits around in VIP areas as if he belongs there. Bruce looks like a pretty decent mark who'd yield an excellent profit.

Alas.

The bridge is deserted, poorly-lit, moreso than the streets; the second they're secluded the man strikes, and then with barely any effort, finds himself sailing head first into the river. Bruce himself waits, forearms rested on the railing, watching the dark water. He doesn't think the drop was far enough or the water shallow enough to kill him, but hopefully he didn't pass out -

- oh. Well that's not what he expected. He raises his eyebrows.

Hi there.