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Foot steps.

You couldn't hear them as the crowd moved. But someone was running. Ahead, a woman was taking her purse off her shoulder. Perfect. Robbing someone took multiple steps. Step One, scoping out the area and making sure it was safe from any police officer. Other citizens didn't care if someone was robbed or not, it wasn't their place. This area was perfectly clear. Step Two, move quickly. What good is it to be a thief if the person started to scream for help, and one sensible hero of the day was around? He quickly picked up his pace moving closer to the target. Step Three, making the grab. It was an easy enough attempt, no? Some people made it harder for a would-be-purse-napper to steal a simple object.

Of course, he knew a trick or two. He tripped himself and hit the woman hard, causing her to stumble out of the way, on his way down he snatched the purse out of her hands and took off in a sprint. He laughed gently and started running as fast as her could. "Step Four," He said out loud, listening to the woman scream and shout for him to stop, a smug smile appeared on his face. "Run like hell."

"Get back here! Help! Someone! That man just robbed me!"

People stopped what they were doing and stared on in disbelief as the man rounded a corner and disappeared. He kept running knowing that it was only a matter of time until someone had given chase. The alley he went into appeared to be a dead end at first. However, a medium built brute of a man stood at the end of the alley. That man looked up directly at the purse-snatcher, and the purse-snatcher could see that the man was battered, scarred, destroyed, and utterly gruesome.

That man started to take slow steps towards the purse-snatcher when he stopped and started to push a dumpster out of the way, revealing a hidden door, pushing the door open, the brute waved towards the purse-snatcher. The snatcher smiled, nodding to his new found friend and headed inside.

The door slammed shut behind him and he felt a sudden shove followed by the cocking of a pistol. "Came wandering down the wrong alley, lad." The brute said, the snatcher turned around quickly, his eyes widened when he saw that the pistol was leveled at him. "And yer name would be?" The brute continued.

He hesitated, looking from the purse, to the barrel of the pistol, and then to the hideous brute. "J-Johnathan Lewis Caldwell. O-or as I'm most famously known as, Johnny Snatcher."

The Brute smiled, amused, "Ye know the steps t' robbin' someone, lad?"

Johnny nodded, "Y-yes, I..do."

The Brute's smile grew larger as he continued pointing the pistol at Johnny, "And do ye know what they are?"

"Step One, scoping out the area. Make sure there aren't any police around. Step Two, select an unsuspecting target, and move quickly a thief isn't good to himself if he's caught. Step three, make the grab, using any means necessary to distract the target. Step four, run like hell." Johnny replied rather rapidly, glancing over at the purse, then back at the Brute.

"Ye do know that step five is t' not stumble int' territory that isn't yers." The Brute remarked, a hideous smirk appearing on his cut up face. "Ye made a mistake lad."

"Morris! Leave the poor boy alone, and for crying out loud. Put the bloody gun down." Came another voice, and Johnny could hear footsteps, he turned slightly to see another man, wearing what seemed to be a bartenders outfit. The next thing he notice was a rather large, monkey like animal walking lazily towards him.

"Uh..." Johnny said, slowly getting to his feet. "Who are you chaps?"

The brute smirked slightly, lowering the barrel of the pistol. "The name be Morris, John Morris. Ye happen t' be in the area of the Bretonian Buccaneers. Not a smart move if ye ask me. Laddie." The bartender waved his hand aside, intentionally ignoring Morris. "The names Charles, and this is Boris." He said, his hand was open and gesturing towards the monkey like animal. "Welcome to the Buccaneer's bay, lad."

Johnny slowly rose to his feet, and brushed himself off, then sub consciously fixed his goggles ontop of his head. "The Buccaneers? As in, the ones that pulled that heist with the Prison Liner? The ones that made the Armed Forces fear the Southampton debris field? Captain Morgans, Buccaneers?" Morris nodded roughly, and slide his weapon back in it's holster on the side of his leg. Charles simply smiled, "Come with me lad, apparently we have a lot of history to tell you about."

Johnny hesitated for a brief moment, he was in the presence of the pirates of pirates. Stories of how four Buccaneer bombers robbing a mad Terrorist in Leeds had reached his ears, and he knew the name well. Stories of how one Buccaneer held off against five rogues and still managed to defeat each and everyone of them, and then fleeing from the Armed Forces the moment they arrived, the very group that caused the Police Authority havoc. He couldn't resist the temptation to smile. He knew, however, that the Buccaneers were also one of the most ruthless gang of ne'er-do-wells, pirates, and other sorts of criminals. Though his smile sortly vanished when he realized that, the tavern was empty as they entered it.

"What, what happened with the others? I thought..." He trailed off and stared blankly into the room. It was quiet, and dead. Dead enough for one to hear the very creaking in the floorboards. Charles, now leaving from behind the bar holding a mug in his left hand, and handing it to Morris as he approached.

"Well, lad," Morris started to speak. "The Story o' the Buccaneers is a long one. Ye see, we have a rich hist'ry, and we have hist'ry that repeats 'self." Morris paused and took a sip from the mug, then he continued. "Now, ye seem t' know everythin' that happened prior t' Cap'n Anderson takin' command. Majority of us broke off, after the Cap'n killed himself, and we're broken int' splinter groups."

Morris pointed towards a wall filled with pictures of different Captains, the last one on the board was Captain Henry Morgan, and an empty picture frame next to it with the name Thomas Anderson sat below it. "Cap'n killed himself, before he could re-organize the rest of the Buccaneers. Many of his faithful lieutenants either disappeared, turned themselves in, or formed the splinter groups."