Rain lashed against the windows of an abandoned cathedral that loomed like a forgotten sentinel over Gotham's East End. Draven sat in silence, his cloak tattered, caked with dried blood and ash. His shoulder throbbed where the creature's claws had raked across him, and his ribs protested every breath. But pain was a welcome companion now—it reminded him he was still alive.
On the cracked stone floor before him lay a map of the city, smeared with notes, blood, and desperation. Circles, arrows, question marks—his entire war scrawled in cryptic code. Each piece brought him closer to the truth. And tonight, he would burn another piece of Gotham's rotting heart.
Across from him, the flickering light of an old oil lamp bathed her face in gold. Evelyn Hart. Hacker, ex-GCPD analyst, and the woman whose voice had saved him during the escape from Ash Point. Her eyes were sharp, haunted, but there was something else behind them—fire. Not just fear. Purpose.
"You really plan to take on the Black Sun Syndicate?" she asked, gesturing to the map. "Their warehouse in the Narrows is a fortress."
Draven tightened the makeshift bandage on his arm. "They trafficked Halcyon prototypes through that location. I need to see what they're guarding. If it links to the missing children, we end it tonight."
"You'll be walking into a death trap."
"I've walked through worse."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then let me come with you."
Draven looked up. For a moment, the haunted knight and the wounded rogue simply stared at each other in silence.
"I don't need backup," he said.
"Good," she replied. "I'm not backup. I'm vengeance with a keyboard."
Narrows – 2:17 a.m.
The Black Sun warehouse towered over the wet street like a tombstone. Draven crouched on a rooftop opposite, wind biting through the holes in his suit. Evelyn's voice crackled in his earpiece.
"Thermal shows twenty guards. Heavy weapons. Two moving crates into the lower vault. Cameras are old. I'll loop 'em."
Draven exhaled, then dropped from the roof.
He landed like a specter, snapping a guard's neck before the man could scream. Then another. Steel met flesh as his blades carved silence into the night. Gunfire erupted suddenly—a breach. They knew.
Draven darted inside, ducked under a barrage, and hurled a flashbang. He surged forward like a storm, knocking over crates and crushing skulls. His body screamed in pain, but he moved with purpose—rage gave him power. Every man here was part of the system that had stolen from Gotham's soul.
Below, in the vault's depths, he found it.
Rows of cryo-pods. Children. Alive, sedated. Tubes ran from their bodies into machines bearing the Halcyon insignia. Monitors displayed neurological maps and emotional strain data.
"God..." Evelyn's voice cracked through the comm. "They're harvesting trauma."
Behind him, a voice slithered out of the dark.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Draven turned. A man in a white mask stepped forward. Thin. Smiling. Not the Joker—not yet. But close. This one called himself The Harbinger.
"You break bones. I break minds," he cooed. "But you're just in time, knight. The real show's about to begin."
Draven rushed him, but The Harbinger pressed a device. The vault exploded in light.
Pain. Blinding. Screaming.
Then darkness.
Somewhere Unknown – Time Unknown
Draven awoke chained. An IV in his arm. Monitors blinked beside him. Evelyn's voice was gone.
Before him stood a wall of glass. Beyond it, The Harbinger watched, smiling.
"You'll be the perfect prototype," he whispered. "Let's break your soul, shall we?"
And in the corner, behind the glass… a flicker of laughter. Cold, rising. A grin slowly stretching in the shadows.
The Joker was watching.