The storm rolled over Black Hollow like a judgment passed down from the heavens—its thunder echoing the violence swelling beneath the surface of Gotham. Draven stood atop a half-collapsed radio tower, his cape whipping in the wind, eyes fixed on the flashing skyline. Somewhere below, Fracture was moving again.
The name had appeared in whispers—on encrypted frequencies, in the eyes of terrified witnesses, and on the dying breaths of agents too broken to speak clearly. But now… now they were making noise. Explosions. Kidnappings. Executions. Gotham was beginning to remember fear.
"Draven," Evelyn's voice crackled through the comms, low and tense. "We've got movement. Industrial Sector B. I count at least a dozen armed men heading into the old Meritech facility."
"That's Fracture's old stomping ground." He clenched his jaw. "They're not hiding anymore."
"I'll meet you there," she said. "But Draven—this isn't just another gang op. They're setting something up. Big."
He launched himself off the tower, gliding through the churning sky like a phantom. The city blurred beneath him, a blur of grime and steel and desperate light. Each beat of his heart felt heavier—like the weight of everything he had taken on was finally pressing down on him.
By the time he landed outside Meritech, the facility was crawling with armed guards. They moved like soldiers, not thugs—tactical precision, coordinated communication. These weren't just criminals. These were soldiers of a new war.
He crept along the rusted scaffolding, dropping silently behind two guards. A flash of his baton, two sharp strikes—one to the neck, one to the ribs—and they were down. He moved like shadow incarnate, working his way toward the inner chamber.
Inside, the scene stopped him cold.
A massive screen flickered in the center of the room, displaying a pulsing Fracture symbol—black veins fracturing a blood-red circle. Dozens of figures in sleek armor stood watching as a masked figure addressed them from the platform.
"This city has been ruled by ghosts. Legends. Myths." The figure's voice was distorted, mechanical and inhuman. "But no longer. The age of symbols is over. We are the fracture in their foundation. The break in their delusion."
The crowd roared in approval.
Then the screen shifted.
Blueprints. Of ArkTech Tower.
Draven's eyes widened. That was Gotham's central communication hub—the city's last line of digital defense. If Fracture took that, they wouldn't just own the streets. They'd own the airwaves, the systems, the infrastructure. Control would shift in hours.
He turned to move—but the floor cracked beneath him.
Too late.
A spotlight flared, catching him mid-sprint.
"Target acquired!" a guard shouted. "It's him!"
The room erupted in gunfire.
Draven rolled behind a column, bullets chewing into the concrete. He tossed a flash bomb, blinding half the squad, and moved like a blur—fists slamming into ribs, knees into jaws, electricity arcing from his gauntlets.
A soldier lunged at him with a shock-staff. Draven caught it mid-swing, twisted, and slammed the man into a generator. Sparks exploded around them.
Suddenly, Evelyn dropped from a skylight above, guns blazing. She moved like fury incarnate—deadly and precise. She dropped three with headshots, then spun to cover Draven's flank.
"I told you not to start the party without me," she shouted.
"You're late," he grunted.
Together, they fought their way through the chaos. But just as they reached the back hallway—an explosion rocked the corridor.
Smoke. Fire. Screams.
From the dust emerged a towering figure clad in obsidian armor and a pulsing blue visor.
Pulse.
The room seemed to freeze.
"You're too late, Draven," Pulse said, voice like thunder. "The city is already ours. This was never about winning. It's about rewriting the rules."
Draven charged—but Pulse moved like a tank. His punches were seismic. One hit sent Draven crashing through a steel door. Blood filled his mouth. His ribs screamed.
Evelyn fired from behind, but Pulse raised an energy shield, deflecting the bullets like rain.
Draven rose slowly, pain crackling through him. He locked eyes with Pulse.
"I don't need rules," he growled. "I just need you down."
He unleashed a wave of explosive pellets, blinding Pulse long enough to leap behind him—grappling onto his back and slamming an EMP charge into his armor. Sparks erupted. Pulse screamed in rage, shaking him off and stumbling backward.
Evelyn was at Draven's side in seconds.
"You okay?" she asked, breathless.
"For now," he said, voice tight.
They moved toward the exit, but Pulse's voice followed them.
"This isn't over, Knight. Fracture is just the beginning."
As they escaped into the rain-soaked streets, Draven looked back once. He wasn't sure if it was the thunder… or the laughter of something far more twisted echoing in the distance.
Something… clown-like.