Rain hammered the city like it was trying to wash away its sins—but the rot ran too deep. Gotham's skyline flickered with orange and blue—flames licking the edge of a collapsing building near the industrial district while sirens wailed in the distance. Chaos had a rhythm now, and Fracture was conducting the orchestra.
Draven stood on the rooftop of the old Clybourne Textile Mill, cape rippling, breath steady despite the blaze rising below. Evelyn's voice echoed through his earpiece.
"Draven, we've got hostiles moving from the west dockyards. They're armed, fast, and not Pulse. Fracture's splinter cells?"
"Could be," he replied, tightening his gloves. "We take no chances."
Across the rooftop, Derek arrived with blood on his knuckles and panic in his eyes. "They just bombed the orphanage shelter in Old Town. Seventeen dead. Five missing. One of them was Mia."
Draven's chest tightened.
Mia—the little girl Evelyn had helped save during the Southbridge raid. Her laugh had echoed in Evelyn's voice when she told him stories at night. The sound of innocence in a city built on despair.
Draven's jaw clenched.
"They want us broken," he muttered.
"Then give them something to fear," Evelyn said from the van below. Her tone was low, almost whispering. "Give them the knight."
Inside the mill, a group of Fracture operatives were setting charges—black bags filled with enough C4 to reduce a city block to ash. One of them, masked in crimson with a serpent tattoo on his neck, barked orders. They weren't mere soldiers. These were zealots. Loyal to chaos, not coin.
Draven dropped through the skylight like a shadow falling. Two went down before the others even reacted. His fists moved with precision, strikes silent but final. A knee shattered a jaw. An elbow dropped another. But the one with the serpent tattoo spun around with a blade—a whirring mono-edge vibroknife slicing the air.
It grazed Draven's side.
Pain flared.
Blood leaked.
He pivoted, using the pain as a fuel. Grabbing a steel rod, he countered, twisted, and slammed it into the attacker's throat. The man gasped, collapsed, unconscious.
"Bombs," Draven said, breathing heavy. "Evelyn, I need disarm protocols, now."
"Already uploading. I'll walk you through the first—"
The floor shook. Gunfire erupted outside.
Derek's voice screamed in over the comm: "We've got incoming! Heavily armored—shit, they've got a tank!"
Outside, the chaos intensified. Evelyn ducked behind a transport van as the tank's shell obliterated a security checkpoint. Fire bloomed in the street. She clutched the tablet, trying to keep the uplink with Draven alive.
Across the street, a woman stepped into the madness—tall, in black with a flowing crimson coat. Eyes gleaming like steel. A sniper rifle slung across her back, twin daggers at her waist.
New player.
"Who the hell—" Evelyn began.
The woman looked at her, nodded once. "Name's Halyn. I'm not here to save Gotham. But I am here to burn Fracture to the ground."
Evelyn blinked. "You're late."
Halyn smiled. "Better than dead."
Inside, Draven worked fast—sweat pouring down, arms shaking from pain. The first charge disarmed. The second—a faulty circuit. Every wrong move could blow the whole damn block.
Evelyn's voice guided him. Calm. Close. Familiar.
"Breathe, Draven. You've done worse. Remember the refinery job."
"That one was suicide," he muttered.
"And you lived."
"Only because you dragged me out."
A pause.
"I'd do it again."
His hand froze.
In a city of masks and betrayal, those words cut deeper than any knife.
The third bomb disarmed.
He exhaled.
Outside, Halyn was already picking off Fracture soldiers like a ghost with a vendetta. Her bullets didn't miss. Every target fell with a twitch.
Derek, bloodied and near collapsing, fired one last round into the tank's treads. It sparked, stalled, then exploded—fire engulfing the street.
The tank was down.
Later, after the fire was contained and the city's screams dulled into sirens, Draven stood on the rooftop again. Evelyn climbed beside him, her jacket torn, hair streaked with soot.
He looked at her, eyes tired but sharp.
"You saved them," she said softly. "Those kids. You gave them a chance."
He didn't answer.
She reached out, touched his bleeding side.
"You're not alone in this, Draven. You never were."
He looked at her, then slowly—hesitantly—touched her hand.
For a moment, the chaos below faded. The city burned, but up here… there was still something worth saving.
Something worth fighting for.