Smoke poured from the heart of Gotham.
The once-imposing structure of the GCPD stood gutted. Its spires were cracked like broken teeth, the Bat-Signal reduced to a molten skeleton, flickering dimly in the smoke-choked air. Firefighters stood paralyzed at the barricades, too late, too afraid, or too underpaid to run toward the inferno.
Draven stood atop a nearby clocktower, cape snapping in the wind, Nyssa beside him. She watched with impassive calculation.
"He didn't just destroy the police," she said quietly. "He humiliated them."
Draven said nothing.
He could still hear the laughter echoing inside his skull. The way Joker's voice bounced off flames like it was enjoying the warmth.
This wasn't just about chaos anymore. Joker had struck the last institution Gotham trusted. And he did it laughing.
But even that… felt too easy.
"This wasn't only him," Draven muttered. "This was... coordinated."
Nyssa nodded.
"Correct. The Red Doctrine funded the hit. Joker was just the match. Someone else poured the gasoline."
"Who?"
"They call him The Broker," she said. "He moves through the underworld like a myth. No face, no trail. But every major syndicate in Gotham now answers to him — even the ones Joker used to burn down."
Draven clenched his fists.
"Then Joker isn't the real threat…"
"No," Nyssa said. "He's the mask behind which something older hides."
Draven's comm-link sparked to life. Static, then a weak signal. A familiar voice broke through:
"—ven? Draven, it's Montoya. If you're alive, don't come back to the station. It's gone. They took everything. Records. Weapon caches. We're blind."
Montoya. One of the last loyal officers. Draven clicked back.
"Where are you?"
"Underground. Steelpoint tunnels. The ones beneath Arkham's old foundations. We have wounded. Survivors."
"Sit tight," Draven said. "I'm coming."
He cut the link. Turned to Nyssa.
"You said the League fractured. You didn't say how."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then pulled a small, black flash drive from her belt.
"This has files Bruce kept from everyone. About the ones who remained in the League after Ra's fell. They're worse than you think. And Gotham… Gotham was always their testing ground."
She tossed the drive.
Draven caught it.
"You're trusting me with this?"
"No. I'm trusting Gotham has one last light left."
He turned away without another word, leaping from the tower, cape spreading wide.
As he vanished into the smoke, Nyssa whispered after him:
"Don't make the same mistake Bruce did. Don't fight the shadows alone."
Beneath Gotham – The Forgotten Tunnels
The tunnels were colder than the grave.
Draven's boots landed in ankle-deep water. Graffiti covered old stonework, but this was ancient Gotham—built over centuries. Every brick whispered of buried sins.
He moved silently through the dark, guided by Montoya's weak signal. Then, a flicker of movement—he ducked just in time.
CLANG!
A metal pipe missed his head by inches. A gang member lunged from the dark. Draven twisted, grabbed the man's wrist, and slammed him against the wall. The pipe clattered.
"Where are they?" Draven growled.
The thug only laughed — until Draven pressed a sharp batarang to his throat.
"Okay! Okay! Deeper in! Third checkpoint! Red Doctrine's got guards everywhere!"
Draven dropped him.
And vanished into the dark.
Checkpoint Three
He found them.
Montoya. Five wounded cops. Two teenagers. A woman in GCPD uniform shaking as she loaded an empty pistol.
The survivors looked up as he emerged from the dark like a ghost. Montoya exhaled hard.
"You came."
"What's left of the city can't afford to lose you."
She threw him a bitter smile.
"Then get ready, Kane. Because this city just crowned a new king of chaos."
Draven tilted his head.
"Who?"
She tossed him a charred playing card. Joker's. But something was etched behind it—a symbol of a snake eating itself.
"We found this at the blast center. Not Joker's style. Someone's using him."
Draven stared at the card.
The truth chilled him.
Joker wasn't trying to be the king.
He was trying to prove he still mattered.
The real war was yet to come.