Gotham – 3:42 AM
The rain didn't fall in drops anymore. It came in sheets, hammering the metal bones of the city like a war drum. Billboards blinked and stuttered, streetlights flickered like dying stars, and across Gotham's East Grid, every screen lit up with the same message:
"YOUR CITY IS A SIMULATION. WAKE UP." — PULSE
It wasn't graffiti. It was everywhere. Phones. ATM machines. Baby monitors. Even the old neon sign on Falcone's gutted club now read like a warning.
The city didn't know it yet—but it had been breached, not by bullet or bomb... but by truth, weaponized.
Draven's Safehouse – Abandoned Metro Terminal
Draven winced as Evelyn peeled off the blood-caked bandage on his ribs. The wound beneath was deep, ragged from the warehouse fight, the edges already turning dark.
"You could've bled out," she muttered, voice tight.
"I didn't," Draven said evenly, though his jaw clenched.
"You're not invincible, Draven," she snapped, eyes glassy from the strain of days without rest. "You throw yourself into every fire like you're trying to burn the pain out of you."
He turned to her, silent.
Evelyn's hands paused on the fresh gauze. "I've seen men like you. Broken. Hollow. But you're not just vengeance. You're not just Gotham's anger stitched into flesh."
She looked up at him. "You're a man. One who needs to be seen. And maybe even... held together."
Draven's fingers brushed hers. Just a second. Just enough.
"…Thank you," he whispered.
GCPD Emergency Room
Commissioner Yara Munroe stared at the corrupted surveillance feed.
Pulse's symbol blinked from every terminal. His digital signature—a pulsating waveform layered over an inverted city skyline—was spreading faster than any virus they'd seen.
"He's not in it for the money," muttered Munroe. "This is personal."
Behind her, Dr. Malik nodded. "He's not just trying to expose Gotham's rot. He's trying to rewrite it. Change how people see everything—reality, memory, even guilt."
Munroe rubbed her temples. "And we have no idea where he'll hit next?"
"We do," said Malik. "The Neural Archive in Midtown. If Pulse gets access to that…"
"He'll control public sentiment like a god," Munroe finished, grim. "Turn Gotham's memory against itself."
Midtown Rooftop – 4:15 AM
Draven and Evelyn stood side by side under the heavy rain. The skyline below them sparked with corrupted electricity. Beneath their feet, the Neural Archive sat like a fortress of glass and steel, its databanks holding decades of emotional sync data—thoughts, reactions, triggers, guilt patterns.
Evelyn touched his shoulder. "Once we go in… there's no turning back. If Pulse reaches that core—he could rewrite the emotions people feel when they hear your name."
Draven stared at the looming building. "Then we make sure he never gets the chance."
She slipped a small chip into his glove. "EMP disruptor. Non-lethal. For now. I know you prefer metal."
He smirked slightly. "I'm adapting."
She grinned back. "Took you long enough."
And for a second, under the gray Gotham sky, they weren't soldiers or fugitives. Just two people fighting to keep each other alive.
Inside the Archive
The walls buzzed with live data. Pulse was already inside—his fingers flying across floating holographic consoles, surrounded by drones of his own making. His face was young, calm... terrifyingly focused. Black veins pulsed beneath his skin, glowing blue where his spine connected to the archive's uplink.
He whispered as data streams bent around him. "I don't want to rule Gotham. I want to liberate it—from history."
Then he stopped.
Footsteps.
He turned slowly, eyes lighting up.
"Knight," he smiled. "Did you come to kill me, or understand me?"
Draven stepped into view, blades drawn. "I'm not here for your manifesto. Just your pulse."
Pulse chuckled. "You think I'm the virus. But I'm the antibody. Halcyon, GCPD, Arkham—they built the lie. I just flipped the switch."
He raised his hand.
Screens flared to life around them—footage of Draven murdering a civilian, Evelyn betraying the GCPD, children being loaded into pods.
None of it was real. But it felt real.
"Let's see what Gotham believes after this," Pulse hissed.
Digital Combat – Neural Storm
Draven lunged.
What followed was not a physical battle—but a cognitive one.
Each swing of his blade shattered illusions. Each strike tore through falsified memories. Pulse laughed as he multiplied across the data stream, echoing his voice through every speaker.
Evelyn, from outside, hacked frantically—overriding Pulse's signal with recorded footage of the real truth. Her voice echoed into Draven's ear:
"Stay grounded. You're not what he says. You're who you choose to be."
Draven roared and drove his blade through Pulse's avatar.
The archive surged, shorted, and exploded in a burst of digital fire.
Pulse vanished.
Escape – Back in the Rain
Draven emerged from the wreckage carrying Evelyn—half-conscious from the feedback loop she'd endured.
He laid her down in the alley and tore off his gauntlet to check her vitals.
"Come on. Evelyn…"
She stirred.
"You're here," she whispered, weak.
"Always," he said, brushing damp hair from her cheek. "You pulled me out of the fire this time."
She blinked, fighting tears. "Then we're even."
"No," he whispered. "You saved me from more than fire."
And he held her hand as sirens wailed in the distance, knowing Pulse was only the beginning.
Elsewhere – A Distant Laugh
In a forgotten wing of Blackgate, Joker stared at a blank monitor, then cracked a grin.
"That boy's got potential," he whispered.
Harbinger raised a brow. "You mean Pulse?"
Joker nodded slowly.
"But even the best puppets forget there's always a bigger hand pulling the strings.