The Narrows were on fire.
From the top of a collapsing fire escape, Draven could see the glow of chaos spreading like veins of molten lava. Sirens screamed, but no rescue vehicles dared come this deep. Not anymore.
Gotham had long abandoned places like this.
He landed silently on the cracked roof of an abandoned toy factory — Kane's Carousel, shut down after a massacre ten years ago. Fitting place for a reintroduction.
Through his mask, the voice modulation crackled.
"He's back."
Draven scanned the rooftop access, then dropped in through the skylight. The glass didn't shatter — it hissed as he slid down a reinforced cable and landed in the dark. The factory smelled of gasoline and rusted laughter. Balloons — yes, actual balloons — floated in the corridors. Red. Yellow. A few smeared in something darker than paint.
A whisper of laughter echoed.
Then, the voice.
"Tick-tock, little bat. Time to see if you're daddy's equal or just another corpse in a costume."
The intercom system wasn't tied to any central hub — Joker had wired the place with twisted showmanship. The walls pulsed with old carnival music, barely audible over the beating tension in Draven's chest.
He moved with silent purpose.
Down one hall, past a shattered clown mirror, through a maintenance corridor… and there he was.
A man — middle-aged, in a councilman's suit — sat duct-taped to a chair, eyes wide, mouth gagged. Around him, wires led to crude explosives. A screen above ticked a timer: 02:46… 02:45…
And behind it — the Joker's face lit up on every monitor. Close-up. Grinning.
"Boom or bust, baby boy?" he cooed. "C'mon, impress me. Show me you're worth my obsession."
Draven didn't speak. He moved. Calculated. The bomb was designed for drama, not subtlety — he identified two decoy wires, clipped the real trigger line with two seconds left.
Silence.
"Awww, buzzkill," Joker whined, voice echoing from a wall speaker. "You're no fun. But don't worry — tonight was just your audition. The real party starts when I light up the GCPD."
The screens all blinked to static.
Then exploded.
Draven shielded the hostage as monitors shattered, sending sparks and glass across the room. The hostage gasped, sobbed, alive but barely holding on. Draven said nothing. He didn't wait for thanks. He only scanned the wall behind the chair — a painted message in crude red spray:
"You're not HIM. But you'll do."—J
As Draven walked back into the night, he realized the truth: Joker didn't just want to destroy Gotham.
He wanted to reshape it, through a new game.
And Draven Kane?
He wasn't here to play.He was here to end it.