Part 2: Prologue
The night sky over Gotham hung heavy and oppressive, a ceiling of bruised clouds that swallowed starlight and spat back only darkness. High above the city's jagged skyline, blimps drifted in lazy patterns, searchlights cutting through the gloom in sweeping arcs that illuminated nothing and everything—fire escapes clinging to crumbling brick, gargoyles perched on Gothic spires, steam rising from grates like the city itself was exhaling smoke.
Down below, huddled on a sidewalk stained with decades of grime, sat a homeless man.
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He wore layers—three coats, none of them warm enough, pants held together with hope and duct tape, boots with soles so worn he might as well have been barefoot. His breath misted in the cold air, hands shoved deep into armpits, shoulders hunched against the wind that knifed through Gotham's concrete canyons with surgical precision.
This was Gotham City.
One of the worst, most dangerous cities in the world. A place where hope came to die and crime flourished like mold in a damp basement. Home to Batman—the Dark Knight, the urban legend made flesh, the only thing standing between order and total collapse.
Why anyone would choose to call this place home was beyond understanding.
A few feet away, behind a smudged storefront window, a radio sat on a dusty shelf, volume turned up, speaker crackling faintly with static.
A voice emerged—smooth, practiced, the cadence of someone who'd done this for years.
"—and welcome back to Gotham After Dark, your nightly dive into the stories the city doesn't want you to hear. I'm Marcus Reed, and folks, tonight we're talking about something that's been buzzing through the rumor mill for the last two years."*
A pause. Deliberate. Building tension.
"Three years ago, Carmine Falcone—the Roman himself—was thrown behind bars. Thanks to a certain Caped Crusader, Gotham's most untouchable crime lord finally saw the inside of a cell. And people thought, 'Hey, maybe things are gonna get better. Maybe this is the turning point.'"
Reed's tone shifted, edged with bitter amusement.
"Then the Joker went down. Penguin followed. And for about five minutes, it looked like Gotham might actually have a shot at peace."
A soft chuckle, humorless.
"Yeah. That didn't last."
Static crackled, and another voice joined—older, rougher, like gravel scraped across concrete.
"Marcus, thanks for having me on."
"Henry, pleasure's all mine. Now, you called in last week with a story that got my producers' attention. Something about what you saw two years ago—something that ties into the rumors folks have been whispering about ever since."
"That's right."
"So why don't you tell the good people of Gotham what you saw. And let's settle this once and for all—are the rumors true?"
Henry's breath crackled through the speaker, heavy with the weight of memory.
"Marcus, I saw something that night. Something I can't explain. And I know how it sounds, but I swear on my mother's grave, I'm telling the truth."
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***
Across the city, on the Gotham Expressway, sirens screamed through the night.
Six police cruisers tore down the highway in tight formation, lights flashing red and blue, engines pushed to their limits. The sound was deafening—sirens overlapping, tires shrieking on asphalt, radios crackling with overlapping voices.
Inside the lead car, Officer Perez gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, jaw set, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He was maybe thirty-five, Latino, face marked with the kind of lines that came from too many years working Gotham's streets. His uniform was crisp despite the chaos, badge polished, gun holstered but accessible.
He snatched the radio mic from its cradle and pressed the transmit button.
"This is Unit Seven—does anyone have eyes on it?"
Static hissed. Then—
"Unit Three, negative. Lost visual at Robinson Park."
"Unit Five, same. Nothing on thermals."
Perez cursed under his breath and keyed the mic again. "What about Team B? Anyone got a bead?"
Silence.
Longer this time.
Perez's grip tightened. "Team B, do you copy? Team B!"
Finally, a voice crackled through—breathless, urgent.
"Team B here—we've got it! Heading south on Main Street, moving fast!"*
Perez's foot slammed the accelerator. "Copy that. Unit Seven en route."
---
Back on the radio, Henry's story continued.
"So it's about eleven-thirty at night. I'm leaving Mickey's Bar with three buddies—Tommy, Raul, and Big Steve. We'd been shooting pool, having a few beers, nothing crazy. I was sober 'cause I was the designated driver."
"Smart man," Reed interjected.
"Yeah, well, wish I'd been drunk. Might've made what happened next easier to swallow."
Henry paused, and the static filled the gap like held breath.
"We're walking to my car, and that's when we feel it. The air just... changes. Gets colder. Not like winter cold—this was different. Wrong. And there's this sound, like... I don't even know how to describe it. Like breathing, but not human."
"Breathing?"
"Yeah. Deep. Slow. Like something big was nearby, just out of sight."
"And then?"
"And then we saw it."
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Perez's cruiser screamed onto Main Street, tires smoking as he took the corner too fast, suspension groaning. His partner—Officer Sydney Walsh, mid-twenties, rookie, still had that fresh-faced optimism that Gotham hadn't beaten out of her yet—braced herself against the dashboard.
"Where is it?" Perez barked into the radio. "Give me a position!"
"Coming straight at you!" someone shouted back. "Northbound on Main, moving at—Jesus, it's fast—"
Perez's head snapped up.
And he saw it.
A shape. Dark. Low to the ground. Moving with terrifying speed on all fours, muscles rippling beneath what might've been fur or skin or something else entirely. No face visible. No features. Just a black mass barreling toward them like a freight train made of nightmares.
Sydney screamed.
High-pitched, raw, the sound of someone confronting something her brain couldn't categorize.
The creature leaped.
One moment it was thirty feet away. The next it was airborne, body twisting mid-flight, clearing their cruiser with inches to spare.
THUD.
It landed on the roof—Perez felt the impact through the frame, metal buckling—and then it was gone, bounding off the back and continuing its sprint into the darkness.
Perez slammed the brakes. The cruiser screeched to a halt.
Both officers threw open their doors and stumbled out, guns drawn but trembling, eyes scanning the street.
Sydney turned to Perez, face pale, breath coming in gasps. "What the fuck was that?"
Perez stared into the darkness where the thing had vanished, throat dry.
"Something unholy," he whispered.
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On the radio, Henry's voice cracked with remembered fear.
"It was a ghost. A demon. Wrapped in cold mist, floating a few feet off the ground. And when it saw us..."
He trailed off.
Reed prompted gently. "What happened, Henry?"
"It drifted toward us. Slow. Deliberate. Like it was curious. And then the air got so cold I could see my breath turning to ice, and I swear—I SWEAR—I felt it looking at me."
"Looking?"
"Yeah. Even though it eyes were hidden by it hood, I could feel those unblinking eyes peering into me....Just... cold. And then it vanished. Just blinked out of existence like it was never there."
Reed's voice carried professional skepticism tinged with intrigue. "Henry, I gotta ask—and I mean no disrespect—but how much had you had to drink that night?"
"Nothing," Henry said firmly. "I told you, I was driving. Stone-cold sober."
"And your friends? Can they corroborate?"
"Tommy won't talk about it. Raul moved to Coast City the next month. Big Steve... Big Steve still won't go out after dark."
A pause.
"Do you have any proof, Henry? A picture? Video? Anything?"
Henry laughed, bitter and sharp. "Hell no. The second that thing disappeared, I ran. We all did. Got in my car and drove home doing ninety the whole way."
Reed let the silence stretch, then addressed his audience directly.
"Well, folks, there you have it. If the rumors are true—and that's a big if—then Gotham's got itself a real demon. Not one dressed up in a cape and cowl. Something... else."
Static crackled.
"Stay safe out there, and good luck Gotham. This is Marcus Reed, signing off."
The radio fell silent.
.
Beginning of Part 2: Demon of Gotham