The silence after the Pulse encounter wasn't relief.
It was dread.
Draven sat on the metal steps leading out of the vault, blood seeping from a wound along his ribs. Evelyn was hunched beside the console, trying to decrypt the data core they'd stolen before the blackout. Her fingers trembled from adrenaline, her voice quiet.
"He knew everything about you," she said, not looking at him. "Your fighting patterns. Your hesitation points. Even… the scar on your shoulder."
Draven didn't answer immediately. The image of his own face staring back at him from the pods was still burned into his mind.
"They're not making soldiers," he finally said. "They're making monsters. Versions of me who never stopped to question the cost."
Evelyn turned. Her eyes were glassy, jaw clenched. "What if that's what they want Gotham to become? A city run by perfect, unbreakable shadows. And you—us—we're just... artifacts."
Draven met her gaze.
"I'd rather die as an artifact than live as a puppet."
For a moment, they sat in silence.
Then Evelyn whispered, "You're not an artifact to me."
She closed the gap between them, slowly. Her hand touched his cheek, fingers brushing the bruise near his temple. "When I first heard your voice through that comm in Ash Point, I thought you were already dead inside. Cold. Lost."
"And now?"
"You're still cold," she said, with a hint of a smile. "But not lost."
He didn't smile back, but his hand came to rest over hers. "Stay close to me, Evelyn. Whatever's coming… I need you alive."
"I'm not leaving you," she said softly. "Not now. Not ever."
Before he could reply, the floor rumbled beneath them. A deep, mechanical groan echoed through the tunnels.
Evelyn sprang to the console. "Backup's coming."
Draven rose, cracking his neck, despite the pain. "Then let's make them regret it."
Ten minutes later — Upper Level Tunnels
Alarms screamed through Black Hollow. Steel doors slammed shut. Artificial lights pulsed red.
Draven and Evelyn moved through the chaos like phantoms.
Guards in advanced tactical armor flooded the corridors, their rifles glowing with green plasma—the same kind used in Halcyon's crowd control units. Their helmets bore no insignia, only black visors.
Evelyn ducked behind cover, connected to their comm system. Her voice flowed in Draven's earpiece:
"Two units closing on you from the west corridor. Another blocking the eastern stairwell. I'll handle cameras. You handle blood."
"Copy."
Draven surged from the shadows like a demon reborn.
He moved with purpose, blades flashing, fists cracking ribs. The first unit fell in under twenty seconds, bodies scattering like bowling pins. Evelyn slammed the east stairwell gate shut, trapping the third unit inside as smoke bombs filled the space.
Draven tackled the leader through a wall, pinning him against exposed piping. "Who sent you?"
The man coughed blood. "You already know."
Draven tightened his grip. "Say it."
The helmet cracked. Inside, the man's face was stitched—literally. Surgical scars ran across his jaw and temples.
"Project Harlequin," he rasped. "He's watching. He never stopped."
The Joker.
Draven dropped the man just as Evelyn reappeared, eyes wide with realization.
"They're not just watching us," she said. "They're tracking emotional responses. Pain. Fear. Love. They're studying us for replication."
Draven's breath caught.
Love.
Was that why…?
He looked at Evelyn, as if seeing her for the first time beyond the mission. Beyond the blood. She stared back—afraid, but not of him.
"I won't let them twist what we are," he said.
"Then hold on to it," she whispered. "Because they'll try."
Another explosion rocked the corridor. Ceiling beams crashed down between them. Evelyn screamed as debris collapsed.
"EVELYN!"
Draven threw himself forward, claws tearing through metal. Dust choked the air. He dug through concrete, blood running from his knuckles.
Then—a hand.
Her hand.
He pulled her out, wrapped her in his arms as the tunnel above began to collapse.
No words.
Just the rhythm of two hearts still beating.
They limped together through a maintenance tunnel, fire and metal closing behind them, until finally—
A hatch opened to Gotham's surface.
Cold wind rushed in. The stars above looked like strangers.
Draven looked down at Evelyn, bruised but alive. She leaned against him, weak but smiling.
"You saved me," she whispered.
He stared at her for a long, quiet moment.
"No," he said. "You kept me human."
And somewhere, deep below the city, laughter flickered through the data streams like a match waiting for gas.