Chapter 1: Normal Night
The warehouse district of Gotham's East End stretched like a concrete graveyard under the October sky, its empty buildings casting sharp shadows in the dim streetlight.
Batman perched on the edge of a metal roof, cape flowing behind him in the air as he surveyed the scene below. Three black sedans were parked in a triangular formation around Warehouse 47, their engines still ticking with recent heat. The Penguin's men had arrived precisely on schedule.
Predictable as clockwork, Bruce thought, adjusting his position to get a better angle on the loading dock. Cobblepot never could resist the theatrical.
Through his cowl's enhanced vision, he counted twelve armed figures moving around wooden crates marked with Cyrillic text. Russian weapons, if his intelligence was correct—high-grade military surplus that would flood Gotham's streets within days if this transaction succeeded. The kind of firepower that turned petty criminals into small armies.
Batman's utility belt held everything he needed: smoke grenades, flash-bangs, restraining cables, and enough non-lethal takedown equipment to handle twice this number of opponents. After six years of protecting Gotham City, these operations had become almost routine.
The criminal element followed patterns as reliable as the sunrise—they gathered, they planned, they moved merchandise, and Batman stopped them.
A figure emerged from the warehouse's main entrance, unmistakable even from this distance. Oswald Cobblepot waddled between the crates with his characteristic swagger, expensive umbrella tapping against the concrete. His voice carried clearly in the autumn air as he inspected the weapons shipment.
"Exquisite craftsmanship," the Penguin declared to his lieutenant, a scarred man Batman recognized as Eddie Skeevers. "The Russians know their business. These beauties will fetch triple the investment from our clientele."
Batman checked his watch: 11:43 PM. Commissioner Gordon's task force would be in position at the perimeter in exactly twelve minutes, giving him a narrow window to neutralize the immediate threat before backup arrived. The timing had to be perfect—too early and they'd scatter like roaches, too late and shots would be fired in panic when the GCPD moved in.
He activated his comm system with a subtle jaw movement. "Alfred, I'm in position. Confirm task force status."
Alfred's voice crackled through his cowl speaker. "Task force holding at checkpoint Zebra, Master Bruce. Gordon's waiting for your signal."
"Understood. Beginning approach."
Batman rose silently, cape spreading wide as he calculated trajectory and wind resistance. The warehouse's roof access was a standard fire escape ladder on the building's north side, which would place him directly above the loading dock. From there, he could drop smoke grenades to create confusion, then pick off the armed guards systematically while working toward Cobblepot.
As he prepared to move, something made him pause.
A peculiar mist was beginning to form at ground level, seeping from the storm drains and gathering in the spaces between buildings. Not unusual for Gotham's harbor district, where temperature differentials often created fog banks, but something about this mist felt... wrong.
It moved against the wind, flowing upward instead of settling, and carried an odd metallic scent that reminded him of dried up blood.
Focus, he told himself. Environmental anomalies can wait. People's lives depend on stopping this weapons deal.
Batman secured his grappling gun and fired toward the warehouse roof. The line sang taut as he swung across the gap between buildings, cape trailing dramatically behind him. Landing silently on the corrugated metal, he immediately moved to the roof access and began his descent.
Below, the Penguin was concluding his inspection. "Load them carefully, you buffoons! Each weapon represents profit, and profit damaged is profit lost."
Batman positioned himself directly above the loading dock's center, calculating angles and distances he needed to move.
Twelve hostiles, various positions, multiple cover options. Standard tactical assessment suggested a forty-seven-second engagement time from initial contact to full neutralization. The Penguin would attempt to flee—he always did—but the umbrella slowed him down considerably.
Three... two... one...
Batman dropped four smoke grenades simultaneously, filling the loading dock with thick gray clouds. Shouts of confusion erupted immediately as the armed guards lost visual contact with each other. Perfect cover for his descent.
He dropped into the chaos, cape spreading to obscure his exact position as feet struck concrete. The first guard never saw him coming—a precise nerve strike sent the man crumpling unconsciously to the ground. Batman was already moving before the body hit the floor.
"What the hell—"
The second guard's exclamation was cut short by a weighted batarang that struck his wrist, sending his weapon clattering away. Batman materialized from the smoke, delivered a controlled uppercut to the solar plexus, and left another unconscious form on the concrete.
"It's the Bat!" someone screamed through the gray clouds.
Muzzle flashes began strobing through the smoke as panic took hold. Batman was already elsewhere, moving between crates and support pillars. A thrown flashbang detonated behind a stack of weapons crates, adding brilliant white light to the confusion.
The third and fourth guards went down to strategically thrown batarangs—one to the temple, one to the knee joint. Batman swept the fifth off his feet with a cape-assisted leg sweep, then delivered a precise blow to the carotid artery pressure point.
"Form up!" Eddie Skeevers was shouting. "Defensive positions! Watch for—"
A weighted cable wrapped around his ankles, and Skeevers hit the concrete hard. Batman emerged from the dissipating smoke and he approached the dazed lieutenant.
"Where's Cobblepot?" The question came in Batman's most intimidating growl, enhanced by the cowl's voice modulator.
"Go to hell," Skeevers spat, then immediately reconsidered as Batman's gloved hand closed around his throat.
"The Penguin. Where did he go?"
"Back... back entrance," Skeevers gasped. "Armored car... waiting..."
Batman was already moving. Behind him, the surviving guards were either unconscious or cowering behind crates, no longer interested in protecting their employer.
The smoke was clearing, revealing the aftermath—a dozen hardened criminals neutralized in under a minute, with only property damage to show for their resistance.
He activated his comm again. "Alfred, Penguin's fleeing via rear exit. Patch me through to Gordon."
"Connected."
Commissioner James Gordon's mature voice filled Batman's earpiece. "We see the armored car. Black Cadillac with armored panels, bulletproof glass. Should we intercept?"
"Negative. I'll handle it."
Batman sprinted through the warehouse and navigated between crates and machinery with ease. The rear exit was exactly where Skeevers had indicated—a loading dock facing the harbor, where the Penguin's escape vehicle was already accelerating toward the street.
Too easy, Batman thought, firing his grappling gun at the fleeing vehicle. Cobblepot's never this predictable.
The line caught on the Cadillac's rear bumper, and Batman allowed himself to be pulled along at street level, cape spread for stability. Through the rear window, he could see Cobblepot gesticulating wildly at his driver with umbrella waving in apparent panic.
The vehicle took a hard left onto Harbor Boulevard, tires squealing against wet asphalt.
Batman adjusted his grip, muscles working to maintain his position as the car gained speed. Sixty miles per hour now, heading toward the financial district where traffic would force a slowdown.
Then he noticed the mist again.
It was thicker here, rolling off the harbor in waves that seemed to move with purpose rather than following the wind. The metallic scent was stronger too, almost overwhelming despite the rushing air. Something was definitely wrong with the weather tonight, but Batman couldn't spare attention for atmospheric anomalies while pursuing a fleeing criminal.
The Cadillac's brake lights flared as they approached a red traffic signal. Batman used the momentum to swing himself up onto the vehicle's roof, cape spreading wide as he landed with a metallic thump that surely alerted everyone inside.
"Stop the car," he commanded, voice carrying easily through the reinforced metal. "You're only making this harder on yourself, Cobblepot."
The response came in the form of the Penguin's modified umbrella firing through the sunroof—a projectile that would have taken Batman's head off if he hadn't already anticipated the move. He rolled sideways as the umbrella's razor-sharp tip embedded itself in a nearby lamppost.
"Missed me," Batman called down through the opening.
"Blast and bother!" came the Penguin's distinctly aristocratic cursing. "Drive faster, you moron! Lose this winged nuisance!"
The vehicle accelerated again, but they were entering downtown traffic now. Red lights and cross-traffic would limit their options, while Batman's mobility gave him numerous advantages. He could maintain pursuit indefinitely, wearing down the criminals until they made a mistake.
Batman was just preparing to drop through the sunroof when he noticed something that made him pause.
The mist was following them.
Not just drifting in the same direction—actively pursuing the vehicle like a living thing. Tendrils of fog reached across intersections, flowing against wind and gravity to maintain contact with the Cadillac. As if something within the mist was specifically interested in this chase.
Impossible, Batman told himself. Mist doesn't have consciousness, focus on the mission.
But even as he dismissed the observation, part of his mind filed it away for later investigation. After six years of protecting Gotham City, he'd learned to trust his instincts about environmental anomalies. Sometimes the impossible turned out to be merely improbable—and improbable events often indicated threats he hadn't yet identified.
The Cadillac was slowing again, forced by increasing traffic density to navigate carefully between civilian vehicles. Batman prepared for final engagement, mentally rehearsing the sequence that would end this pursuit: drop through sunroof, neutralize driver and bodyguard, restrain Cobblepot, signal for GCPD pickup.
As Batman prepared to complete his mission, the mist continued to gather around them, and somewhere in the harbor district, the first of many ancient coffins was beginning to creak open.