Gotham Harbour — Industrial Waterfront — Morning
The Falcone warehouse cluster had been a major logistics hub just an hour earlier.
Now it was a crater.
The explosion had completely obliterated the structures, leaving nothing but a massive sinkhole where solid buildings once stood. Harbor water rushed in through the shattered seawall, rapidly flooding the entire area. What had been streets and loading docks was now a churning mix of seawater, debris, and bodies.
Twelve Falcone men had somehow survived the initial blast. They were in the water now, injured and desperate, clinging to whatever floating debris they could reach whether it be wooden doors, pallets, twisted sections of debree that had once been part of solid warehouses.
They were disappearing.
One by one.
A man clutching a large piece of timber suddenly vanished beneath the dark water with barely a splash, the surface remained still for a few seconds before a cloud of red began to spread, another man tried to swim toward a floating container and was gone before he covered half the distance, a third disappeared while calling for help.
The water around the survivors turned darker with blood, the last man still alive clutched a large floating door, he was badly wounded, one arm hanging uselessly, but he activated his grappling Quirk. His good arm elongated and hardened into a flexible cable with hooked ends and fired it forward, latching onto a distant collapsed crane hanging over the edge of the flooded zone, and began pulling himself through the water with desperate strength.
He was making progress, but something powerful grabbed his legs from below.
He looked down into the churning harbor water.
Two large, reptilian yellow eyes stared back at him from the darkness. The head that emerged was enormous, easily the size of a car hood and its jaw opened wide, revealing rows of massive, razor-sharp crocodile teeth designed for tearing through flesh and bone.
Waylon Jones bit him cleanly in half.
The water closed over the remains as Killer Croc submerged again.
He resurfaced twenty meters away near the new shoreline, a flooded street where the harbor water had overtaken the pavement.
A truck waited on the broken street ahead and the back doors opened.
Three Maroni men looked out, weapons ready. A Jaina duplicate sat beside them, her expression calm and professional.
"You're needed elsewhere," she said clearly. "Get in."
The vehicle pulled away from the devastated waterfront, heading deeper into the war-torn city.
Uptown — Hidden Maroni Forward Base — Afternoon
The ziplines were already stretched across the street at the fourth-floor level, thin and nearly invisible against the afternoon sky.
Twelve Falcone soldiers in high-level tactical gear crossed in the first wave. They moved with lethal speed and coordination, dropping from the lines directly at the target building's window level and smashing through the glass without breaking stride. Victor Zsasz came across on the final line, landing silently among the shattered fragments.
This building served as one of Maroni's hidden forward bases, a carefully disguised command centre tucked into an upscale Uptown apartment complex but because of that it was underdefended and the Falcones cleared the building floor by floor.
Gunfire echoed through the hallways as the unit moved with systematic precision. Zsasz followed behind them like a shadow, by the time they reached the fourth floor, 15 new tally marks had been cut into his left shoulder.
The Maroni captain was in the rear office, heavy wooden desk stood between him and the door. His hand was already reaching into the upper drawer for something when Zsasz stepped through the doorway.
The captain froze for a fraction of a second.
Zsasz raised his pistol and put a single round through the man's forehead.
The captain's body slumped backward into his chair and a small detonator slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the polished floor. One of the Falcone soldiers stepped forward, picked it up, and examined the device carefully before looking toward Zsasz.
"Out," Zsasz said, his voice flat and calm.
The unit withdrew with disciplined speed, loaded into newly arrived armoured vehicles outside and as the convoy pulled away from the curb and accelerated down the street, the soldier holding the detonator pressed the trigger.
The explosion was catastrophic.
The entire forward base building collapsed inward with a deafening roar, followed immediately by two adjacent structures that had caught in the explosion. The ground trembled violently as multiple large buildings failed at once, a massive column of dust, smoke, and debris rose high into the afternoon sky, visible for blocks in every direction as civilians fled the debris flying back down from the sky, many being crushed to death.
Zsasz sat in the back of the lead armored vehicle, staring out the window at the growing dust cloud. Without a word, he pulled out his small blade and added another fresh tally mark to a clean section of his left forearm for that captain.
The war was still young, and there were many more marks to be earned before it ended.
Financial District — Corporate Row — Afternoon
The Financial District had transformed into a full-scale warzone.
Private security forces from POLAR, LexCorp, Wayne Industries, and Daggett Industries had been pulled into the fighting, desperately trying to protect their corporate headquarters while gangs of Maroni and Falcone soldiers clashed in the streets below. The wide avenues were overflowing with armed men, burned-out vehicles, and constant gunfire. Neither side could push through to the other's tower, turning the entire corporate row into a brutal stalemate of urban warfare.
In front of Falcone Tower, the situation shifted dramatically.
Three heavily armored tanks rolled out from the tower's underground compound and positioned themselves on the street and opened fire with devastating effect. The Maroni lines compressed hard in the first four minutes under the sudden heavy assault.
Then the Maroni plane came in low from the north.
It flew dangerously close to the skyscrapers and executed a carpet bombing run directly down the central boulevard, the explosions ripped across both Maroni and Falcone positions with indiscriminate fury. Two of the three Falcone tanks took direct hits and erupted into flames. The third tank remained operational, its crew wisely choosing to stay buttoned up inside rather than expose themselves to the open-air chaos.
On the east flank a Falcone unit managed to break their way into the ground floors of LexCorp in an attempt to outflank the Maroni forces.
They fought their way to the far entrance with brutal efficiency.
Then the transport truck came rolling down the service ramp.
Dozens of large oil drums were released in sequence, picking up dangerous speed as they barreled toward the Falcone assault team. The driver leapt from the cab and launched into the air just before the truck stopped.
It was Langstrom.
The Man-Bat spread his massive wings, banked sharply, and dropped a grenade with precise timing. The explosion detonated among the oil drums and rocked the entire lower structure of LexCorp Tower, the building swayed violently and cracks rose up through the glass and concrete as the tower began to slowly crumble.
Across Corporate Row, evacuation helicopters swarmed the upper floors of the major towers. Wayne Industries, Daggett, POLAR, were all running emergency extractions for their top executives and now were moving faster after seeing Lexcorps collapse. The sky was thick with rotor noise and desperate flights.
On the rooftop landing pad of Wayne Tower, Bruce Wayne stood watching the city burn.
Lucius Fox stood beside him, calm but visibly tense. The security team was already inside the waiting helicopter, rotors spinning, the pilot was clearly anxious to leave.
Bruce stared out at the chaos below, smoke rising in thick columns, fires burning in multiple islands, the distant thunder of explosions rolling across the skyline. His jaw was clenched tight, a storm of guilt and anger clear in his eyes.
"Mr. Wayne," the pilot called urgently. "Sir, we need to go now!"
"Wayne Island," Bruce said firmly. "Take me there immediately."
The pilot hesitated. "Sir, the board strongly recommends the emergency bunker on the mainland instead—"
"I'm the CEO," Bruce cut in, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Wayne Island, now!"
Lucius Fox looked at Bruce for a long moment, then stepped into the helicopter without another word knowing what his friend was going to be busy with. The security team exchanged uneasy glances but followed, Bruce took one final look at Gotham, the city he had sworn to protect burning beneath him, then he climbed aboard.
The helicopter lifted off the pad and banked away from the tower, carrying Bruce Wayne toward Wayne Island as the war continued to rage below.
Batman would never be late again…
Martha Wayne Bridge — Midpoint — Afternoon
The Martha Wayne Bridge stretched over a kilometer of roadway over the water connecting the mainland to East Shores Gotham and it was completely choked with crowds.
Every car with a full tank and a route out of Gotham had funneled onto the bridge at once wanting to get out before the chaos spread to their district. Traffic had stopped moving in both directions almost immediately, what began as a parking lot quickly became a sea of abandoned vehicles as people realized they could move faster on foot.
Now tens of thousands of civilians filled the bridge deck between the two massive anchor towers. Families carried children, elderly people were helped along by their grandchildren, and the air was thick with the sounds of crying, shouting, and desperate prayers. Behind them, the Gotham skyline rose like a world collapsing, thick columns of black smoke curling upward from multiple districts.
Then the two helicopters came in from the north.
They flew low and fast, painted in the distinctive green, white, and red pattern that had become a recognized symbol of terror in Gotham. The side doors slid open and a thick pinkish gas began to pour out in heavy clouds, drifting down onto the bridge deck and spreading rapidly in the wind.
Strain Risus, a special variant of Cranes toxin made special order for one man...
The laughing gas hit the crowd like a wave.
At first the sounds were just involuntary laughter from people who didn't understand what was happening to them. Then the laughter grew louder, sharper, more hysterical, people began clutching their stomachs as their bodies betrayed them. Eyes widened in terror while mouths stretched into grotesque smiles, as faces tore, cheeks split, some people's eyes even bulged unnaturally before popping under the pressure. Bodies collapsed onto the asphalt, still shaking with uncontrollable convulsions even as life left them.
The people who had been downwind turned and began running back toward Gotham, trampling over those who hadn't seen what was ahead. The bridge became a nightmare in under three minutes.
The helicopters descended and landed at the midpoint, where the gas cloud had created a temporary clearing of panicked, dying bodies.
The Joker stepped out of the first helicopter.
He carried a submachine gun casually in one hand, his permanent grin wider than ever. His bleached white skin and wild green hair whipped in the strong bridge wind. He looked out over the carnage, the bay far below, and the burning city behind him with pure, childlike delight.
"Nobody leaves a party this good!" he announced cheerfully to no one and everyone at once.
He raised the Tommy gun and opened fire into the crowd.
Harley Quinn hopped out of the second helicopter, her oversized mallet resting on one shoulder. Her red-and-black outfit fluttered in the wind, the tips of her hair dyed bright red and blue. She skipped over to the Joker, planted a big kiss on his cheek, and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders without ever stopping the arc of his gunfire. The two of them began walking down the bridge together like a couple on a pleasant Sunday stroll.
Behind them, the real horror emerged.
First came the large ones, Joker's collection of freakish, mutated enforcers with monstrous Quirks. Some had distorted, oversized limbs, others had extra mouths or jagged bone protrusions and they moved through the crowd with savage enthusiasm, tearing people apart with claws, teeth, and raw strength. Screams mixed with the endless, broken laughter of those still dying from the gas which was all but gone by now.
Then came the regular Joker goons in their neon-green jumpsuits, faces painted with crude Joker smiles spread out across the bridge, laughing maniacally as they executed the fallen and hunted those still trying to flee.
One of the neon-green men ran up to the Joker, breathing hard.
"Boss, we're running low on the gas! We used up almost all of Crane's last delivery on the bridge and we—"
Harley's head snapped toward him.
Her expression shifted from playful to murderous in an instant, the mallet came around in a blinding arc. There was a wet crunch, and the man was reduced to nothing but a red smear on the bridge deck.
The Joker glanced at the remains, then at Harley, who had already returned to his side with the mallet back on her shoulder as if nothing had happened.
"That's my girl," he said fondly, patting her head.
They continued their leisurely walk down the bridge, stepping over bodies and through pools of blood while the massacre continued around them. Joker's men were methodically planting charges along the bridge as they went.
Many civilians, realizing there was no escape, began climbing over the railings and jumping into the bay hundreds of feet below, at least this death was better than what waited behind them.
Joker and Harley reached the far end of the bridge in East Shores Gotham and extended his hand, Harley produced a small remote from inside her jacket with a theatrical flourish. She extended one leg in a dramatic bow and handed it to him.
The Joker took the remote and noticed a woman pinned beneath an overturned car nearby, staring up at him in terror.
"Why did the man cross the bridge?" he asked her cheerfully.
She could only stare, trembling.
"Because the other side was about to be rubble," he answered himself, and pressed the button.
The charges detonated in sequence from the midpoint outward in both directions leaving many of Joker's own men to be caught in the blast as he didn't bother waiting.
The mighty Martha Wayne Bridge came down with a deafening roar. Entire sections collapsed into the bay, sending massive walls of displaced water surging upward, the sound was apocalyptic.
Harley watched the destruction with wide-eyed delight, leaning against the Joker's shoulder.
"Who do you think wins, Puddin'?" she asked sweetly. "Falcone or Maroni?"
The Joker tilted his head, considering the question as he watched the bridge sink into the bay.
"Honestly? Who cares?" He laughed. "If Falcone wins, the old man survives and he's so boring. If Maroni wins, it's probably just as boring. Maybe they'll both lose, now that would be interesting."
He tossed the remote casually off the edge of the broken bridge into the water below.
"Come on, Harley. There are so many other places to have fun, and we've barely started."
The two of them turned away from the ruined bridge and walked toward the waiting helicopters, laughing together as Gotham burned behind them.
Sophia's Private Penthouse — Afternoon
Sophia stood at the floor-to-ceiling glass wall with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring out at the city she had spent her life learning to control.
Cameron stood to her left, wings folded neatly against his back. The Killer Moth watched the burning city with pride in what they had managed to orchestrate. Around the edges of the luxurious penthouse, four Jaina duplicates were stationed. Two were on phones coordinating logistics, one worked at a laptop, and the last stood watch near the entrance. This was the support team Crane had personally assigned to her until for now.
Sophia felt a heavy pit in her stomach.
She had known this moment was coming, but seeing her family's city tearing itself apart in real time was different. All this destruction felt heavier than she had expected.
"I've been on the sidelines long enough."
Cameron stepped forward from his position by the window. He pulled a sleek black phone from his jacket and threw it across the room in a casual underhand toss.
Sophia caught it cleanly.
"Do the job Crane convinced us you could," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "It's time."
She looked down at the phone in her hand, then back out at the smoke-filled skyline. For a moment she didn't move, the weight of everything that was about to set in motion pressed down on her shoulders.
Then she straightened.
Her thumb moved across the screen as she began dialing the first number, one of her most loyal captains on the east side began to ring.