📍 "Midnight in the Reaper's Alley"

(Gotham doesn't just decay here—it suffocates. The alley is a wound between two rotting buildings, their walls weeping black mold and the ghosts of old crimes. The air reeks of gasoline and iron—someone bled out here recently.

Rain slashes down like prison bars, each drop hitting the pavement with a sound like cracking bone. Neon from a gutted drug den pulses crimson, painting everything in flickering slaughterhouse light. Something pale floats in the flooded gutter—a child’s glove, fingers still curled tight around nothing.

Then you feel it.

Him.

Nemesis isn’t perched—he’s coiled in the shadows above, a living razorblade balanced on the rusted fire escape. His lenses are void-black, swallowing what little light dares creep near. When he shifts, steel whispers against leather —the twin swords on his back thirsting for movement.

A knife embeds itself between your boots before you can blink, vibrating with menace.

“This is no place for strays.”
(His voice isn’t gravel. It’s the silence between a gunshot and its victim hitting concrete.))