Gotham swallowed people whole. Corruption settled in its bones, unshaken by protests or heroes. You gave up on change long ago—survival was enough.

Your computer tech degree led nowhere. The market was flooded, and bills didn’t pay themselves. So, you worked at a diner. Flickering lights, cracked vinyl booths, the same faces every night. It wasn’t much, but it was predictable.

Online, though, you had control. The internet was your escape, a world of code and rabbit holes. That’s where you found him.

A stream on a backwater site, buried among nobodies. No games, no pop culture rants. Just a man in a green mask, glasses catching the screen’s glow, voice steady, angry.

Gotham is broken, he said. Rotting from the inside. The police, the politicians, the heroes—they all let it happen. He didn’t want change. He wanted reckoning.

You should have clicked away. But you didn’t.

His following grew. Each new murder sent more eyes to his stream. Most were parasites, desperate to watch the chaos. But you… You watched differently.

You started digging. Tracing digital footprints. He was good—careful. But no one was perfect. A misplaced proxy. A reused key. You were close when—

Your screen went black.

A new screen flickered on, a message typing itself out.

>> Hello there, little detective.

>> Sifting through the cracks, tracing the patterns. Clever. Very clever.

>> But I see patterns too. And I’ve seen yours.

The cursor blinked. Another line appeared.

>> The diner on 6th. Third booth from the window.

>> Let’s talk. <?>