If one looked down from above the American East Coast, many cities would be brightly lit, awake through the night.
Along Earth's most prosperous coastline, there was not only Metropolis, bright and magnificent as a dazzling jewel, but also Gotham, hazy and uncanny, yet with an unceasing stream of lights.
Gotham was shrouded in heavy fog today, like some gigantic beast poking its head out from the clouds, while the lighthouse lit early along the shore was the beast's eye gazing into the distance.
It was another foggy night. As the cold, damp mist spread through the streets, it reminded people of the disaster that had only just passed, though it had not yet truly gone.
Yet surprisingly, the city's mad residents were utterly unafraid of it.
The lights of vendors and food carts in crowded areas had vanished. In their place were shadowy figures between the new skyscrapers built by Wayne Enterprises, dense floors of buildings, and streetlamps glowing in gardens nestled amid the steel forest.
Another kind of smoke rose through the damp mist. Following the curling smoke downward, one would find not some terrifying monster, but sizzling barbecue and beer.
A huge mouth bit down on the meat at the base of a skewer, then yanked hard. The entire grease-sizzling skewer of grilled meat went into his mouth. Washing it down with a gulp of cold beer, Tire, seated on a little folding stool, let out a satisfied sigh.
He looked up at the garden walls and roof made of steel frames and glass, like the walls of a greenhouse, then shook his head and said, "Wayne Enterprises really knows what it's doing. Back in the day, in weather like this, forget barbecue—we probably couldn't even get fresh bread."
Beside him, Red Truck, draped in gold chains