Gotham's nights were never peaceful.
In the places beyond the reach of streetlights, there were always people lying in wait, hoping to run into a fat sheep with a well-stuffed wallet tonight.
Though those fat sheep often turned into tigers...
Who knew? That seemingly honest office worker might pull a submachine gun from his briefcase and start spraying bullets.
Robbery was also a high-risk profession.
Especially after so much of the population had become workers, Gotham had become even more of a mixed bag. That bricklayer sweating away at a construction site might well have been some gang's top enforcer.
That white-haired old man selling sandwiches at the entrance with a kindly expression might be a recently released extremist.
Still, what was meant to happen would happen.
The flashing red-and-blue police lights, the speeding patrol cars, the screams rising from dark corners—it all seemed no different from usual.
"Ah! Give it back!"
The woman whose wallet had been snatched screamed herself hoarse, her hair in disarray, while the two robbers ran off laughing.
They tore open the pink handbag, pulled out a thick stack of cash, and casually tossed the wallet onto the wet ground.
"So much money. We can have a good time for ages now, you—"
The robber happily discussing how to spend the money suddenly went mute, his voice cutting off.
His eyes widened as he looked toward the rooftop ahead.
The moonlight was good tonight. Winter was approaching, and the wind rolling in from the sea had scattered the clouds hanging over Gotham.
On that rooftop.
A figure wearing a white Skull mask stood there, dressed in a long black leather coat and looking down at them from above.
Metal plates lined the hem of the coat, and heavy black tactical boots covered his feet. The