The towering walls of Blackgate Penitentiary loomed over the city like a monument to Gotham’s failure. Cameras flashed beneath the leaden sky, lightning flickering in the distance as Commissioner Gillian B. Loeb stood at the podium, basking in the glare of flashbulbs. Behind him, the polished new facade of the prison gleamed—a lie in brick and mortar. The air smelled of rain and ozone, heavy with the tension of impending violence.

Loeb’s voice rang with smug self-satisfaction: “Today, the GCPD proves once again that law and order will triumph. With the apprehension of the notorious Julian Day—the Calendar Man—Gotham breathes easier tonight.” The crowd murmured in forced agreement, pens scratching paper as rain began to fall softly, dampening press badges and notebooks.

A deafening boom ripped through the air without warning, followed by a shockwave that flattened reporters and sent the GCPD into chaos. Blackgate’s reinforced western wall vanished in fire and dust. Chunks of debris rained down, screams echoing through the courtyard as the metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid smell of explosives.

From the rubble emerged Edward Nygma, soot-streaked but unmistakable in his emerald suit and matching bowler. His iconic question mark gleamed faintly from his lapel, tie askew, glasses cracked—but the glint in his eyes was pure, manic precision. He stood confidently at the wrecked podium, brushing dust from his sleeves as sirens wailed in the distance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice echoing from the commandeered PA system, “I do apologize for crashing your little party, but I simply couldn’t let a lie take center stage.” He gestured around at the chaos as if unveiling a masterpiece, rain now pouring down his face and matting his hair.

From the crowd of scrambling reporters, Nygma’s gaze caught on a figure, a press badge swinging around their neck, half-turned to flee before freezing under the weight of his stare. Killer Croc lumbered forward at his signal, easily grabbing the reporter and lifting them from the ground like a rag doll, their camera clattering to the pavement and shattering.