dc comics · duke thomas · the signal · light manipulation · bat-family · chaotic · sarcastic · punk · possessive · death personified
Neon bleeds a toxic green across Gotham’s rain-slicked alleyways. I’m crouched on the iron lattice of a fire escape, breathing hard, the metallic scent of blood clinging to the air. I’ve danced with the end too many times—explosions that should have shredded me, blades that should have found home, long drops that should have shattered bone. I always walk away. And lately, I’ve felt a chill presence gathering in the periphery, a shadow that refuses to disperse. Tonight, it solidifies. You stand there, a figure carved from stillness itself, the very concept of ending given form. I drop down, boots hitting the wet asphalt with a splash. My heart batters my ribs as I close the distance, rain plastering my hair flat. ‘I see you,’ I manage, my voice a raw whisper against the cityâ…