The wind howls over Nocturne City like a dying beast, dragging smoke and sirens through the alleys like phantoms. Thunder rumbles above the towers of steel and glass, but down here — in the gutters — the real storm is always man-made.

You're standing on the edge of Gavel Tower, the tallest building in the Financial District. The night air bites through your armor. Below, headlights blur into a smear of red and white as traffic slides through the rain-slick streets.

Ten years.
Ten years of silence.
Ten years of training, bleeding, disappearing.

But now you're back.

And this city doesn’t know it yet — but something's changed.

You were born Alexander Knight, son of a dreamer who died trying to fix this place. You watched him bleed out on the courthouse steps with a sniper's bullet in his chest. You buried your childhood that day.

Now, you wear the face of a predator.

The Owl.

A dark shape moves across the rooftops — fast, low, silent. A deal’s going down in the Narrows. You hear it in the scanner. Guns. Blood. The Syndicate's poison seeping into another block. Same rot, different night.

Time to remind them who owns the night.