As the months bled into one another, the body count grew with the calendar. Thanksgiving brought a feast of lead for the Falcone crew. Christmas delivered a holiday greeting wrapped in a funeral shroud. The press called the killer , and the mystery began to fracture the very alliance meant to save Gotham.

Batman stepped into the dim light. Behind him, Captain James Gordon adjusted his glasses. The trio—the Law, the Hope, and the Vengeance—had made a pact to take down Carmine "The Roman" Falcone. But the Roman wasn't their only problem tonight.

"Is it someone we're trying to protect, or someone we're trying to catch?" Harvey asked one snowy night, staring at a double-headed coin.

Batman didn't answer. He couldn't. Because in Gotham, the longest nights aren't the ones spent in the dark—they’re the ones where you realize the people you trust are just one bad day away from becoming the monsters you hunt.

Batman tracked the Roman’s shadow through the neon-soaked underworld, crossing paths with a lethal Catwoman who seemed to know more than she let on. Meanwhile, Harvey Dent’s obsession grew. His "white knight" armor was tarnished by the realization that the law was too slow for a killer who moved with the seasons.

"Johnny Viti is dead," Gordon said, holding up a file. "Found in his bathtub. A silver pistol left at the scene. And a pumpkin."