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Gotham’s streets drown in an unnatural fog, its skyline choked by spectral invaders clawing at reality itself. Batman prowls the shadows, every flicker of his cape a silent vow to reclaim the city. The Batarang hums in his grip—forge it into a weapon of light, hurling precision through the dark. Ghosts writhe, their forms dissolving under its arc. But the fight sprawls beyond alleys; the Batmobile’s engine roars to life, tires screeching as it tears through phantom hordes, its reinforced frame scattering ectoplasmic residue like ash. Speed is armor. Strategy is survival. Every shattered apparition weakens their hold. Gotham’s heartbeat falters—steady it. No retreat. No surrender. The night bends to his will.
