11 December – Devil's Side
The morning sun cast a strange glow over Devil's Side. The winter chill bit sharp through the air, but for once, the sky was clear.
And high above it all, Bunnyman moved like a shadow reborn.
He wore a new outfit—lighter, sharper, made for daylight. His steps were silent across the rooftops as he chased the streak of gold cutting through the sky ahead.
Eagle.
Wings spread wide, armor plated like a bird of prey, and a visor glowing faintly. Eagle soared with practiced arrogance, a small bag of stolen tech strapped to his side.
He thought he was fast.
He thought he could fly his way out of Devil's Side.
But Bunnyman was faster than fear.
The chase ripped through rooftops and fire escapes. Eagle tossed two smoke flares into the air, scattering clouds behind him. But the Bunnyman dove straight through, using momentum and instinct more than sight.
He didn't need tricks. Just timing.
And when the moment came—
He leapt.
Tackling Eagle mid-flight, the two crashed onto a glass canopy, shattering it in a violent burst. Bunnyman dragged the squirming thief into an alley.
"No more flying."
Eagle groaned. "Come on, man… it was just a grab—"
A punch to the ribs shut him up.
When the police found Eagle fifteen minutes later, he was zip-tied to a streetlamp with a sticky note taped to his visor:
"Try running now."
Afternoon shadows stretched across the city.
Bunnyman crouched on the edge of a rooftop, scanning the streets below. He wasn't looking for Eagle anymore.
He was looking for her.
Lady Tape.
Since that night—October 15th—she had disappeared completely. No sightings. No whispers. No trails of black tape in the alleys or rooftops. Not even a mocking message.
And that was the problem.
He needed her.
Not for revenge.
For answers.
She knew Skull Mask. She knew how the city breathed. And maybe—just maybe—she knew something about Mr. Crow.
But she was gone.
And Bunnyman couldn't afford to wait.
Somewhere deeper in Devil's Side, night was beginning to take over.
A group of thugs laughed outside a corner dive, trading bottles and stolen wallets—until the first one fell.
Silence.
The second was knocked against a wall. A third screamed before he was yanked into the darkness.
Then he stepped into the light.
A man dressed entirely in black. No symbol. No color.
Just smooth, matte-black armor. No cape. No shine.
And two sharp, glowing white eyes.
He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
Deadknight moved like a ghost—fast, precise, brutal. One thug swung a pipe. Deadknight grabbed it mid-swing and used it to shatter the man's knee.
Another pulled a knife.
It clattered to the ground before it could be raised.
Bones broke. Screams echoed.
But Deadknight never stopped.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't threaten.
He simply ended fights.
And then, as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared into the alley.
Somewhere above, Bunnyman moved across the rooftops—unaware that someone else had already begun their war.