The Death knell

Johnson nodded. Male anchors can exaggerate when they show fear, but surprisingly, Pete had a good sense of restraint. Despite his tall and sturdy appearance, his scream was no different from any other frightened man.

"It's good, though a bit overdone," Johnson commented, pointing out a few flaws in his performance. "The screaming lasted too long and felt too abrupt. If the audience has their TV volume turned up, it could scare them too much. So when you scream, the pitch can be sharp, but the volume should be slightly suppressed. Also, try not to rely on post-editing—it's too much trouble."

Pete stood frozen, his face expressionless, completely stunned.

Johnson walked over and nudged him. "Alright, let's get back to the car and cut the footage first. I'll teach you properly when we have time. Your expression looks like you've seen a ghost."

She chuckled as she spoke. Though the place was littered with corpses, ghosts didn't exist.

But just then, another voice suddenly came from behind her, as if whispering in her ear.

"The look on his face isn't because he saw a ghost—it's because he saw me."

"!!!"

Johnson stiffened. She had been facing away from the entrance of the police station's lobby. She hadn't noticed anyone approaching.

The only person who could appear here at this time, in this setting, was likely the murderer.

Why hadn't the killer left after the massacre? This wasn't like before!

Johnson felt like crying. She guessed there were probably countless guns aimed at them from behind, which explained why Pete was frozen.

"Johnson, I really like your show."

The voice was slow and eerie, floating around as if coming from nowhere, yet she hadn't heard any footsteps.

"Heh... heh... that means everyone loves me, and you too, right? Don't hurt me," Johnson forced a smile, but in her mind, she was panicking. Was the culprit a criminal mastermind? Or was this some deranged fan obsessed with her work? Had they been lured into a trap?

She didn't want a fan like this!

"Turn around slowly. I happen to have plans to appear on TV."

Following the voice's instructions, Johnson turned slowly—and her expression instantly mirrored Pete's.

There were no hordes of gangsters or gun barrels aimed at them as she had feared. There was only one person standing there, arms crossed, watching them quietly.

But this man was more terrifying than an entire army—because he was Death Knell.

The man standing before her was none other than Albert. Initially, he and his team had planned to steal their vehicle while the two reporters were inside conducting interviews. But when he heard Johnson introduce herself, he changed his mind.

He had instructed Olivia Pope to take Charles and loop around to the car while he handled things here. Not only did he want to borrow the reporters' car, but he also wanted to borrow their platform.

Although the Emima in this world resembled the New 52 version—being a TV anchor instead of a reporter for the Chicago Gazette—one thing was undeniable: this woman wasn't just eloquent; she was incredibly lucky.

She had first appeared in comics in 1948, long before Catwoman or Talia. Among all of Batman's girlfriends, she was the only one to survive.

Her luck was unbelievable—almost as if she was the protagonist of her own story.

Every supervillain treated her with an odd level of respect, and whenever someone did try to harm her, it was always low-level thugs who posed no real threat. She randomly fell for Bruce Wayne, the richest man in Chicago, and in her search for big news, she discovered Batman's secret identity.

Albert recalled Tim Burton's 1989 Batman movie, where the Joker had planned to blow up the city to make Batman feel his pain. While everyone else was scrambling to escape, Emima boldly walked up to interview him.

The Joker, amused by her audacity, entertained her questions. She even followed him around, witnessing everything between him and Batman.

Albert still remembered a line from that movie—when Emima saw the Joker's bomb, she clapped like a little girl and said, "Mr. Joker, this is amazing! I love purple!"

He wasn't sure if she was referring to the bomb or the Joker's purple suit.

If Batman hadn't won that day, Albert figured she might have ended up like Harley Quinn.

Since then, in the comics, she had developed an unusual fascination with Gotham's darkness. She had interviewed countless criminals—many of them deranged psychopaths like Two-Face—but always walked away unscathed.

Even the Joker had kidnapped almost everyone close to Batman—except her. It was one of DC's biggest mysteries.

Now, here in this alternate world, Albert had stumbled upon Johnson, the Earth Minus 11 version of Emima. He decided to use her fame to his advantage.

"Is this a live broadcast?" he asked.

"No, it's pre-recorded. We haven't edited it yet," Johnson quickly explained, hoping he wouldn't want to kill them to keep his whereabouts secret.

Albert remained silent for a moment before saying, "I want to go live."

He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Pete, but his question was directed at Johnson.

"We… we can't decide that on our own. The station needs to approve it," she stammered, waving her hands in a panic.

Albert smirked beneath his mask. "Then let's go. We have people waiting."

Back at the vehicle, Charles and Olivia Pope were caught off guard when Albert arrived with two reporters at gunpoint. Cindy, in particular, was baffled.

Inside the van, Johnson was surprised to see two versions of Death Knell. But the corpses outside proved at least one of them was real.

They also had the police chief's daughter, Barbara Gordon. What were they planning?

Despite the danger, Johnson and Pete edited the footage and sent it back to the TV station.

Inside the Gotham TV Station

At this hour, the station was mostly empty. Midnight programs were either old movies playing on automated systems or infomercials.

On the news channel, a weary night-shift anchor was about to deliver his usual weather updates when the director received the footage from Johnson.

Her lips curled in irritation—she had planned to report Johnson and Pete for stealing the news van. But as soon as she played the video, she knew that plan was dead.

The footage was explosive.

"Damn it. Good luck to you," she muttered, handing the clip to the editors.

At 12:30 AM, the anchor prepared to go live. As the red light blinked on, he put on his most professional smile.

"Good evening, Gotham. Breaking news—thugs have attacked the Chicago Police Department, leading to heavy casualties. We now go live to our reporter, Johnson."

The screen cut to the live feed—only for the anchor to jump back in horror.

A black-and-yellow mask filled the screen.

"Hello, host," Albert greeted with mock politeness. "Good evening, Gotham!"

The host was speechless.

Albert waved his gun, signaling Pete to adjust the camera. "As you can see, the police station is done for. But unfortunately, I didn't find what I wanted."

The tension was suffocating.

Then, Albert turned the camera toward a trembling Barbara Gordon.

"This is the police commissioner's daughter. I was looking for her father, but someone else kidnapped him first. To those responsible, listen up: hand him over to me. Otherwise, I'll hunt you down one by one—and your deaths will be agonizing."

He pulled the trigger. Barbara collapsed.

Gotham held its breath.

Then Albert looked back into the camera.

"If anyone has information on Gordon's whereabouts, contact the station. And one more thing—this broadcast? It stays on air, 24/7. If it doesn't…"

He gestured toward the ruined police station.

"Your TV station will be next."

The screen cut to static.

The anchor screamed and fled the studio.

Across the city, Gotham's citizens shuddered.

Death Knell had just made his move.