Batman emerges from a monochrome storm, his cape a tidal wave of ink swallowing a crumbling Gotham penthouse (extreme low angle, horizon tilted 30°). Sin City’s nihilist edge: the world is shredded newsprint and India ink, except the sulfur- yellow Bat- symbol—a jagged scar glowing like a dying sun. Frank Miller’s chiaroscuro hones his silhouette: block- jawed cowl, cape hooks sharp as guillotine blades. Rain isn’t water but slashes of erased white, dissolving into the void below. No face, no skin—just the emblem’s feverish hum and the creak of leather under siege. A shattered "HAHAHA" graffito bleeds rust- red in the distant alley
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