The looming goal posts called out to him. He could practically taste his victory.

Touchdown, here I come!

The mayor’s box exploded, raining blood and debris onto the field. The cheers turned into screams. People panicked and leapt from their seats. Smoke blew over the field.

What the—?

Confused, the receiver glanced behind him— and saw the grassy field drop away into the earth, swallowing players. Rogues and Monuments alike tumbled into a smoking chasm that seemed to be chasing after the receiver as eagerly as any opposing linebacker. The pigskin slipped from his fingers as he sprinted even faster than before, desperate to stay ahead of the collapsing field.

An earth-shaking rumble competed with the shrieks of more than sixty thousand spectators, many of whom were already stampeding for the exits. The terrified player stumbled past the end zone, abandoning all thought of scoring.

Get me outta here!

The street erupted all around Blake’s cruiser, throwing chunks of asphalt into the air. Thick black smoke billowed up from below. Manhole covers shot upward. Water gushed from broken fire hydrants. Street lamps toppled over, crashing onto streets and sidewalks.

Snapped electrical wires sparked and hissed. Pedestrians ran in terror. Horns honked frantically, adding to the tumult. Brakes squealed. Sirens blared. Vehicles collided.

Struggling to keep control of his car, Blake swerved wildly to avoid the bright orange flames shooting up from an open manhole. His notes and maps went flying around the cabin. An empty coffee cup toppled over.

Blake swore out loud, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

The Granton Bridge collapsed behind him. The massive towers, deck, and cables crashed into the river in what appeared to be a controlled demolition. Dozens of cars, trucks, and taxis plunged down into the icy water.

Further ahead and off to the right, he saw the Sallow Bridge come crashing down as well, severing the east side of midtown from the mainland. He guessed that the other bridges had been sabotaged, as well.

Bane is cutting Gotham off from the world, he realized. But why?

Another eruption went off directly beneath the cruiser, tossing the car over and onto its roof. It skidded across the exploding asphalt. Sparks and the screeching of metal against asphalt created yet more chaos. Blake’s seatbelt and shoulder strap dug into him, holding him to his seat.

The windshield shattered. Metal crumpled around him. Geysers of smoke and flame spewed around the careening vehicle.

His world turned upside-down.

The once-green football field was now a smoking wasteland except for one narrow strip of turf that had survived the disaster. Rubble and dead bodies littered what was left. The pigskin itself had vanished into the chasm.

No one noticed.

Bane’s men poured out of the locker room tunnel and onto the ruined field, forming a protective gauntlet for his entrance. More soldiers, he knew, were posted at all the exits, preventing his audience from leaving before the show was over. He had no intention of performing to an empty house.