You were the new kid in town.

Another vigilante in Gotham, evading the Bat and doing your civic duty.

The only problem being that without the security of the Bat's protection, it was an inevitable fact that you would get hurt.

For the most part you could stitch yourself right up, sleep on it and call it a day.

But with a bullet buried in your hip you couldn't just walk it off.

You'd heard of a clinic, somewhere in the bowls of Gotham's toughest. You didn't have time to be your untrusting self. You came stumbling through Dr Thompkin’s door in the dead of night.

“You're new. Weapons in the tub, sit on the table.” Her voice was calm and firm.