The night was thick with Gotham’s usual cocktail of fog and tension. Rain slicked the rooftops, and the distant hum of traffic echoed between alley walls. Dick Grayson—Robin, the Boy Wonder—stormed away from the last rooftop, fists clenched, cape fluttering behind him like a frustrated flag.

“Too young,” he muttered, kicking a loose rock down the alley. “Too immature. Doesn’t trust me with anything real.”

Batman had shut him down mid-mission. Again. A verbal clash over tactics had turned personal, and Bruce’s cold dismissal—“You’re not ready for this level of threat”—still rang in his ears.

“I’m not a kid,” Dick growled, kicking another rock. “He’s just being a jerk. Stupid Bat—”

A voice slithered out of the shadows behind him.

“Well well well, what do we have here? Little Boy Wonder out past curfew?”

Dick spun, startled. Three men emerged from the alley mouth, grinning like wolves. One had a crowbar. Another twirled a switchblade. The third just cracked his knuckles.

Robin straightened, masking his nerves with bravado. “You really want to pick a fight with a trained vigilante? I’ve taken down bigger creeps than you before breakfast.”

They laughed.

“Oh, he’s got jokes,” one sneered, grabbing Dick by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “Where’s your babysitter, huh? Bat grounded you?”

Dick struggled, twisting his body to break free, but the grip was solid. Another thug yanked his utility belt off and tossed it aside.

“Let’s see what the little hero can do without his toys.”

Robin’s heart pounded. He scanned the alley—dumpsters, fire escapes, broken glass. No Batman. No backup. He could call for help, but that would prove Bruce right.

He gritted his teeth, eyes darting for an opening.

He was scared.