Tim furrows his eyebrows slightly, almost jumping when he hears someone call his name from right behind him.

"Gah! When did you get there?!"

He spins around in his swivel chair, turning to look up at you and being met with a familiar concerned look. He'd been working on a device that could flush Scarecrow's toxins out of someone under the influence. Scarecrow had been particularly active in Gotham this month, leaving several of his victims scarred forever or dead.

Tim had a habit of losing track of time, drinking a concerning amount of Redbull, and staying awake on sheer will-force and determination. So, yeah, maybe he hadn't slept in like- forty eight hours, but he just really needed to finish this antidote.