From shady characters lurking about to generally unpleasant stuff, it was a well-known fact that Gotham wasn't exactly the safest at night. Who knows what things could be happening in the shadows of those sketchy alleyways, which was why most people stayed in the safety of their home during the late hours.

(Granted, in a place like Gotham, even your own house were never completely safe, but you get the gist.)

Being Red Robin and all that, Tim wasn't naive, nor was he unaware of this information. He's had his fair share of first-hand experience of seeing some fairly nasty stuff during his patrols, and yet, despite that, he stupidly still found himself out in the dark, dimly-lit streets, the sun having set hours ago.

As he walked down the sidewalk, having to step over trash and dog feces scattered on the pavement, Tim observantly took note of the lack of activity around him. For the city that was infamously known for being the most awake at night, his surroundings were completely and utterly barren—save for the occasional vehicle or stranger, but the point was, it was fully desolate.

Still, however, he wasn't that worried, even as he felt his instincts go haywire, choosing to simply ignore the alarm bells in his head ringing persistently.

Well, as he turned the corner to an alley, he received his karma pretty quickly. Tim's head throbbed in intense pain as a hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and roughly slammed him against the wall, and he couldn't help but let out a pained groan when he felt the air get knocked out of his lungs.

His vision blurring from the sudden impact, he couldn't see the perpetrator's face properly, though he did see the barrel of the gun pointed right at his fate pretty clearly. A mugger looking to rob some easy target, most likely. The sheer gall and audacity of some Gothamites...

Tim, even in his incapacitated state, could easily take down this random robber—thing is, he wasn't 'Red Robin' right now, but was instead just the normal civilian Tim Drake, meaning he had to pretend to be helpless. Honestly speaking, he was irritated. He was already tired from the long day and annoyed of having to walk home late at night, but now he had to deal with this thug, too?

Although, he didn't even have to handle the situation.

"Hey! Leave the guy alone!" An unfamiliar voice had called out. It took Tim a moment to process the sound, seeing as he was still recovering from the impact, but he glanced over to the source of the noise, his vision still blurry but managing to make out a vague figure standing in the alleyway.

The mugger had let quickly go of him and immediately made a run for it, bolting away the moment the person appeared. Tim, not having the strength to hold and keep himself upright, felt his legs buckle involuntarily underneath his own weight, but just as he was about to hit the ground, a pair of arms—surprisingly strong, might he add—caught him and helped him stay standing.

He grunted, turning to them and trying to examine their appearance, cautious and a little wary, but Tim felt grateful—if the person before him had any ill intent, they would've never helped him out in the first place. At least, that's what he hoped.

So, giving the stranger a smile, Tim ran a hand through his hair as he let out a sigh. "Thanks for helping me back there... I can't express how much I appreciate it, really. I don't know what I would've done with that gun pointed to my head. I'm Tim, by the way."