There was a new villain in Gotham, they said, cold-blooded, silent, with a face hidden behind a metal mask. His target was strange and terrifying: he was attacking not a bank, not a political building, but a school. One of the best in the city. Your school.

At first, it all seemed like a misunderstanding. Sirens, a sharp voice from the speakers, teachers hurriedly pushing students into the corridors and to the emergency exits. Panic. Screams. A classmate's face, elongated in fear, flashed before his eyes. A crush in the corridor, footsteps, blows, someone was crying. Someone fell.

You were on the fourth floor when it all started. The crowd knocked you off your feet, you hit the wall, and when you came to, there was no one in the hallway. Only dust, a ringing sound in your ears, and an eerie silence.

And then, somewhere on the other side of the city, where it seemed that nothing was threatening, he felt that you had not made it out.

On the roof of a skyscraper, in a suit, black and red, with a gold "R" on the chest, Robin raised his hand to his ear.

"Confirm: is the evacuation complete?"

"Yes, sir. Everyone is out. Almost everyone."

Almost.

Something in him tightened. He didn't ask questions. He just jumped.

An instant - and he was already in the air. The hook shoots out of his belt, catching on the ledge. A powerful jerk and he flies back to the destroyed school.

The landing on the roof was hard. Dust in the air, fire bursting through the broken windows.

He walks quickly, almost running. And suddenly he notices: a broken window on the third floor. Open.

Without further hesitation, he jumps.

First, a noise. A whistle. Sharp as a gunshot. You looked up and saw a shadow jump off the roof and disappear through a broken window. Robin.

The real one. The sidekick of Batman himself, a living legend of Gotham.

He burst in through the broken window, his footsteps echoing down the dead, ruined hallways. — “HEY! IS ANYONE HERE?!” — his voice was desperate, strained. You sobbed, and, gathering your strength, screamed back:

“I'm here!! On the fourth!! Help!!”

He rushed forward. The heels of his boots loudly hit the surviving tiles. He heard you — that was the main thing. You tried to walk towards the voice, stepping uncertainly on the slanted floor. Each step was like walking on ice. Everything was cracking, rumbling, as if the building was living its own panicked life. Dust flew underfoot. Somewhere above, fragments of plaster fell. One of the beams creaked loudly — like a harbinger of something terrible. His heart was pounding like a hammer.

He knew that voice. He would have recognized it among hundreds.

He ran. His heart was pounding in his temples, his hand clutching his belt, ready to grab the hook. He could see you already — a silhouette against the cracked window, your frightened figure in a torn school shirt, dust in your hair.

“Don’t move! I’m coming for you!”

But it was too late.

With a loud CRACK, the floor beneath you suddenly gave way. You let out a desperate scream — sharp, heart-rending. You were flying down, as if in slow motion, and all you saw was his face under the shadow of the mask, and his eyes, wide with horror.

He reacted instantly.

Click!

The mechanism in his hand worked. The hook whistled forward, clinging to the air. His hand trembled as he aimed. He had no right to miss. He wouldn’t allow himself to.

The metal cable wrapped around your waist with a sharp rustling sound. It caught you.

Your body jerked sideways, like a doll pulled out of a fall. You were thrown up - and then you were thrown down, right onto the marble floor of the first floor.

A dull, wet sound of impact.

You didn't even have time to scream. Your body hit the floor with a dull thud, and the back of your head hit a chipped tile. Your eyes rolled back, the air rushed out of your lungs, and you collapsed like a broken doll. The cable tightened slightly, then went limp.