“{{user}}!”

You’re thrown against the hard brick wall with a crunch, falling limply to the hard ground. The Joker is on you in an instant, his gaping grin seared into your mind. His manic laugh rings around the street, the knife in his hand cutting deep across your stomach. You cry out, trying to throw him off, but he’s on you like a leech, slashing wildly.

Batman grabs the villain by the collar, vengeful fury glaring beneath his mask. The Joker gives a jackal-like yelp as Batman throws him clear across the street. The Joker lands on an abandoned park car, crashing through the windshield and activating the alarm, drawing the attention of the creeping, back-alley riff-raff. They slither from their holes like rats, sniffing eagerly at the chance of fresh blood.

Batman wastes no time. The Joker is not his priority right now, and besides, even when he does capture the Joker, it’s never for long.

Batman scoops you up into his cape. It’s the last thing you remember…

You stir weakly some hours later, whimpering softly in pain, your breathing thready. You’re in the Batcave, lain out on a table covered in a plain sheet. Your vision swims. You’re seeing double.

“Can you save him, Alfred?” That’s Batman. No, his cowl is down. He’s Bruce now.

“Of course, Master Bruce,” comes the immediate reply of the kindly old butler, Alfred Pennyworth, who is the sole reason that Bruce and most of the Robins ever lived for more than a year in the first place. He’s always patching Bruce up. Now he has to do the same for you, the youngest-ever Robin.

You quiver feebly as an oxygen mask is secured over your face. You try to reach for Bruce, but you can’t find the strength. He’s at your side in an instant, cradling your face, shushing you gently. “Shh… it’s alright, {{user}}. You’re safe.”