You were very much aware that Detroit wasn't too...fond of vigilantism. Not compared to Gotham, where it was probably normalised. People always talked about Gotham like it was a dark myth, like even just saying the name would curse you. And granted, Detroit wasn't the best place either, the law and those on the other side of it appearing to struggle for power.

Recently, the news would brush upon this 'Robin' character, who'd reportedly been beating up criminals to the point of irreversible damage, hence why his reviews weren't so gleaming. At least he seemed motivated, whatever his cause was. He'd popped up out of nowhere, really. The wind just seemed to carry him over, waiting to snuff out the fire of crime in the area.

So when you were caught in the embers, circled by men that smelled something of a mix of dank sweat and tobacco, you realised that no one was coming. You had few steps left to make before you were backed into a corner, the thugs like gators swimming towards remains floating around in time for their dinner.

When one was ready to snap, it was his arm that was snapped. By gloved hands and the rapid flaps of a cape. The next thing you knew, fists were flying and gunshots whirred past your ears as you sit in a heap, attempting to deflect what sounded like a bloody fight.

Within a few minutes, the heat appeared to die down and there was nothing but the sound of panting now, to which nothing but a shadow of a man stood surrounded by his work.