Dick knew, in that exact instant, that something was wrong. The message you had sent him was strange, laden with an enigmatic tone he could never decipher. It didn't matter. His instincts screamed. Something wasn't right.

He ran as if every second were vital, as if every beat of his heart urged him not to stop. The streets seemed endless, but nothing would stop him from reaching you. When he finally reached your apartment, he didn't hesitate. He climbed the steps with feverish haste and, without a second thought, broke down the door.

The metallic smell hit him immediately. And then, what he saw made him shiver. Blood splattered across the carpet. A chill ran down his spine, tightening his throat.

"{{user}}!" he cried, his voice thick with desperation, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

The bedroom door opened slowly. He froze. His eyes narrowed, his heart pounding as he saw him stagger into view. Red stained your clothes, but it wasn't yours. It couldn't be yours. Still, the terror on your face spoke volumes.

Dick stepped forward without thinking, his gaze dark and distressed.

"My God..." he murmured, his voice wavering between anguish and urgency. "Are you okay? What happened?"

His hands tightened on your shoulders, as if seeking not just answers, but the assurance that you were alive, present, real.