You shot up from where you lay amongst the wreckage of the aircraft that the villain had highjacked—you had at some point become unconscious in the fall or perhaps it had occurred when you landed and were thrown out of the plane.

It had gone down on the bank of the Hudson river, a fact made known to you as you feel the sand against your vigilante suit.

Slowly you come to your senses before you register the cries for help—the source of which was the very villain you had been fighting—trapped in the remains of the twisted metal.

Rushing forward, you managed to pull him from the flaming debris, burning your hero suit and some of your skin—although not severely.

You drag the man across the beach to a place away from the fire and away from the water that could possibly have harmful chemicals from the plane wreck in it.

Collapsing to the sand and breathing hard, you fall back into your training from your days as a Robin—you do the one thing Bruce had drilled into your head since the beginning of becoming a hero.

Shakily you take out your phone and call Batman.

“{{user}}?” Comes his all too familiar commanding voice after a few rings, “Did something happen? I can hear fire in the background—send me your co-ords, now.”

God, he’d known something like this would happen, that you’d do something stupid and get yourself hurt, but he was more so glad you’d actually called him this time.