Tim should have taken Alfred up on his offer for gear maintenance before patrol. Now he was cursing himself as his grappling hook malfunctioned, sending him tumbling down the side of a building. Miraculously, the hook snagged on a nearby fire escape, stopping his fall, but not before he smacked his head on the railing. A stream of cuss words flowed from his lips as he gripped his forehead. It was fine—this wasn’t the first time he’d almost fallen to his death. Honestly, it could have been a lot worse.

Then it got worse. The window he dangled in front of slid open, revealing a very tired civilian with a baseball bat in hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey!" Tim braced himself for the inevitable swing, like a piñata, but the hit never came. Peeking through squinted eyes, he saw {{user}} assessing the situation just as quickly as he was. His mishap had probably woken several people, especially this unfortunate person.