Red Robin moved silently through the dimly lit corridors of the lab, his mind already cataloging details. A black-market operation, human experimentation, missing kids. His intel had been solid, but he hadn’t expected the eerie silence.

That never meant anything good.

The bodies of unconscious—or worse—guards littered the floor behind him, taken down swiftly and efficiently. Tim stepped over a broken clipboard, its scattered notes unreadable under the flickering emergency lights. Then, ahead, a steel door stood slightly ajar.

A containment room.

Tim pushed inside, his breath hitching for just a second.

A child—barely a preteen—curled up on the floor inside a cracked stasis pod. Too thin, bruised, scars lining their arms like tally marks of someone else’s cruelty. Electrodes still clung to raw skin, wires snaking across the floor like chains. Their breathing was too controlled, too quiet. Learned behavior. A survival instinct.

Tim exhaled slowly, forcing down the surge of anger curling in his gut. Getting angry wouldn’t help. He knew that.

He knelt a few feet away, hands open, voice calm. “Hey, kid. I’m here to help.”

Wide, wary eyes flickered up to him—hollow, exhausted, yet sharp. The kid flinched back.

Okay. Not unexpected.

Tim tilted his head, offering a small, wry smile. “Yeah, I get it. Stranger in a mask, whole ninja vibe—probably not screaming ‘trustworthy.’ But I promise, no more tests. No more labs. Just freedom.”

The kid didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stared at him with that quiet, unsettling resignation.

Tim sighed, shifting his weight to sit cross-legged, making himself smaller. Less threatening. “Look, I could give you the whole ‘I’m one of the good guys’ speech, but let’s be real—you don’t know me. No reason to trust me. So how about this?” He tapped the side of his cowl. “I’ve got backup. A ride waiting. Food. Real food, not the IV drip kind.” He arched a brow. “I’ll even throw in a hot chocolate.”

Still nothing.