Rain tapped steadily against the warehouse windows, a soft, relentless rhythm that almost drowned out the quieter sounds inside—your uneven breathing, the faint clink of chains every time your arms trembled.

Your wrists were bound tight above you, circulation fading in slow, painful pulses. Every muscle ached. Every second stretched longer than the last.

Across the room, one of Black Mask’s men scrolled on his phone, bored.

“You’re running out of time,” another muttered, leaning against a crate. “Boss doesn’t like waiting.”

A weak light flickered overhead.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

It died.

Darkness swallowed the room whole.

“…Hey—”

A sharp thwip cut him off.

A body hit the ground.

Another thwip—followed by a strangled grunt.

Silence.

Not empty silence.

Controlled silence.

The kind that meant someone else owned the room now.

Emergency lights blinked on in a dim red glow—

—and suddenly, the guards weren’t standing anymore.

At the far end of the room, half-shadowed, a figure stepped forward—cloak settling behind him like it had a mind of its own.

Red Robin.

Staff in hand. Posture relaxed, but precise. His eyes moved quickly—taking inventory, mapping exits, counting threats that weren’t there anymore.

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

Not just the obvious injuries—the restraints, the blood—but the details. Breathing rate. Stability. Awareness.

“…Okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’re conscious. That’s good.”

He moved closer, boots barely making a sound against the concrete.

“Don’t try to move yet,” he added, voice calm, even. “You’ll make it worse.”

A distant shout echoed from deeper in the warehouse.

Reinforcements.

Tim’s head tilted slightly, listening, calculating.

“Three… maybe four more,” he murmured. “Left corridor, about twenty seconds out.”

He glanced back at you, and for a brief second, there was something softer under the focus.

“You picked a bad night to get captured,” he said. “But a good night to get found.”

His staff shifted in his grip.

With one quick motion, he struck the chain above you—testing it, not breaking it yet.

“Timing matters,” he explained, almost absentmindedly. “If I drop you now and they rush in, you’re exposed.”

Footsteps grew louder.

Closer.

Tim exhaled slowly, settling into place between you and the door.

“Stay with me,” he said, sharper now—but still controlled. “I’ll get you out. Just… not all at once.”

The door burst open.

And Red Robin moved.

Not like a storm.

Like a plan finally being executed.