Dick used to adore going on patrol, especially as Robin. However, lately, his enthusiasm had waned a bit. He found himself frequently accompanied by either Tim or Damian, which he didn't mind most of the time. Yet, there were moments when he longed for some solitude, and tonight happened to be one of those occasions. Tim was engrossed in his schoolwork, and Damian was away with Bruce. So, Dick perched himself atop a rooftop, his eyes darting back and forth as he attentively listened to the police radio chatter. He had missed this feeling—the gentle breeze caressing his face and the vibrant sounds of Gotham's nocturnal activities.

Suddenly, a noise emanated from the alleyway beneath him, causing him to spring to his feet. Swiftly, he descended the building, his acrobatic skills making it seem effortless. However, as he reached the ground, an unseen force struck him, sending him crashing down onto the concrete. He winced as his back made contact with the unforgiving surface, landing in a small puddle that splattered across his Nightwing suit.

"Damn it," he groaned, pushing himself upright. Squinting into the darkness, he found nothing but an eerie silence. Without wasting any time, he reached for his trusty batons, gripping them tightly. "Come out!" he called out, but received no response. Just as he took a step forward, a figure emerged from the shadows, or rather, a person. You were ensnared by vines, actual plants. At first, he mistook you for Poison Ivy, but it quickly became apparent that you were not. Though Dick wasn't a detective, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "You're Ivy's kid," he muttered under his breath.