The clock struck seven, and Tim knew he had to start getting prepared for the night. He pulled the drawer open where the Robin costume lay, a mix of excitement and anxiety swelling in him. He had always dreamed of this moment—but it wasn't his moment, it was Tim Drake's. He pulled it out and examined it; it was like the real Tim Drake's first-ever Robin costume, but this new Tim Drake had different plans.
Shaking, he pulled out his sewing kit that he had stowed away in his luggage. The old Tim had been carrying it around ever since. Now the new Tim had the opportunity of a lifetime to put it in use. With precision, like that of a master tailor, he began to alter the costume, adding a touch of nostalgia to it from his watched Teen Titans cartoon in his world: the green brighter, the red more contrasting, the yellow trimming more obvious.
He knew it wasn't exactly like the comic version of Tim Drake he had read about, but he couldn't ignore the OG Teen Titans. The material was surprisingly easy to work with, and before long, the costume was transformed into the Robin from that show with still some remnants of Tim Drake's comic book costume.
He slipped it on, feeling the tug of fabric in all the right places, the weight of the utility belt around his waist a reassuring presence. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror, his eyes widening. He had never looked more like Robin than he did in that moment.
With a deep breath, Tim took the stairs down to the secret entrance leading to the Batcave. His heart raced with his words, palms sticky in the glove with a mixture of excitement and nerves. The stone stairs were cold under his feet as he went down into the chamber below.
The sound of his boots echoed off the walls, a rhythmic reminder of the gravity of what he was about to do. Bruce was waiting for him, in full Batman costume, the cowl making his face invisible. Tim felt a bolt of wonder at the sight of the living legend, yet knew he was also about to stand beside him as an equal.
"Ready?" Bruce's voice was gruff, muffled through the mask.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Tim replied, attempting to keep his voice from shaking.
Bruce nodded, and together they launched themselves out into the night, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. The wind whistled past Tim's ears, the rush of fear mixed with the incredible sensation. Gotham City spread out beneath them, a sprawling metropolis of light and shadow.
It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The air was cool, carrying on it the faint scent of rain, a smell that seemed to carry with it the promise of chaos they were about to confront.
As they moved, Tim used his new power to great effect. It was as if his body had become rewired to move in the most efficient way possible. He could feel the tension in the ropes as he swung from one building to another, the perfect angle of his landing already calculated in his head. Every step was precise, every leap calculated to the inch.
The layout of the city was a series of problems to be solved, and Tim's body was the solution. They came upon an alley where a mugging was in progress. Tim's heart was like lightning, but for him, the rest of the world had slowed to a crawl.
He could see each and every movement the mugger was making as if some kind of dancer performing a routine in slow motion. The mugger was a big man, but Tim knew exactly where to aim.
Tim leaped into a jump of faith, and his body moved itself. The foot connected with the mugger's jaw with a satisfactory crunch, and the man went down like a sack of bricks. Time snapped back into place, and Tim landed delicately beside the stunned victim.
Batman watched him with a critical eye, but there was something else there. "Good job, Robin," he said, his voice low and gruff.
Tim felt a flush of pride. "Thanks, Batman."
But the night wasn't over just yet. A flash of the Bat-Signal in the sky cut through the gloom. Bruce's eyes narrowed. "We've got work to do."
The signal led them to the roof of the Gotham City Police Headquarters. Commissioner Gordon stood waiting, his face a picture of surprise and relief. "It's been a while since I've seen a Robin."
Tim swallowed, standing straighter. "I'm here to help."
The clock struck seven, and Tim knew he had to start getting prepared for the night. He pulled the drawer open where the Robin costume lay, a mix of excitement and anxiety swelling in him. He had always dreamed of this moment—but it wasn't his moment, it was Tim Drake's. He pulled it out and examined it; it was like the real Tim Drake's first-ever Robin costume, but this new Tim Drake had different plans.
Shaking, he pulled out his sewing kit that he had stowed away in his luggage. The old Tim had been carrying it around ever since. Now the new Tim had the opportunity of a lifetime to put it in use. With precision, like that of a master tailor, he began to alter the costume, adding a touch of nostalgia to it from his watched Teen Titans cartoon in his world: the green brighter, the red more contrasting, the yellow trimming more obvious.
He knew it wasn't exactly like the comic version of Tim Drake he had read about, but he couldn't ignore the OG Teen Titans. The material was surprisingly easy to work with, and before long, the costume was transformed into the Robin from that show with still some remnants of Tim Drake's comic book costume.
He slipped it on, feeling the tug of fabric in all the right places, the weight of the utility belt around his waist a reassuring presence. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror, his eyes widening. He had never looked more like Robin than he did in that moment.
With a deep breath, Tim took the stairs down to the secret entrance leading to the Batcave. His heart raced with his words, palms sticky in the glove with a mixture of excitement and nerves. The stone stairs were cold under his feet as he went down into the chamber below.
The sound of his boots echoed off the walls, a rhythmic reminder of the gravity of what he was about to do. Bruce was waiting for him, in full Batman costume, the cowl making his face invisible. Tim felt a bolt of wonder at the sight of the living legend, yet knew he was also about to stand beside him as an equal.
"Ready?" Bruce's voice was gruff, muffled through the mask.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Tim replied, attempting to keep his voice from shaking.
Bruce nodded, and together they launched themselves out into the night, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. The wind whistled past Tim's ears, the rush of fear mixed with the incredible sensation. Gotham City spread out beneath them, a sprawling metropolis of light and shadow.
It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The air was cool, carrying on it the faint scent of rain, a smell that seemed to carry with it the promise of chaos they were about to confront.
As they moved, Tim used his new power to great effect. It was as if his body had become rewired to move in the most efficient way possible. He could feel the tension in the ropes as he swung from one building to another, the perfect angle of his landing already calculated in his head. Every step was precise, every leap calculated to the inch.
The layout of the city was a series of problems to be solved, and Tim's body was the solution. They came upon an alley where a mugging was in progress. Tim's heart was like lightning, but for him, the rest of the world had slowed to a crawl.
He could see each and every movement the mugger was making as if some kind of dancer performing a routine in slow motion. The mugger was a big man, but Tim knew exactly where to aim.
Tim leaped into a jump of faith, and his body moved itself. The foot connected with the mugger's jaw with a satisfactory crunch, and the man went down like a sack of bricks. Time snapped back into place, and Tim landed delicately beside the stunned victim.
Batman watched him with a critical eye, but there was something else there. "Good job, Robin," he said, his voice low and gruff.
Tim felt a flush of pride. "Thanks, Batman."
But the night wasn't over just yet. A flash of the Bat-Signal in the sky cut through the gloom. Bruce's eyes narrowed. "We've got work to do."
The signal led them to the roof of the Gotham City Police Headquarters. Commissioner Gordon stood waiting, his face a picture of surprise and relief. "It's been a while since I've seen a Robin."
Tim swallowed, standing straighter. "I'm here to help."
Bruce's eyes stayed fixed on him. "It's time."
The air was thick with expectation as they drew closer to Gordon. His eyes sought out Tim's for a flash of fear or doubt, but only found a mirror image of his own determination staring back. The moment weighed heavy; Tim was cynically aware he was filling the shoes that had laid empty for far too long, a beacon of hope torn ruthlessly from Gotham by Joker's sadistic game.
Gordon cleared his throat; his voice carried the burden of his words. "It is good to see that you are not allowing the shadows to consume you. Gotham needs the light you both bring." His gaze lingered on Tim a beat longer, silent acknowledgment of the brave choice he had made.
Bruce nodded solemnly, the weight of the cape shifting around his shoulders. "Thank you, Commissioner. But we can't ignore the shadows growing in our city."
Gordon's expression hardened. "Indeed. The False Face Society has been making waves. Led by Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, they're a gang of thieves who've become more than just a nuisance. Their numbers are growing, and their methods are becoming more… unpredictable."
Bruce's eyes turned grim. "We need to control them before they become unmanageable. And if we can get enough evidence, maybe we can put Black Mask behind bars for good."
Gordon nodded gravely. "That's what we're aiming for. We've got intel on their next heist, but we need to be careful. They're not just smash-and-grab artists anymore. They've got brains behind the brawn."
"Understood," Batman said, voice firm. "We'll need to be prepared for anything."
"And you will be," Gordon assured him, handing over a file. "Everything we know about the False Face Society is here. We suspect they're going after the Gotham City Museum's new exhibit tonight."
Batman didn't say a word, merely took the file and scanned the information with practiced efficiency. Tim felt his excitement build. A museum heist! Like something out of a movie. But this wasn't fun and games; this was the real world, and people were depending on them to stop the criminals before they could get away with hurting anyone.
As Gordon continued to talk, Batman's eyes remained on the file, nodding occasionally. Tim, though, couldn't help his nugget of doubt. He had only been Robin for a few hours, and he was being tossed into the deep sea. He swallowed hard and reminded himself he'd been in tough situations before. This was just another test.
Then, in a flash of silence, Batman was gone. Tim's eyes went wide as his brain tried to catch up. His mathematical mind broke it down further, cycling through a series of possibilities. Then it clicked. He saw the faint ripple in the air, the way shadows danced for a split second. Batman had used his gadgets and training to vanish.
But Tim had another tool. His eyes locked onto the spot where Batman had been, and the air seemed to shift; numbers and equations spun into place. He imagined his body through space, tracing the trajectory of Batman's escape. With a steadying breath, he stepped forward, his costume fluttering in the night air.
The world hit pause as the outline of Batman's path unfolded in his mind. Then he was in motion—an immortal waltz with the math in his head. Rooftops blurred. The wind whipped across his face, yet his footing was flawless. He calculated leaps, gargoyle grips, and swings to the inch.
Batman reappeared beside him, cape billowing like living shadow. "How did you do that?" he asked, voice tinged with curiosity and concern.
Tim forced calm into his reply. "Just… practiced," he said, hoping the lie held. He couldn't reveal his mathematical sight. "I studied your movements, figured out the pattern."
Batman's white eyes fixed on him. The cowl gave nothing away, but his tone carried a mix of skepticism and respect. "Impressive. But be careful, Tim. The night is full of surprises."
They arrived at the museum, a bastion of history looming against the Gotham skyline. The air crackled with tension. Numbers danced around Tim's vision, mapping beams, corners, ventilation shafts like blueprints.
Batman turned, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Tim, I need you to disable the security system. It's more complex than what I usually face."
Tim felt the weight of the challenge—Batman was testing him. He visualized the system in his mind's eye, every wire and failsafe mapped like equations. "Already on it," he said, conviction steady. Without waiting, he leaped, cape snapping behind him like a banner.
Landing in a crouch near a vent, his goggles slid into place. He flicked them on, and the world changed.
The vent system was a maze of green lines and red dots—the dots representing the security cameras. Tim took a moment to commit the layout to memory before sliding inside, the fabric of his new costume whispering against the metal. The air was stale and warm, the scent of dust and electricity filling his nostrils as he moved with feline grace, his heart thumping like a drum announcing his arrival.
The shaft deposited him into the security room, where a lone guard sat unaware. Tim pulled himself out with a gymnast's twist and landed silently. A quick disarm and a tap to the head, and the man slumped cold. Tim almost smiled at the success, but there was no time.
He went to work, nimble fingers dancing over keyboards and touchscreens. The system was a puzzle, but one he enjoyed solving. It was like a video game, only with real-world stakes. His gut coiled with tension, yet the thrill pushed it aside. One by one, the screens flickered into darkness, the red dots on his goggles blinking out.
He had done it. The alarms fell silent, the lights dimmed into emergency mode. With a mischievous grin, he gave a thumbs-up to the unconscious guard—who would remain blissfully unaware of his heroics—and melted back into the shadows.
Batman glided in, cape brushing the marble like a whisper of midnight. They split to cover more ground, but Tim's mathematical mind had already mapped escape routes and vantage points where they could reconverge. He crouched in the shadows of a display, the numbers and angles of the room pulsing across his vision.
Then the False Face Society burst in, a cacophony reverberating through the museum halls. Tim's palms grew slick with anticipation. This was it—the chance he had waited for, the chance to prove himself. The thieves moved with confidence born of experience, their grotesque masks a chilling parody of Gotham's elite.
That's when Tim realized his mistake. The guard he had knocked out was still lying in the open, a liability. If they found him, their element of surprise would vanish.
With a silent curse, Tim darted back into the vent, his costume blurring into the dark. He emerged moments later to find the guard still where he had left him. The echo of boots in the corridor beat like an ominous drum.
Scooping the unconscious man into his arms, Tim sprinted down the hallway, his eyes darting in search of cover. Numbers painted maps of danger zones across his vision—if he slowed, they were both dead. Turning a corner, the crash of glass shattered the air. Shouts rang out. The False Face Society had announced its presence.
Tim dove into a janitor's closet, gently lowering the guard and tugging the door closed. The floor trembled with the thugs' approaching steps. He forced his breathing steady. His mind calculated: the time until Batman engaged, the routes the criminals would likely take, the odds of them sweeping this corridor.
The tension hung like a coiled spring.
Then the spring released. A dark shape dropped from above, crashing into the gang like a meteor. Through the sliver of the door, Tim watched the ballet of violence unfold. Batman's fists and boots hammered with brutal precision. Bones cracked, grunts echoed, and the sharp metallic ring of Batarangs punctuated the chaos.
Tim knew he couldn't hide forever. The fight was a storm—and storms needed lightning. With a final breath, he pushed open the door and stepped into the fray like a knight into a dragon's lair.
The thieves never saw him coming. Robin was a shadow given form, fists and feet moving with the elegance of equations. Each strike was a perfect solution. Stunned, the gang faltered before the ghost of a legend reborn.
"Isn't Robin dead?" one thug snarled, voice muffled behind his mask.
Tim winced but kept moving. "Not anymore," he shot back, his fists providing punctuation.
The thieves were no match for Batman and Robin together. Numbers swirled in Tim's head, predicting their moves, but something gnawed at him. The real threat was elsewhere.
As the last thug fell, the duo stood back to back. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and fear. Batman's voice cut low. "Where's Sionis?"
Tim had already calculated the answer. "He's not here. Their coordination, their signals—they're pawns."
Batman gave a curt nod. "I knew it. Sionis wouldn't risk himself on a heist like this."
Swiftly, he bound the thugs with practiced efficiency, his motions silent and sure. Tim tracked the patterns, already trying to decode the Society's larger plan. "We need to find him," he said, urgency sharpening his tone.
"I've called the police," Batman replied, cape flaring. "They'll clean this up." His eyes scanned for clues, never still.
They slipped into the night as sirens wailed, the cool Gotham air washing over Tim's sweat-slick skin. Footsteps and shouts faded behind them as they melted back into the shadows. The hunt for Black Mask was only beginning.