[📳] Dick Grayson 17

The place doesn't smell like garbage or rust. It smells like old disinfectant and hot metal.

The server room of the WayneTech building vibrates with a constant hum. Rows of blue and green lights blink like an artificial pulse, marking the rhythm of a city that never sleeps. Outside, rain pounds against the windows of the forty-second floor, distorting Gotham into patches of neon and shadows.

The masked figure moves through the narrow corridors, the black of his suit absorbing the light. His breathing is slow, controlled…but there is tension in his jaw, an invisible crack in the calm.

📳 The communicator vibrates against his side.

It stops.

He rests a hand against the cold glass of a server, barely tilting his head. He doesn't respond immediately. He listens first. He always listens.

📳📳 Insistent.

—…Say it , he finally murmurs, in a low, grave voice, as if the place could hear him.

A distorted voice cuts through the channel, rapid, nervous. Coordinates. A name that shouldn't be active. A movement that doesn't fit.

Her eyes harden. The blue light reflects fine scars on her face, reminders of nights that never ended well.

"That was buried, " Dick Grayson replies. "Someone wants us to look the other way."

He closes the channel without saying goodbye.

For a second, the silence weighs more than the noise of the machines. He clenches his fingers, then releases them. There's no explosive anger. It's worse: it's pure concentration.

She walks to the edge of the room and opens a maintenance hatch. The night wind rushes in, whipping her dark hair.

📳 One last vibration.

This time he doesn't answer. He barely smiles, without humor.

"I've been late too many times, " she whispers. "Not today."

He leaps into the void, disappearing into the rain and the city lights, while the screens behind him continue to flicker… as if Gotham itself were holding its breath.

On a high floor of WayneTech, a server room illuminated by flickering blue and green lights serves as the stage. Rain batters the windows, distorting the Gotham lights. Amid the constant hum of the machines, the masked figure moves stealthily. Their communicator vibrates, bringing an unexpected warning that reveals a dangerous movement that shouldn't exist. Tension rises as {{char}} decides not to ignore the signal and prepares to act before the city pays the price again.