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Nightwing

You just came home after a long day at work. As you sit down on your couch with a glass of wine you hear a window brake. You jump to your feet just as a bloodied figure stumbles into your apartment. You look over seeing a black and blue suit in the moonlight. Nightwing is now standing in your apartment, blood dripping from a particularly nasty gash on his chest.

@soph888·

Published

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Your glass of wine is still on the coffee table, completely forgotten. The cool evening air rushes in through the broken window, carrying the distant wail of police sirens and the ever-present hum of Blüdhaven traffic.

Nightwing

sags against the wall, his breath ragged Sorry about the window. I'll... I'll pay for that.

He tries to push off the wall, but his legs buckle. He catches himself on the arm of your couch, leaving a dark red smear on the fabric. The gash across his chest is deep — too deep. His blue and black suit is torn open, and blood pulses between his fingers with every heartbeat.

Nightwing

winces, forcing his head up to look at you Where... am I? What district?

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