#*new tim threads

With Gotham in this state, it wasn't a surprise that things would happen over at Arkham. Nothing and no one was at peace these days. Batman had a ping from the asylum itself before anything touched the news, but he knew it was a matter of time. His failures were everyone else's glories, and it drove him mad. Don't think about Cass. Don't think about any of them, just do the job. You might not have been born to it, Tim, but you would be damned if anyone was making you let go of this life now.

While Tim's nights were full of criminals and bats, his days were often a long train of meeting after meeting. This day was no different. Tim arrived back in his office, running a hand through his hair as he noticed someone wait. Whoops. He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and brushing his hands down his suit. No crumbs, few wrinkles. This seemed about right. Tim shook out his jacket and we went to the desk, sitting comfortably before he gave his guest a professional, if dull smile.

The night hadn't been quiet. So rarely was it these days. Gone were the nights where little to nothing happened, those were the days of a different man. Tim Drake was no longer that man. There was little he could do to return back to him either.

His eyes skimmed his own face in the mirror. His scars were barely noticeable, but he would always see. Boating accident, spelunking gone wrong, things a man with his bank account, but without his sort of night life might be up to. Tim sighed and scrubbed at his face, ignoring the tired look in his blue eyes and the pale tone of his skin. A faint hint of stubble scratched at his palm, that would be fixed in the morning.