#malprxctice

"Put your hands behind your head--"

He's not the only masked robber. Eddie didn't really expect it in one of the better protected areas of Gotham where he preyed, but somehow someone else had managed to eke out another backdoor into the chemical plant.

"You too."

If it was a low-level hired-hand goon, he'd definitely have some fun before robbing the place and running off.

In a soft voice he began, free hand resting on the light switch. "What is more the less you see?"

Everything is... hazy. Tim knows he's hurt -- god, he knows it with every fiber of his being that feels like it's splintering off -- but he's losing clarity, his brain is starting to fog over.

He's in a part of Gotham that he knows, though -- wasn't there a safehouse? Whose? Someone's. His mind latches onto safehouse, onto safe, and muscle memory has him stumbling onward, leaning against the rough brick of a building for support and leaving dark smears behind him. He sees a door, numbers that float before his eyes, and he knows those numbers even though he can't place them-