A/N: Hi. Okay, you read now.

"We have approximately two hours until the rain hits," Slade told him and Robin nodded. "The wind didn't die down last night, and it's not going to anytime soon, so be careful."

"Got it," Robin muttered as he gave the make-shift harness around his waist a good, hard tug, testing the knot in their only rope. Slade gave him a doubtful look that hardly seemed to phase the teen.

"You ready to get off this building?" he asked in a dark and serious tone as he moved the staff into place.

Robin moved to the edge of the rooftop, his hair flying wildly about his head in the wind. "Yeah."

"Good," Slade held the staff in place and checked the lines once again. " Don't fuck it up by dying down there."

"Just don't drop me, asshole." Robin huffed, a small smirk playing on his lips as he swung his legs over the side.

There was a small, almost undistinguishable pause as the stale air of the city seemed to freeze in place before them. It happened at the same moment when the teen turned his head to look back at the villain, their eyes connecting and sharing the hope and hopelessness of their escape plan, but it was over nearly as soon as it began.

Robin slid off the side of the building, hands tightly clutching the rope and creating a type of pulley system as he descended. It was not long before he reached the end of the length.

"Anything?" Slade asked from above.

"The rope isn't long enough," Robin called back as he dangled through the air. "I have to let out the harness lines."

Slade swore under his breath. He'd been afraid of that. "Just be careful."

"Oh, really? Hadn't thought of that," the teen muttered and rolled his eyes, carefully undoing the harness that he and Slade had so carefully tied not long before.

He took another breath and let the rope slide against his palms, gliding to the end of the rope where a firm knot kept him from sliding off. He glanced down at his dangling feet, silently thankful that Slade had given him a full MRE so he wasn't shaking from fatigue and hunger. He took in a deep breath and peered through the windows of the apartment, gazing down at the clean floor with keen interest.

"Can you reach?" he heard the villain yell from above.

"Barely… Definitely can't make a clean landing." came the response. "Looks clean inside… In this room, at least. No sign of anything living or dead."

"What room?"

"What?"

"What room are you looking at?"

"It's a bedroom."

"Can you see the bathroom?"

"Kind of? Why?"

"Because anyone that was bitten might try to patch themselves up. Most people keep the first aid kits in the bathroom, don't they? Can you see the kitchen?"

"Not from here. I'm going to try and move in."

"Make some noise first. See if you can flush anything out."

"Easy to say when you're not the one dangling off the side of a building."

"I thought heights didn't both you?" Slade kept his voice light, but his expression was keenly focused. His hands pressed hard against the metal staff, pinning it down to the edge of the rooftop and holding it steady as the teen began to swing from the rope below.

"I'm not bothered by the heights. Just you," the hero let the man know with a smirk, gently rocking his body back and forth as he felt his arms begin to shake. No time like the present to make some noise…

Slade held his breath at the sound of breaking glass, his grip tightening on the staff as the rope pulled and dragged against the end of it. Several crashes followed, each less powerful than the first.

"Broke away most of the glass. Nothing yet." Robin yelled, feeling the strain building up a painful tightness in his arms. "I'm going in."

"Wait just a bit more," Slade advised. "Could be-" he froze when the staff bounced upwards and a series of bumps and scrambling was heard below. "Goddam kid."

"Shit!" Robin breathed as he grabbed the window frame to keep himself from falling backwards.

"Robin?" Slade asked to the sound of more scrambling and the familiar tinkle of broken glass being shuffled about.

"I'm in. My hand is pretty cut-up, though. Just had to catch my fall on a jagged edge."

"Stay sharp – watch for trouble." The villain leaned over the edge of the building, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to see or do a damn thing.

Robin drew his gun, breathing deeply as he looked around the bedroom. There was a light layer of dust on the bed and floor, but everything was clean. No sign of blood, no sign of a struggle. The covers of the bed were neatly arranged, and pillows fluffed. It was a large bed, but the teen had the feeling that only one person slept in it. There was something in the cold, stale air that felt very familiar to the teen. Familiar and lonely. He kept the barrel of his gun pointed forward as he made his way towards the bathroom, checking from an angle before he actually stepped inside.

Clean as well. The plastic bottles in the shower were aligned carefully, each label facing forward and arranged in order of most practical use. It was a very meticulous set up, one that supported the hero's theory that whoever had lived there was likely doing so alone. He fought the urge to rummage through the cabinets and drawers. That would need to come later – after the area had been confirmed as safe. He retreated carefully and silently from the small space, taking in a long, deep breath as he did so.

Back in the bedroom, he silently knelt to check under the bed, then, as quietly as possible, he opened the closet doors. Yes. Definitely a loner. One that liked routine. Some manner of business man, obviously, at least that's what the nicely pressed shirts and tailored suits suggested. Robin wasted little thought at reaching inside the closet and pulling out a silk tie, quickly winding it around his hand to stop the bleeding. He glanced at the small trail he'd left from the window to the bathroom and frowned. Fresh blood in a city of the dead… That was sure to attract attention if one of them was close enough to smell it.

He let out a quiet snort through his nose before he turned to the bedroom door. It remained closed throughout his short tour, which was perhaps a good sign… no shadows at the foot of it, either…

"I'm going into the next room. Might be hard to hear me," Robin called out through the broken window.

"Stay safe," Slade responded with a yell that was muffled by the sudden pickup of wind. "If there's trouble. Shoot and run. I'm holding the line as steady as I can."

Robin swallowed hard. Run. Right. The best he could do was barricade himself in a room if trouble hit. He might be able to climb the rope, but with an injured hand, it would certainly be harder to make it to the top.

He closed the injured hand around the doorknob and slowly turned it. Quietly as he could, the teen pulled open the door, just a sliver at first, gun pointed outward, then an inch… and a foot…

He stepped quietly into the narrow hallway, finding it clean as the bedroom – well, the bedroom before he'd entered through a broken window and bled all over the floor, that is. The doors on the hallway were all closed, leaving only a gentle bit of natural light from further down. That lead into a kitchen, it seemed.

"Hey," He called out carefully, not too loudly, yet not too quiet. "Anyone in here?"

It was a stupid question to ask, really, and Robin knew that, but it somehow felt more civilized than saying 'hey dead things, come over here!'

He didn't budge at the light sound of shuffling that followed, but he could feel his heart jumping into his chest just the same. His grip tightened around the handle of his gun, compensating for the hot sweat that drenched his palms. He waited silently, ignoring the sound of Slade calling out to him from the rooftop and through the broken window.

Moments passed, and finally the teen willed himself forward. Whatever made the noise hadn't come to get him, but that didn't mean it wasn't interested in the idea… perhaps it was stuck… He took in a deep, quivering breath and pressed on down the hallway. It made him nervous to pass by the closed doors, not knowing if anything was inside, but the noise he'd heard had definitely come from farther away, he was sure of it.

The barrel of his gun swept the kitchen as he entered it, finding nothing but the same order and tidiness that all other rooms kept. He quickly turned right, positioning himself against a safe corner and freezing at the mess in the dining area. The wall was the first thing he saw, a mess of brown and dark red splatters covered the egg-shell white paint. Dried blood and tissue, some bone. It didn't take long for Robin to see where the mess had originated, after all, the corpse was still seated at the table, gun resting to the right of his chair. Suicide, from the looks of it… Robin studied the dried body from a distance, not seeing any other sign of injury. No bite marks. No apparent sickness before the time of death… He hadn't been infected, and nothing had eaten him afterwards... Robin noticed a tidy stack of paper before the man, but paid it little mind, other than to confirm his suspicions. He'd written a note before killing himself.

The sound of shuffling caught his attention and he tensed once again. Drawing a long, calm breath, he moved towards the sound, which has escalated to a series of muffled thumps and shuffles. The living-room which he had entered was much the same as the other rooms: Tidy, well designed, and coated in a thin layer of dust. There was a slight disturbance to the order, however, and Robin noticed it right away. A large bookshelf had been moved from one wall to another. It now covered the entrance to the apartment, from the looks of it, and it had been nailed to the walls and floor. It was a decent barricade, or at least decent enough to keep whatever was on the other side on the other side.

And whatever it was, it was moving. Bumping periodically against the door as if it was trying to gain entrance… It probably was. The sound of the window, and possibly even the smell of his blood, were enough attract attention. The question then became: how long would it keep it?

A/N: What even is? I'm pretty tired. Can you tell?