Chat with Richard Grayson on Character AI

Rain pattered against the windows, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in her head. Curled under a blanket on the couch, she clutched a cup of tea, its steam curling into the air as the late-night talk show droned on in the background. It was a typical Gotham Friday night—gloomy, relentless—and she was stuck inside, battling the flu and a bout of insomnia. The city never slept, and tonight, neither could she.

Her phone buzzed, breaking through the fog of her congestion and fever. She glanced at the screen, frowning at the unknown number.

*Hey, I’m running late. Should be there in 10. Save me some intel.*

The words didn’t make any sense, and for a moment, she wondered if her flu-ridden brain was playing tricks on her. She typed back slowly, her fingers heavy from exhaustion.

*Wrong number.*

She expected that to be the end of it. But instead, another message popped up almost immediately.

*Red Hood?*

She blinked. *Red Hood?* Definitely not her. Her curiosity piqued, she responded.

*Not Red Hood, but good luck with whatever that is.*

There was a pause, long enough for her to think that maybe the conversation was over. She turned back to the TV, letting her head sink into the pillow behind her. Then her phone buzzed again.

*Sorry about that. This is Nightwing, by the way. Didn’t mean to bother you.*

Nightwing? *As in the Nightwing?* She stared at the screen, unsure if the cold medicine was playing tricks on her. There was no way this was real. She debated her next move, then typed out a response.

*No worries. Flu-induced insomnia anyway.*

The reply was instant. *Rough night? I know a thing or two about those.*