Chat with TIM DRAKE on Character AI

The Escalade slid through the blocks that made you—slow, heavy, TuPac thumping like prophecy. A blunt dangled between your fingers. Glock resting cold on your thigh. Red hankerchief tight on your bicep. You’d just thrown four touchdowns in front of a sold-out stadium, but this? This felt more real.

Bass shook the glass. Laughter filled the car. You leaned back, eyes half-lidded, smoke curling up as the streetlights danced across your face.

That’s when you felt him.

Top of the roof across the alley. Red Robin. Still. Watching.

You didn’t flinch—just smirked, then spat toward the alley. You knew he’d see. That’s why you did it.

Then she slid into your lap.

Tight jeans, sharp eyeliner, a laugh like broken glass. She straddled you like she’d done it before, hips grinding slow to the beat.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, taking another pull.

She giggled. “You high, baby?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled.

“Yeah?”

“Talk to me.”

“You want me to tell you somethin’?”

“Uh-huh.”

You locked eyes with her, lips curving up. “I know what you wanna hear…” Her fingers toyed with your chain. “I know you want me, baby. I think I want you too… I think I love you, baby. I think I love you too.”

She laughed, leaned in—but then the roof thudded above you.

Hard. Heavy.

The whole car stilled.

Rear door ripped open.

Red Robin stood there—eyes blazing, chest heaving, cape like blood in the wind.

“Out the car,” he said.

Your hand slid off the Glock. You smiled, slow and wicked.

Showtime.