Great choice — let's continue building Robin gradually. His powers are strong, yes, but they'll grow with **pain, trial, restraint, and choices.** In **Chapter 3**, Robin starts testing his limits more dangerously, makes a new *original character* connection, and faces the first test of "Do I step in?" during a seemingly minor incident.
Here, you'll see him wrestling with *power vs. anonymity*, laying low, and beginning to wonder: how long can I preten
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### **Brooklyn – 2:17 AM**
Robin was balancing on the edge of the old rooftop, three stories up, shirtless in the cold spring wind. Beneath him, the city muttered in its sleep — car horns, distant sirens, the occasional argument wafting from open windows. He stood with arms out, letting the chill bite into him.
**Cold tolerance test.**
It had been five minutes. He was shivering. Teeth chattering. Muscles tightening under his skin. But not in fear. Not even pain.
Just information.
He stepped off the roof.
And let himself fall.
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### **The Fall**
The air rushed past his face.
For a brief moment, the same thrill filled him that firefighters feel when they rappel into a blazing window. That rush of *not knowing* if you'll make it.
Robin hit the alley pavement with a wet *thud*.
Pain exploded up his spine. The kind that whites out your vision and makes your limbs twitch.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
**But then…**
His ribs cracked back into place. He felt his vertebrae shift like puzzle pieces. His lungs reinflated with a rasp.
Thirty seconds later, he sat up. Drenched in rain and blood. Alive.
Shaking, but smiling faintly.
*No broken neck this time.*
He scribbled in his journal on the spot, still sitting in the gutter.
> **Fall from 3 stories = spinal damage.
> Recovery time: \~30 seconds.
> Progress: slower than expected. Still not invulnerable. Pain persists.
> Conclusion: Body learns *per threat type*, not general indestructibility.**
He underlined that last part twice.
He wasn't immortal. He wasn't indestructible. He was just a man who got better **after** the pain.
And the cost was always pain.
---
### **Day Job: The Book Nook**
Robin opened the bookstore that morning with a fresh bruise across his ribs and a mug of bitter coffee in his hand. "The Book Nook" was as old as dust and barely profitable — but the owner, Ms. Arlaine, was half-blind and grateful just to have someone young carry the boxes.
She liked Robin.
Said he was a "quiet soul with old hands."
Most days, he sat behind the counter, reading old science journals and marking key passages. He preferred non-fiction. Things rooted in reality. Laws of physics. Biology. Thermodynamics.
Even if he was starting to break a few of those laws just by existing*
That afternoon, the doorbell jingled and in came a regular customer — small, wiry, with a loud denim jacket and a mess of curly hair that always smelled like rosemary.
"Mina," Robin said with a nod.
"You still grumpy or is that your face?"
He almost smiled. "Still deciding."
She tossed a book onto the counter — *Sapiens*, worn out and dog-eared. "Trade for something new. I need something dark. Preferably depressing and existential."
Robin raised an eyebrow. "So… Wednesday, then?"
Mina laughed. "Exactly. Surprise me."
They weren't *friends*, exactly. Not yet. But Mina was a stray soul too. Tattoo artist. Poet. Ex-foster kid. She came in three times a week and always tried to make him laugh. Sometimes, it worked.
Today, she lingered by the counter.
"You look like hell," she said.
Robin shrugged. "Didn't sleep."
"Lemme guess. Dreams about dying?"
He looked at her sharply.
Mina held up both hands. "Hey, trauma recognizes trauma."
Robin relaxed slightly. "Something like that."
She tapped the counter. "I like you, Vance. You don't talk too much. You read good books. If you ever wanna, y'know, *exist* a little more… I know a dive bar with bad karaoke and worse fries."
Robin paused.
Then nodded. "Maybe sometime."
Mina winked and left.
Robin found himself staring after her a little longer than necessary.
---
Two days later, Robin walked home late. Rain again. Always rain in this part of the city.
He took his usual shortcut through an alley when he heard the sound.
**A child. Crying.**
He froze.
It was behind a dumpster.
A girl, maybe seven, clutching a teddy bear and shivering.
Robin knelt slowly. "Hey, you okay?"
Before the girl could answer, a man stepped from the shadows, reeking of meth and metal. A knife in one hand. Grimy tattoos on his neck. Not a mugger. A trafficker.
"Nice and easy," the man said. "Walk away."
Robin stood.
His heartbeat slowed. He felt his vision narrow.
"I'm not leaving her."
The man lunged.
Robin didn't dodge. He took the stab to the gut.
Pain. Immediate and sharp.
He stepped *into* the attacker's space and drove his elbow into the man's throat with practiced force. The man stumbled back, gasping.
Robin caught the second slash with his forearm. Blood spilled.
He moved on instinct.
Two more strikes. One knee to the ribs. The man collapsed.
Robin was shaking. But not from adrenaline.
From **focus**.
His blood was already clotting. The wound was closing before his eyes. The pain still throbbed — but it was *retreating.*
He turned back to the girl. "It's okay," he said gently. "You're safe."
She nodded through tears. "He took my mommy. He—he said he'd come back."
Robin called 911. Waited until he heard the sirens. Then slipped away before the cops arrived.
No interviews. No recognition. No cameras.
Just a shadow in the rain.
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### **Journal Entry – That Night**
> **Threat Level: Low.
> Injury: Knife wound, stomach.
> Healing: \~45 seconds.
> Pain Level: High.
> Psychological Reaction: Controlled. Aggression spike noted.
> Ethical Note: First active intervention. Did not reveal identity.**
He closed the book, blood still crusting under his nails.
Outside his window, the city gleamed — unaware.
But across town, in a dim orange-lit corridor, **two TVA Hunters** watched his silhouette on an old analog monitor.
"He shouldn't exist," one of them said.
The other narrowed his eyes. "He knows we're watching. That makes him dangerous."
"Orders?"
"Observe. Don't engage yet."
"Why?"
"Because he's *changing* the longer he stays."
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**TO BE CONTINUED…**
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