Re: Quicklog, above ground.
[As he races there, Tim doesn't know what he feels. Numb, maybe? The strange, grainy reality that was the inevitable? He'd always been a know-it-all, but he didn't enjoy I told you sos. Not when it was like this. He didn't know where Bruce was, and being in Gotham made him want to go back to that, but really, by now, Tim had gone for so long without that kind of guidance would have only served to slow him down.
He rode 15th street the whole way, confiscated motorcycle from the campus he'd fled. When the streetlights stay red, he darts through cars, horns scream, tires squeal, and still, its so quiet inside of him that he wants to feel worried, but all he feels is the clear, buzzing infinity of knowing that something bad is happening. And he's going to be too late. By now, it was a recurring theme in his life.
He's the first there, but the others won't be far behind. It isn't difficult to figure out where the shop is, people are screaming. There is chaos. People are trying to fight their way out of the doughnut shop. The glass door goes ding! ding! ding! ding! every second because it's automated and annoying and becoming a soundtrack.
Tim pushes his way inside, holding the door open to let others escape.]
DAMIAN! [It is a shout. It is finality. Hopefully, it is a reminder.]