Curate, connect, and discover
Red Robin walking slowly through a battlefield, eyes turn to the sky, unperturbed by the chaos and violence around him. He moves forward, step by step.
A piece of debris flies past his face and slashes his cheek. He doesn't flinch. All he can see is that image in the sky that is so beautiful, so captivating. All he can do is continue to walk towards something that he doesn't understand.
Tim begins to whisper softly, nonsensical-sounding words. They are swept away by the shouts and sounds of fighting. Sometime later, something begins to whisper back, echoing his words back to him. The wind is picking up, kicking up dust and ash and small bits of debris. It picks up speed, whistling past most inattentive heroes barring a few who look up in confusion at the sudden change in pressure in the surrounding area. The wind seems to like Tim; it circles him, caresses his cheeks.
His friends and family, other heroes don't notice this odd behavior, too wrapped up in their own battles, until someone shouts out a warning as Tim is almost crushed by a collapsing alien ship. He doesn't flinch as it explodes, his cape billowing out to the side and his hair ruffling in the rush of air that follows.
As the battle winds down some, people begin to notice as he makes his way towards... something. They see how his eyes are looking at a certain point above him, his neck craning as if to get a better look, so much so that he keeps stumbling. He seems to be mumbling under his breath, though none can quite make out what it is he's saying.
He doesn't respond to calls of his name, or cries for him to stop, to wait. He doesn't even notice.
Time slows and stops. The sounds of battle fade. The rustle of trees and chirps of birds and anything that had ever lived or ever will ceases.
Tim carries on.