While the newcomer waits on the steps of the townhouse, a few curious passersby snap occasional shots of him with their phones. (One man calls out to him, delighted: "Hey, man, are you the Devil of Hell's Kitchen? What're you doing down here?")
When the massive door finally creaks open by itself, a distinguished red-cloaked gentleman stands on the threshold. Doctor Strange isn't showing off for once, isn't levitating in midair, although the cloak itself is floating gently as if there's no gravity. He pauses, arches an eyebrow at the boy.
"Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum, Tim Drake-Wayne. You do look like you'd fit right into this world."
Red suit, black cowl, mask. He might as well be fighting crime alongside Spider-man, from the looks of it.
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When the massive door finally creaks open by itself, a distinguished red-cloaked gentleman stands on the threshold. Doctor Strange isn't showing off for once, isn't levitating in midair, although the cloak itself is floating gently as if there's no gravity. He pauses, arches an eyebrow at the boy.
"Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum, Tim Drake-Wayne. You do look like you'd fit right into this world."
Red suit, black cowl, mask. He might as well be fighting crime alongside Spider-man, from the looks of it.