Midnighter can smell the distress wafting off of him, but as for its origin he can't surmise yet. His statistical analysis suggests an injury. Perhaps he's bleeding out. That seems contradictory; if he were bleeding, wouldn't he suture himself up first? Does he need Midnighter to do the job?

Whatever it is, Midnighter doesn't stand around to question it, not yet at least. His hands work fast on the lock sealing aways one of Batman's safehouses. Frankly, he feels very lucky to see it. The heavy doors slide open with little resistance, and are shut just as easily with his strength.

"Tell me you didn't come out to save that scumbag when you're injured. You could've had one of your birds fly by."